ReVival 41
EARLIER IN THE DAY
The side steel doors of the talent entrance at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY creak open. Itâs a few hours before showtime for ReVival 41. One might think promptness wouldnât matter to the man walking through that door since heâs not booked, but the thing about The Anglo Luchador is if heâs not busy, heâs going to start ruminating on intrusive thoughts. Generally speaking, when that happens, he hops on a flight to Mexico to pick a fight with a piece of granite made man or plots to ambush a feral gator of a human with a shock collar.
No, The Luchador is there to help out with production as heâs been wont to do for the last few months. Part of it is preparation for looming life outside the squared circle. Part of it is heâs been pretty hands on with all aspects of putting on the LUCHA ESPECIAL shows (LUCHA ESPECIAL 5: The Spirit of Cuauhtemoc, live on ACE Network January 27! Donât miss it!). Either way, heâs been arriving hours before showtime for the last few months now, even before most of the other talent.
That being said, no one is really sure why Alexei Ruslan is there. For a man so gung-ho about the proletariat, he certainly isnât interested in helping the crew. Even more dubious is why he just happens to be stationed by the doors, springing into action as soon as the masked superstarâs frame, dressed in a winter coat, jeans, and sneakers, crests the door jamb.
Alexei Ruslan: Well⌠well⌠well! If it isnât The Anglo Luchador! My goodness, are you not looking well?
Ruslan grips his brown overcoat and squares off more in the way of the Luchador. He puffs out his cheeks and exhales air in an over the top fashion.
Alexei Ruslan: Through strict coincidence though, you are -just- the person I wanted to see!
Ruslan offers a cheshire smile, the likes of which most see before something terrible is about to befall them. Nonetheless, he doesnât appear threatening and no seven foot plus goliath seems to be in the vicinity.
TAL: You really are crazy, my dude. Stalking a guy you relentlessly talk shit about every chance you get without any wisp of your hulking meal ticket with the berserk pituitary gland in sight. I mean, I donât know how good they do HIde ân Seek in Russia, but I am almost certain Ivan canât be as good at it as he is at wrestlingâŚ
A beat, but before Ruslan can chime in, the Luchador seizes the silence.
TAL: Although speaking of wrestling, I hate to say I told you so, but, uh, I kinda told you two not to take the French kid lightly. And here you guys are, ten pounds of precious metal and leather lighter. Maybe Iâm not such an idiot after all, huh?
Ruslanâs eyes narrow as his face twists into a sneer, whatever âfriendlyâ appearance he once had has melted faster than Russian snow. He points a finger at the Luchador.
Alexei Ruslan: First of all, do not give yourself too much credit, Tom. You do not frighten me. Secondly, and if you are able, answer these next questions with just a yes or a no. Number one: Was Ivan pinned?
The Luchador rolls his eyes.
TAL: I know where this is going and no, he wasnât pinned nor did he submit, but speaking as someone who has felt the icy choke of that kidâs guillotine, if it werenât for our mutual friend who no longer works here? Youâd have had a state funeral for that lummox. Face it. He got checkmated, and part of me thinks it has something to do with the collective massive ego of your entire outfit. But you know what, youâre already agitated and Iâm already late for my first assignments, which, given the cameras that I have noticed are right over yonder, will probably be this convo weâre having. Spill it, lapdog. Why did you wait here for me to get in?
Alexei allows his annoyance to fade away as he shakes his head and offers a slight smile.
Alexei Ruslan: You insult me, Luchador. Believe it or not, I come here not to argue. Why, what I have wanted to say to has been on my mind for quite a long time. You see, it is new year. Contrary to what most believe, I do not hold grudges. We have had our spats. You have said hurtful things. We have told you truth. You do not listen. Frustrating as it is, you are but human, and some humans have more flaws than others and I understand. It is not your fault.
Ruslan wheels back on his heels a bit and clears his throat.
Alexei Ruslan: Truth is, I have wistful memories of our time when things were⌠better. You and Starshy Praporshchik fighting side by side against the likes of GAS. Why, we were at a time then where detent seemed to actually be possibility. And quite frankly, I wish to be honest with you. You were decent enough to invite us to Turkey-Day dinner and we did show up and⌠I stole something from you.
Ruslan looks down sheepishly.
TAL: So you took my sunglasses?
Ruslan shakes his head and rolls his eyes before handing the Luchador a piece of construction, or more accurately, a pastiche of pieces of construction paper in the shape of a turkey. Hope he stored it in his coat without wrinkling it is a mystery. Does he have a brown soviet overcoat of holding?
TAL: You⌠you kept this? Why Alexei, Iâm downright shocked at your display of sentimentality. Maybe you arenât a wrecker son of a bitch after all.
Alexeiâs thoughts are derailed for a moment. Was that a compliment, or a veiled compliment, or a downright insult. He flutters his eyes for a moment and then decides it is unimportant, and he nods to the cardboard turkey.
Alexei Ruslan: A little known piece of information is that no pilgrims ever landed in Russia, so this whole turkey thing has always been rather curious to me. I thought I would take that and just⌠leave it in my office. See if it enhanced the decor. But thenâŚ
Ruslan slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels again.
Alexei Ruslan: I could not sleep at night. The guilt, Luchador, oh the guilt it gnawed at me. How could I do that, and not have told you? And so, as honest attempt to show you my true feelings, I offer that accordion-style-garish-fowl back to you, with apologies.
The Luchador furrows his brow. It is at this point where the bullshit sensor in his head goes off.
TAL: Well, I appreciate this regardless of your reason. You know, differences aside, it takes a hell of a wrestler to defeat Brandon Youngblood with the title on the line. Ivan has nothing to be ashamed of during his reign, and uh, thanks.
Ruslan removes his hat and fans himself for a moment.
Alexei Ruslan: Whew, this is great weight off of my shoulders. Thank you, Luchador, for being so understanding. I tell you what. What do Americans say? âPut âer there.â
Ruslan offers his hand and smiles broadly. His ragged, overgrown mustache stretches as the bristles extend this way and that. The hand might be connected to an explosive. Is this really Alexei Ruslan? Maybe itâs a decoy? After a thoughtful moment, The Anglo Luchador slowly grips Ruslanâs hand and squeezes it, once. Ruslan removes it quickly, as if he might catch something with this sudden sign of peace-making. He tips his head.
Alexei Ruslan: How lucky I was to meet you here, Luchador. Have wonderful evening. Enjoy the little accordion turkey. Who knows? Maybe I see you around sometime?
He winks and turns on his heel and walks away, hands going into his pockets as he whistles, what else, but The Soviet National Anthem and rounds a corner. The first Intense Champion of The ReVival watches as he turns the corner, feeling the contours of the childâs craft.
TAL: What a strange and ominous meeting. I canât believe he kept theâŚ
The Luchador stops, and a look of concern sprouts on his face. He looks down at the turkey to find thereâs been a new piece of construction paper taped onto it, hiding a lump. He looks down, picking at the tape until the makeshift pouch opens to reveal something.
TAL: Shit.
He lifts the item up. Itâs a miniature ice axe.
History lesson time, kids! In the formative days of the Soviet Union, there were two schismatic camps in Vladimir Ilitch Leninâs Bolshevik group. One followed the lead of Leon Trotsky, an erratic firebrand who believed Russia would be the first domino to fall in glorious permanent revolution turning planet Earth into a global communist collective. The other camp nestled behind brutish but charismatic strongman Josef Stalin, who wanted to establish Russia as its own state, a player in the world as a bastion of self-contained socialism. They didnât like each other, and, truth be told, Lenin didnât like Stalin too much either. If he had his way, Trotsky wouldâve succeeded him as premier of the Communist Party, but itâs hard to impose your will when you suffer three strokes in the span of a year. Stalin took over, purged the country of Trotskyists, and sent poor Leon into worldwide exile. Of course, Trotsky, ever the rabblerouser, kept hammering on about permanent revolution abroad. Stalin didnât like this and sent an assassin to take him out, which he did, in Mexico, in 1940.
With an ice axe.
TAL: SHIT.
Voice off-camera: Such spicey language- is that how folks conduct themselves around here?
The diminutive Douglas Doubleday saunters into frame with his little three piece suit and that hairâ behind him is his brother, the debuting âFair Playâ Dabney Doubleday with a look of âplease donât bother that poor manâ etched all over his face. Douglas eyeballs the luchador far to aggressively-
Dabney Doubleday: Dougie- bud, how about we donât step to the first people we see right through the door, ok man? Jesus- Iâm so sorry, heâs excited-
Douglas Doubleday: This is the big leagues man! Havenât you ever watched this show? You gotta get in there and let âem know youâre there, man! Shake some trees!
TAL: Guys, guys, itâs okay, itâs okay⌠you know Iâm here for a reason, but your match isnât for a couple of hours. You two, uh, okay?
The brothers Doubleday look on for a beat before the Luchador answers his own question.
TAL: You know what, no, forget I asked. Itâs PRIME. No oneâs okay. Just promise me you guys wonât try to pass off a vending machine as one of the wrestlers, okay?
Douglas Doubleday: I understood that reference!
Dabney Doubleday: Can you point us in the direction of the locker rooms? I wanted to get some ring time in before the show.
TAL: To be honest? Itâs been awhile since Iâve been to Buffalo. Iâm headed to the production suite anyway. But uh, theyâre usually near Lindsay Troyâs office, if you can find that. Just look for the ominous steel door that makes people think of DOOM when they look at it?
Dabney Doubleday: Iâm sure weâll find it, itâll sure be nice to see Ms. Troy again, itâs been a country minute since I seen her last- nice meeting you, by the way! Real big fan of your work, sir.
The elder Doubleday extends his hand for a handshake, which the Luchador obliges.
TAL: Itâs been a rough year, but, uh, thanks. I appreciate it.
Dabney nods as he and his brother turn around. As the brothers head down the hallway in search of the locker room area, Douglas looks back over his shoulder.
Douglas Doubleday: Nice axe, by the way!
If the Luchador was not wearing a mask, one would see the color drain from his face. For now, you must take my word for it, the omniscient narrator. The Luchador weakly nods as he heads off in the other direction towards the production suite.
We fade to the ring.
EARLIER IN THE DAY
The side steel doors of the talent entrance at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY creak open. Itâs a few hours before showtime for ReVival 41. One might think promptness wouldnât matter to the man walking through that door since heâs not booked, but the thing about The Anglo Luchador is if heâs not busy, heâs going to start ruminating on intrusive thoughts. Generally speaking, when that happens, he hops on a flight to Mexico to pick a fight with a piece of granite made man or plots to ambush a feral gator of a human with a shock collar.
No, The Luchador is there to help out with production as heâs been wont to do for the last few months. Part of it is preparation for looming life outside the squared circle. Part of it is heâs been pretty hands on with all aspects of putting on the LUCHA ESPECIAL shows (LUCHA ESPECIAL 5: The Spirit of Cuauhtemoc, live on ACE Network January 27! Donât miss it!). Either way, heâs been arriving hours before showtime for the last few months now, even before most of the other talent.
That being said, no one is really sure why Alexei Ruslan is there. For a man so gung-ho about the proletariat, he certainly isnât interested in helping the crew. Even more dubious is why he just happens to be stationed by the doors, springing into action as soon as the masked superstarâs frame, dressed in a winter coat, jeans, and sneakers, crests the door jamb.
Alexei Ruslan: Well⌠well⌠well! If it isnât The Anglo Luchador! My goodness, are you not looking well?
Ruslan grips his brown overcoat and squares off more in the way of the Luchador. He puffs out his cheeks and exhales air in an over the top fashion.
Alexei Ruslan: Through strict coincidence though, you are -just- the person I wanted to see!
Ruslan offers a cheshire smile, the likes of which most see before something terrible is about to befall them. Nonetheless, he doesnât appear threatening and no seven foot plus goliath seems to be in the vicinity.
TAL: You really are crazy, my dude. Stalking a guy you relentlessly talk shit about every chance you get without any wisp of your hulking meal ticket with the berserk pituitary gland in sight. I mean, I donât know how good they do HIde ân Seek in Russia, but I am almost certain Ivan canât be as good at it as he is at wrestlingâŚ
A beat, but before Ruslan can chime in, the Luchador seizes the silence.
TAL: Although speaking of wrestling, I hate to say I told you so, but, uh, I kinda told you two not to take the French kid lightly. And here you guys are, ten pounds of precious metal and leather lighter. Maybe Iâm not such an idiot after all, huh?
Ruslanâs eyes narrow as his face twists into a sneer, whatever âfriendlyâ appearance he once had has melted faster than Russian snow. He points a finger at the Luchador.
Alexei Ruslan: First of all, do not give yourself too much credit, Tom. You do not frighten me. Secondly, and if you are able, answer these next questions with just a yes or a no. Number one: Was Ivan pinned?
The Luchador rolls his eyes.
TAL: I know where this is going and no, he wasnât pinned nor did he submit, but speaking as someone who has felt the icy choke of that kidâs guillotine, if it werenât for our mutual friend who no longer works here? Youâd have had a state funeral for that lummox. Face it. He got checkmated, and part of me thinks it has something to do with the collective massive ego of your entire outfit. But you know what, youâre already agitated and Iâm already late for my first assignments, which, given the cameras that I have noticed are right over yonder, will probably be this convo weâre having. Spill it, lapdog. Why did you wait here for me to get in?
Alexei allows his annoyance to fade away as he shakes his head and offers a slight smile.
Alexei Ruslan: You insult me, Luchador. Believe it or not, I come here not to argue. Why, what I have wanted to say to has been on my mind for quite a long time. You see, it is new year. Contrary to what most believe, I do not hold grudges. We have had our spats. You have said hurtful things. We have told you truth. You do not listen. Frustrating as it is, you are but human, and some humans have more flaws than others and I understand. It is not your fault.
Ruslan wheels back on his heels a bit and clears his throat.
Alexei Ruslan: Truth is, I have wistful memories of our time when things were⌠better. You and Starshy Praporshchik fighting side by side against the likes of GAS. Why, we were at a time then where detent seemed to actually be possibility. And quite frankly, I wish to be honest with you. You were decent enough to invite us to Turkey-Day dinner and we did show up and⌠I stole something from you.
Ruslan looks down sheepishly.
TAL: So you took my sunglasses?
Ruslan shakes his head and rolls his eyes before handing the Luchador a piece of construction, or more accurately, a pastiche of pieces of construction paper in the shape of a turkey. Hope he stored it in his coat without wrinkling it is a mystery. Does he have a brown soviet overcoat of holding?
TAL: You⌠you kept this? Why Alexei, Iâm downright shocked at your display of sentimentality. Maybe you arenât a wrecker son of a bitch after all.
Alexeiâs thoughts are derailed for a moment. Was that a compliment, or a veiled compliment, or a downright insult. He flutters his eyes for a moment and then decides it is unimportant, and he nods to the cardboard turkey.
Alexei Ruslan: A little known piece of information is that no pilgrims ever landed in Russia, so this whole turkey thing has always been rather curious to me. I thought I would take that and just⌠leave it in my office. See if it enhanced the decor. But thenâŚ
Ruslan slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels again.
Alexei Ruslan: I could not sleep at night. The guilt, Luchador, oh the guilt it gnawed at me. How could I do that, and not have told you? And so, as honest attempt to show you my true feelings, I offer that accordion-style-garish-fowl back to you, with apologies.
The Luchador furrows his brow. It is at this point where the bullshit sensor in his head goes off.
TAL: Well, I appreciate this regardless of your reason. You know, differences aside, it takes a hell of a wrestler to defeat Brandon Youngblood with the title on the line. Ivan has nothing to be ashamed of during his reign, and uh, thanks.
Ruslan removes his hat and fans himself for a moment.
Alexei Ruslan: Whew, this is great weight off of my shoulders. Thank you, Luchador, for being so understanding. I tell you what. What do Americans say? âPut âer there.â
Ruslan offers his hand and smiles broadly. His ragged, overgrown mustache stretches as the bristles extend this way and that. The hand might be connected to an explosive. Is this really Alexei Ruslan? Maybe itâs a decoy? After a thoughtful moment, The Anglo Luchador slowly grips Ruslanâs hand and squeezes it, once. Ruslan removes it quickly, as if he might catch something with this sudden sign of peace-making. He tips his head.
Alexei Ruslan: How lucky I was to meet you here, Luchador. Have wonderful evening. Enjoy the little accordion turkey. Who knows? Maybe I see you around sometime?
He winks and turns on his heel and walks away, hands going into his pockets as he whistles, what else, but The Soviet National Anthem and rounds a corner. The first Intense Champion of The ReVival watches as he turns the corner, feeling the contours of the childâs craft.
TAL: What a strange and ominous meeting. I canât believe he kept theâŚ
The Luchador stops, and a look of concern sprouts on his face. He looks down at the turkey to find thereâs been a new piece of construction paper taped onto it, hiding a lump. He looks down, picking at the tape until the makeshift pouch opens to reveal something.
TAL: Shit.
He lifts the item up. Itâs a miniature ice axe.
History lesson time, kids! In the formative days of the Soviet Union, there were two schismatic camps in Vladimir Ilitch Leninâs Bolshevik group. One followed the lead of Leon Trotsky, an erratic firebrand who believed Russia would be the first domino to fall in glorious permanent revolution turning planet Earth into a global communist collective. The other camp nestled behind brutish but charismatic strongman Josef Stalin, who wanted to establish Russia as its own state, a player in the world as a bastion of self-contained socialism. They didnât like each other, and, truth be told, Lenin didnât like Stalin too much either. If he had his way, Trotsky wouldâve succeeded him as premier of the Communist Party, but itâs hard to impose your will when you suffer three strokes in the span of a year. Stalin took over, purged the country of Trotskyists, and sent poor Leon into worldwide exile. Of course, Trotsky, ever the rabblerouser, kept hammering on about permanent revolution abroad. Stalin didnât like this and sent an assassin to take him out, which he did, in Mexico, in 1940.
With an ice axe.
TAL: SHIT.
Voice off-camera: Such spicey language- is that how folks conduct themselves around here?
The diminutive Douglas Doubleday saunters into frame with his little three piece suit and that hairâ behind him is his brother, the debuting âFair Playâ Dabney Doubleday with a look of âplease donât bother that poor manâ etched all over his face. Douglas eyeballs the luchador far to aggressively-
Dabney Doubleday: Dougie- bud, how about we donât step to the first people we see right through the door, ok man? Jesus- Iâm so sorry, heâs excited-
Douglas Doubleday: This is the big leagues man! Havenât you ever watched this show? You gotta get in there and let âem know youâre there, man! Shake some trees!
TAL: Guys, guys, itâs okay, itâs okay⌠you know Iâm here for a reason, but your match isnât for a couple of hours. You two, uh, okay?
The brothers Doubleday look on for a beat before the Luchador answers his own question.
TAL: You know what, no, forget I asked. Itâs PRIME. No oneâs okay. Just promise me you guys wonât try to pass off a vending machine as one of the wrestlers, okay?
Douglas Doubleday: I understood that reference!
Dabney Doubleday: Can you point us in the direction of the locker rooms? I wanted to get some ring time in before the show.
TAL: To be honest? Itâs been awhile since Iâve been to Buffalo. Iâm headed to the production suite anyway. But uh, theyâre usually near Lindsay Troyâs office, if you can find that. Just look for the ominous steel door that makes people think of DOOM when they look at it?
Dabney Doubleday: Iâm sure weâll find it, itâll sure be nice to see Ms. Troy again, itâs been a country minute since I seen her last- nice meeting you, by the way! Real big fan of your work, sir.
The elder Doubleday extends his hand for a handshake, which the Luchador obliges.
TAL: Itâs been a rough year, but, uh, thanks. I appreciate it.
Dabney nods as he and his brother turn around. As the brothers head down the hallway in search of the locker room area, Douglas looks back over his shoulder.
Douglas Doubleday: Nice axe, by the way!
If the Luchador was not wearing a mask, one would see the color drain from his face. For now, you must take my word for it, the omniscient narrator. The Luchador weakly nods as he heads off in the other direction towards the production suite.
We fade to the ring.
EARLIER IN THE DAY
The side steel doors of the talent entrance at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY creak open. Itâs a few hours before showtime for ReVival 41. One might think promptness wouldnât matter to the man walking through that door since heâs not booked, but the thing about The Anglo Luchador is if heâs not busy, heâs going to start ruminating on intrusive thoughts. Generally speaking, when that happens, he hops on a flight to Mexico to pick a fight with a piece of granite made man or plots to ambush a feral gator of a human with a shock collar.
No, The Luchador is there to help out with production as heâs been wont to do for the last few months. Part of it is preparation for looming life outside the squared circle. Part of it is heâs been pretty hands on with all aspects of putting on the LUCHA ESPECIAL shows (LUCHA ESPECIAL 5: The Spirit of Cuauhtemoc, live on ACE Network January 27! Donât miss it!). Either way, heâs been arriving hours before showtime for the last few months now, even before most of the other talent.
That being said, no one is really sure why Alexei Ruslan is there. For a man so gung-ho about the proletariat, he certainly isnât interested in helping the crew. Even more dubious is why he just happens to be stationed by the doors, springing into action as soon as the masked superstarâs frame, dressed in a winter coat, jeans, and sneakers, crests the door jamb.
Alexei Ruslan: Well⌠well⌠well! If it isnât The Anglo Luchador! My goodness, are you not looking well?
Ruslan grips his brown overcoat and squares off more in the way of the Luchador. He puffs out his cheeks and exhales air in an over the top fashion.
Alexei Ruslan: Through strict coincidence though, you are -just- the person I wanted to see!
Ruslan offers a cheshire smile, the likes of which most see before something terrible is about to befall them. Nonetheless, he doesnât appear threatening and no seven foot plus goliath seems to be in the vicinity.
TAL: You really are crazy, my dude. Stalking a guy you relentlessly talk shit about every chance you get without any wisp of your hulking meal ticket with the berserk pituitary gland in sight. I mean, I donât know how good they do HIde ân Seek in Russia, but I am almost certain Ivan canât be as good at it as he is at wrestlingâŚ
A beat, but before Ruslan can chime in, the Luchador seizes the silence.
TAL: Although speaking of wrestling, I hate to say I told you so, but, uh, I kinda told you two not to take the French kid lightly. And here you guys are, ten pounds of precious metal and leather lighter. Maybe Iâm not such an idiot after all, huh?
Ruslanâs eyes narrow as his face twists into a sneer, whatever âfriendlyâ appearance he once had has melted faster than Russian snow. He points a finger at the Luchador.
Alexei Ruslan: First of all, do not give yourself too much credit, Tom. You do not frighten me. Secondly, and if you are able, answer these next questions with just a yes or a no. Number one: Was Ivan pinned?
The Luchador rolls his eyes.
TAL: I know where this is going and no, he wasnât pinned nor did he submit, but speaking as someone who has felt the icy choke of that kidâs guillotine, if it werenât for our mutual friend who no longer works here? Youâd have had a state funeral for that lummox. Face it. He got checkmated, and part of me thinks it has something to do with the collective massive ego of your entire outfit. But you know what, youâre already agitated and Iâm already late for my first assignments, which, given the cameras that I have noticed are right over yonder, will probably be this convo weâre having. Spill it, lapdog. Why did you wait here for me to get in?
Alexei allows his annoyance to fade away as he shakes his head and offers a slight smile.
Alexei Ruslan: You insult me, Luchador. Believe it or not, I come here not to argue. Why, what I have wanted to say to has been on my mind for quite a long time. You see, it is new year. Contrary to what most believe, I do not hold grudges. We have had our spats. You have said hurtful things. We have told you truth. You do not listen. Frustrating as it is, you are but human, and some humans have more flaws than others and I understand. It is not your fault.
Ruslan wheels back on his heels a bit and clears his throat.
Alexei Ruslan: Truth is, I have wistful memories of our time when things were⌠better. You and Starshy Praporshchik fighting side by side against the likes of GAS. Why, we were at a time then where detent seemed to actually be possibility. And quite frankly, I wish to be honest with you. You were decent enough to invite us to Turkey-Day dinner and we did show up and⌠I stole something from you.
Ruslan looks down sheepishly.
TAL: So you took my sunglasses?
Ruslan shakes his head and rolls his eyes before handing the Luchador a piece of construction, or more accurately, a pastiche of pieces of construction paper in the shape of a turkey. Hope he stored it in his coat without wrinkling it is a mystery. Does he have a brown soviet overcoat of holding?
TAL: You⌠you kept this? Why Alexei, Iâm downright shocked at your display of sentimentality. Maybe you arenât a wrecker son of a bitch after all.
Alexeiâs thoughts are derailed for a moment. Was that a compliment, or a veiled compliment, or a downright insult. He flutters his eyes for a moment and then decides it is unimportant, and he nods to the cardboard turkey.
Alexei Ruslan: A little known piece of information is that no pilgrims ever landed in Russia, so this whole turkey thing has always been rather curious to me. I thought I would take that and just⌠leave it in my office. See if it enhanced the decor. But thenâŚ
Ruslan slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels again.
Alexei Ruslan: I could not sleep at night. The guilt, Luchador, oh the guilt it gnawed at me. How could I do that, and not have told you? And so, as honest attempt to show you my true feelings, I offer that accordion-style-garish-fowl back to you, with apologies.
The Luchador furrows his brow. It is at this point where the bullshit sensor in his head goes off.
TAL: Well, I appreciate this regardless of your reason. You know, differences aside, it takes a hell of a wrestler to defeat Brandon Youngblood with the title on the line. Ivan has nothing to be ashamed of during his reign, and uh, thanks.
Ruslan removes his hat and fans himself for a moment.
Alexei Ruslan: Whew, this is great weight off of my shoulders. Thank you, Luchador, for being so understanding. I tell you what. What do Americans say? âPut âer there.â
Ruslan offers his hand and smiles broadly. His ragged, overgrown mustache stretches as the bristles extend this way and that. The hand might be connected to an explosive. Is this really Alexei Ruslan? Maybe itâs a decoy? After a thoughtful moment, The Anglo Luchador slowly grips Ruslanâs hand and squeezes it, once. Ruslan removes it quickly, as if he might catch something with this sudden sign of peace-making. He tips his head.
Alexei Ruslan: How lucky I was to meet you here, Luchador. Have wonderful evening. Enjoy the little accordion turkey. Who knows? Maybe I see you around sometime?
He winks and turns on his heel and walks away, hands going into his pockets as he whistles, what else, but The Soviet National Anthem and rounds a corner. The first Intense Champion of The ReVival watches as he turns the corner, feeling the contours of the childâs craft.
TAL: What a strange and ominous meeting. I canât believe he kept theâŚ
The Luchador stops, and a look of concern sprouts on his face. He looks down at the turkey to find thereâs been a new piece of construction paper taped onto it, hiding a lump. He looks down, picking at the tape until the makeshift pouch opens to reveal something.
TAL: Shit.
He lifts the item up. Itâs a miniature ice axe.
History lesson time, kids! In the formative days of the Soviet Union, there were two schismatic camps in Vladimir Ilitch Leninâs Bolshevik group. One followed the lead of Leon Trotsky, an erratic firebrand who believed Russia would be the first domino to fall in glorious permanent revolution turning planet Earth into a global communist collective. The other camp nestled behind brutish but charismatic strongman Josef Stalin, who wanted to establish Russia as its own state, a player in the world as a bastion of self-contained socialism. They didnât like each other, and, truth be told, Lenin didnât like Stalin too much either. If he had his way, Trotsky wouldâve succeeded him as premier of the Communist Party, but itâs hard to impose your will when you suffer three strokes in the span of a year. Stalin took over, purged the country of Trotskyists, and sent poor Leon into worldwide exile. Of course, Trotsky, ever the rabblerouser, kept hammering on about permanent revolution abroad. Stalin didnât like this and sent an assassin to take him out, which he did, in Mexico, in 1940.
With an ice axe.
TAL: SHIT.
Voice off-camera: Such spicey language- is that how folks conduct themselves around here?
The diminutive Douglas Doubleday saunters into frame with his little three piece suit and that hairâ behind him is his brother, the debuting âFair Playâ Dabney Doubleday with a look of âplease donât bother that poor manâ etched all over his face. Douglas eyeballs the luchador far to aggressively-
Dabney Doubleday: Dougie- bud, how about we donât step to the first people we see right through the door, ok man? Jesus- Iâm so sorry, heâs excited-
Douglas Doubleday: This is the big leagues man! Havenât you ever watched this show? You gotta get in there and let âem know youâre there, man! Shake some trees!
TAL: Guys, guys, itâs okay, itâs okay⌠you know Iâm here for a reason, but your match isnât for a couple of hours. You two, uh, okay?
The brothers Doubleday look on for a beat before the Luchador answers his own question.
TAL: You know what, no, forget I asked. Itâs PRIME. No oneâs okay. Just promise me you guys wonât try to pass off a vending machine as one of the wrestlers, okay?
Douglas Doubleday: I understood that reference!
Dabney Doubleday: Can you point us in the direction of the locker rooms? I wanted to get some ring time in before the show.
TAL: To be honest? Itâs been awhile since Iâve been to Buffalo. Iâm headed to the production suite anyway. But uh, theyâre usually near Lindsay Troyâs office, if you can find that. Just look for the ominous steel door that makes people think of DOOM when they look at it?
Dabney Doubleday: Iâm sure weâll find it, itâll sure be nice to see Ms. Troy again, itâs been a country minute since I seen her last- nice meeting you, by the way! Real big fan of your work, sir.
The elder Doubleday extends his hand for a handshake, which the Luchador obliges.
TAL: Itâs been a rough year, but, uh, thanks. I appreciate it.
Dabney nods as he and his brother turn around. As the brothers head down the hallway in search of the locker room area, Douglas looks back over his shoulder.
Douglas Doubleday: Nice axe, by the way!
If the Luchador was not wearing a mask, one would see the color drain from his face. For now, you must take my word for it, the omniscient narrator. The Luchador weakly nods as he heads off in the other direction towards the production suite.
We fade to the ring.
From the cold open, we come back to the ring. In the process, we notice that both men for this opening contest are already in the ring. Dabney Doubleday, debuting, and looking rather happy and chipper, stands in his corner, his little brother and manager, Douglas, is there to give him support. In the other corner? A garish and loud pink clad Darin Zion, though this time, with the words Zenon Dylan firmly ensconced on his tights.
Referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And 2024 in PRIME is OFFICIALLY underwayâŚ
Richard Parker: Year three of the ReVival. And despite what most would think, itâs always a pleasure, Nick.
For his part, Dabney Doubleday takes the center of the ring, his hand extended, a smile spread across his face. The earnest Doubleday holds no malice as he offers the handshake. For his part, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, raises his own hand, only to slap his opponentâs away.
Nick Stuart: Fair Play trying to show his sportsmanship and respect, but âZenon Dylanâ is having none of itâ
Richard Parker: Just like Iâm having none of this constant identity crisis. HE WAS AT COLOSSUS in the corner of Almasy Invitational winner Jonathan-Christopher Hall as âDrizzy Zâ! I didnât cut the checks for that event, but NickâŚtwo sell out nights in the Caesarâs Superdome.
Nick Stuart: RichardâŚ
Richard Parker: Iâm just sayingâŚif youâre resorting to Zagnut scraps after getting payoffs like that, then maybe you should never be allowed access to funds. Maybe a mommy or daddy figure needs to give you allowances so you can only burn small bits of money without going whole hog.
Nick Stuart: Going whole OinkersâŚ
Richard Parker: Stop trying to bring levity into this, Nicholas. This is like an argument to have âDylanâ be stuck in a reverse Macaulay Culkin situation.
As this has been going on, Doubleday and the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan HAVE been engaging. Doubleday looks for a tie up, but every time he tries to lock up, âDylanâ steps away, point to his own head in exaggerated taunts. Against most opponents, âZenonâ would be opening himself to be absolutely pounded into the dirt for his arrogance. Thankfully for his gray matter, heâs in the ring with One Swell Fellaâ.
Finally, they lock up, and when they do, Doubleday quickly gets hold and wrenches at the arm.
Nick Stuart: No matter what the case may be, given the relationship that still exists between PRIME and Missouri Valley Wrestling, I imagine Ray McAvay is none too pleased with what he is seeing here.
Richard Parker: Well, I canât imagine either. Look, McAvay runs an interesting little ship with MVW, and I mean, look at Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear. Itâs got a homely, people of Wal-Mart vibe stitched in its DNAâŚbut theyâre polite enough rednecks.
With the arm wrench, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan starts hopping about, exclaiming to all that can hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: THIS IS BORING! ENTERTAINMENT! SPORTS AND ENTERTAINMENT!
Nick Stuart: Seeing the âbrillianceâ of a rival of his in Mr. McMann on the airâŚI do have to wonder if it makes sense to have allowed it, given that relationship. Then again, to be clear, âZenon Dylanâ is facing off against a protege of Lindsay Troy. A hungry up and comer getting his first real taste of exposure after coming through the southern independent wrestling sceneâŚ
As the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan seems more worried about sports entertaining than he does the arm wrench, he is given reason to feel different, as Doubleday slams his shoulder into the shoulder joint of the wrenched arm of his opponent. And again. And again. Finally, âZenon Dylanâ slaps himself free, a big pink imprint showing across the cheek of Dabney, causing some fans to wince. The same can be said of his brother Douglas, who bares his teeth from the strike.
Richard Parker: Iâll be frankâŚI like tactical, skilled, no compromises wrestling. If Darin Zionâ
Nick Stuart: The card saysâ
Richard Parker: If Zagnuts is embracing a different style, a different approach, and it brings him more success, then hey, maybe the joke is on all of us.
Whereas most, again, might get rather angry, Dabney merely shakes it off, proffering a cheeky little smile, his arms wringing with frenetic energy. He rolls his shoulders, ready for more. âZenon Dylanâ, for his part, stares daggers through his opponent, before exclaiming for all to hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: Iâm NOT sorry. I HATE you.
Nick Stuart: Dabney might want to get going a little harder. âZenonâ has given him MULTIPLE openings to pour on offense and take advantageâ
Richard Parker: And this is where Iâm going to loathe this kid, I can tell. From what Iâve seen, from what Iâve heard, heâs a staunch optimist. Someone who gives it his all and puts up the mythical good fight. Yeah. That works real good. Until Ivan Stanislav is grinding your skull into powder on the mat and laughing at how your morals didnât save you from your fate.
Doubleday once again engages, but is hit with a clothesline by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan. The blow doesnât take him off his feet, so âDylanâ decides to do another. Doubleday seems enthralled with the blows, even though heâs getting backed up by them. Maybe itâs a clothesline exchange? He charges forward himself in good spirits.
And as he does, he takes a tumble from a drop kick.
Richard Parker: And is RIGHT on cueâŚ
Doubleday quickly gets to his feet after being struck so brutally, coming back with some fire as he fires off a few punches of his own, clocking âZenon Dylanâ. However, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan comes back with a right of his own. They switch blows for a good couple of seconds, but it is Doubleday sending last punch that lands on the right temple of âDylanâ, sending him to the mat.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday picking âZenonââŚ
Doubleday picks up âZenon Dylanâ, setting him up for a vertical suplex. He grabs him by the trunks, picking him up straight in the air and they both land hard on the mat. Doubleday quickly gets back to his feet not wanting to let âZenonâ get ahead of him, dropping a crisp elbow on his opponent and covering.
ONE
TWO
NO!
An aggressive kickout means that both men are back to their feet. It doesnât last. The former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan shoves Doubleday forcefully to the canvas, dropping an elbow of his own, and then lifting Dabney to his feet and aggressive lashing him with a european uppercut. It doesnât help that âZenon Dylanâ goes for another, hitting it. Dabney goes and throws a punch, only to have it ducked. In the process? âZenonâ quickly hits a blow to the lower regions of Doubleday, sending him to the canvas yelping in pain.
Nick Stuart: And Turnbull in there, admonishing Zenon Dylan for what just transpiredâŚ
Richard Parker: And Zagnuts is doing the smart thing, saying it was accidental.
Turnbull is pushed away, gently, by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, who gets on the near turnbuckle and tries to get the Buffalo crowd going wild.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
He gives off a few claps.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
Another few claps.
The fans cheer.
The guidance of Mr. McMann is paying dividends!Just like he said they would! And âZenon Dylanâ can see it all before him. The dollars. The movie roles. The championships. Dominance in PRIME. What he canât see is Dabney Doubleday, standing behind him, hands on hips, waiting for this act to end. This Swell Fellaâ, he will not take any road considered low. And as âZenon Dylanâ drops from the corner, he turns around and audibly gasps at seeing his opponent right there in front of him.
Thatâs not the only reason he gasps.
Nick Stuart: OOOOH! Atomic drop! The Hot Seat!
Richard Parker: That DIDNâT look very nice Dabney! So much for sportsmanship in style.
Nick Stuart: And HEAVY OOOOOOH MY GOSH! WOOOOOW! IRISH WHIP INTO THE CORNER WITH ALL HE HAS!
Richard Parker: OkayâŚnow THAT was brutal!
Nick Stuart: He calls that The Miracle Whip, and good lord, it will TAKE a miracle for âZenon Dylanâ to not have broken his sternum from the way his chest collided with the corner turnbuckle!
Richard Parker: ZagnutsâŚheâsâŚoh man heâs coughing, heâs in real trouble here.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday coming forward, the loss of air from the Miracle WhipâŚoh! OH! Thatâs! Spider walk cattle mutilation! The Lazy Susan! And itâs locked!
âZenon Dylanâ struggles as best as he can, but he canât breathe. Nothing is worse than losing all air from you lungs. And with it overwhelming him, he has no choice but to tap.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER! BY SUUUUUBMISSION! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABNEY! DOOOOOOOOOOOUBLE! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Nick Stuart: And THAT is an interesting way to make a debut in PRIME!
Richard Parker: Kid looks strong. But with what we saw, I mean really, you can argue that Zagnuts wasnât sure of his own footing with all this. Crazy as it is, maybe if he tightens it upâŚ
Nick Stuart: In any event, Iâm being told we are being cut in byâŚoh lordâŚWON Action News?
Richard Parker: I sure hope we learn more about Nashville Hot Chicken tonight, especially in the land of the Buffalo Wing!
From the cold open, we come back to the ring. In the process, we notice that both men for this opening contest are already in the ring. Dabney Doubleday, debuting, and looking rather happy and chipper, stands in his corner, his little brother and manager, Douglas, is there to give him support. In the other corner? A garish and loud pink clad Darin Zion, though this time, with the words Zenon Dylan firmly ensconced on his tights.
Referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And 2024 in PRIME is OFFICIALLY underwayâŚ
Richard Parker: Year three of the ReVival. And despite what most would think, itâs always a pleasure, Nick.
For his part, Dabney Doubleday takes the center of the ring, his hand extended, a smile spread across his face. The earnest Doubleday holds no malice as he offers the handshake. For his part, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, raises his own hand, only to slap his opponentâs away.
Nick Stuart: Fair Play trying to show his sportsmanship and respect, but âZenon Dylanâ is having none of itâ
Richard Parker: Just like Iâm having none of this constant identity crisis. HE WAS AT COLOSSUS in the corner of Almasy Invitational winner Jonathan-Christopher Hall as âDrizzy Zâ! I didnât cut the checks for that event, but NickâŚtwo sell out nights in the Caesarâs Superdome.
Nick Stuart: RichardâŚ
Richard Parker: Iâm just sayingâŚif youâre resorting to Zagnut scraps after getting payoffs like that, then maybe you should never be allowed access to funds. Maybe a mommy or daddy figure needs to give you allowances so you can only burn small bits of money without going whole hog.
Nick Stuart: Going whole OinkersâŚ
Richard Parker: Stop trying to bring levity into this, Nicholas. This is like an argument to have âDylanâ be stuck in a reverse Macaulay Culkin situation.
As this has been going on, Doubleday and the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan HAVE been engaging. Doubleday looks for a tie up, but every time he tries to lock up, âDylanâ steps away, point to his own head in exaggerated taunts. Against most opponents, âZenonâ would be opening himself to be absolutely pounded into the dirt for his arrogance. Thankfully for his gray matter, heâs in the ring with One Swell Fellaâ.
Finally, they lock up, and when they do, Doubleday quickly gets hold and wrenches at the arm.
Nick Stuart: No matter what the case may be, given the relationship that still exists between PRIME and Missouri Valley Wrestling, I imagine Ray McAvay is none too pleased with what he is seeing here.
Richard Parker: Well, I canât imagine either. Look, McAvay runs an interesting little ship with MVW, and I mean, look at Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear. Itâs got a homely, people of Wal-Mart vibe stitched in its DNAâŚbut theyâre polite enough rednecks.
With the arm wrench, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan starts hopping about, exclaiming to all that can hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: THIS IS BORING! ENTERTAINMENT! SPORTS AND ENTERTAINMENT!
Nick Stuart: Seeing the âbrillianceâ of a rival of his in Mr. McMann on the airâŚI do have to wonder if it makes sense to have allowed it, given that relationship. Then again, to be clear, âZenon Dylanâ is facing off against a protege of Lindsay Troy. A hungry up and comer getting his first real taste of exposure after coming through the southern independent wrestling sceneâŚ
As the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan seems more worried about sports entertaining than he does the arm wrench, he is given reason to feel different, as Doubleday slams his shoulder into the shoulder joint of the wrenched arm of his opponent. And again. And again. Finally, âZenon Dylanâ slaps himself free, a big pink imprint showing across the cheek of Dabney, causing some fans to wince. The same can be said of his brother Douglas, who bares his teeth from the strike.
Richard Parker: Iâll be frankâŚI like tactical, skilled, no compromises wrestling. If Darin Zionâ
Nick Stuart: The card saysâ
Richard Parker: If Zagnuts is embracing a different style, a different approach, and it brings him more success, then hey, maybe the joke is on all of us.
Whereas most, again, might get rather angry, Dabney merely shakes it off, proffering a cheeky little smile, his arms wringing with frenetic energy. He rolls his shoulders, ready for more. âZenon Dylanâ, for his part, stares daggers through his opponent, before exclaiming for all to hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: Iâm NOT sorry. I HATE you.
Nick Stuart: Dabney might want to get going a little harder. âZenonâ has given him MULTIPLE openings to pour on offense and take advantageâ
Richard Parker: And this is where Iâm going to loathe this kid, I can tell. From what Iâve seen, from what Iâve heard, heâs a staunch optimist. Someone who gives it his all and puts up the mythical good fight. Yeah. That works real good. Until Ivan Stanislav is grinding your skull into powder on the mat and laughing at how your morals didnât save you from your fate.
Doubleday once again engages, but is hit with a clothesline by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan. The blow doesnât take him off his feet, so âDylanâ decides to do another. Doubleday seems enthralled with the blows, even though heâs getting backed up by them. Maybe itâs a clothesline exchange? He charges forward himself in good spirits.
And as he does, he takes a tumble from a drop kick.
Richard Parker: And is RIGHT on cueâŚ
Doubleday quickly gets to his feet after being struck so brutally, coming back with some fire as he fires off a few punches of his own, clocking âZenon Dylanâ. However, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan comes back with a right of his own. They switch blows for a good couple of seconds, but it is Doubleday sending last punch that lands on the right temple of âDylanâ, sending him to the mat.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday picking âZenonââŚ
Doubleday picks up âZenon Dylanâ, setting him up for a vertical suplex. He grabs him by the trunks, picking him up straight in the air and they both land hard on the mat. Doubleday quickly gets back to his feet not wanting to let âZenonâ get ahead of him, dropping a crisp elbow on his opponent and covering.
ONE
TWO
NO!
An aggressive kickout means that both men are back to their feet. It doesnât last. The former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan shoves Doubleday forcefully to the canvas, dropping an elbow of his own, and then lifting Dabney to his feet and aggressive lashing him with a european uppercut. It doesnât help that âZenon Dylanâ goes for another, hitting it. Dabney goes and throws a punch, only to have it ducked. In the process? âZenonâ quickly hits a blow to the lower regions of Doubleday, sending him to the canvas yelping in pain.
Nick Stuart: And Turnbull in there, admonishing Zenon Dylan for what just transpiredâŚ
Richard Parker: And Zagnuts is doing the smart thing, saying it was accidental.
Turnbull is pushed away, gently, by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, who gets on the near turnbuckle and tries to get the Buffalo crowd going wild.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
He gives off a few claps.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
Another few claps.
The fans cheer.
The guidance of Mr. McMann is paying dividends!Just like he said they would! And âZenon Dylanâ can see it all before him. The dollars. The movie roles. The championships. Dominance in PRIME. What he canât see is Dabney Doubleday, standing behind him, hands on hips, waiting for this act to end. This Swell Fellaâ, he will not take any road considered low. And as âZenon Dylanâ drops from the corner, he turns around and audibly gasps at seeing his opponent right there in front of him.
Thatâs not the only reason he gasps.
Nick Stuart: OOOOH! Atomic drop! The Hot Seat!
Richard Parker: That DIDNâT look very nice Dabney! So much for sportsmanship in style.
Nick Stuart: And HEAVY OOOOOOH MY GOSH! WOOOOOW! IRISH WHIP INTO THE CORNER WITH ALL HE HAS!
Richard Parker: OkayâŚnow THAT was brutal!
Nick Stuart: He calls that The Miracle Whip, and good lord, it will TAKE a miracle for âZenon Dylanâ to not have broken his sternum from the way his chest collided with the corner turnbuckle!
Richard Parker: ZagnutsâŚheâsâŚoh man heâs coughing, heâs in real trouble here.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday coming forward, the loss of air from the Miracle WhipâŚoh! OH! Thatâs! Spider walk cattle mutilation! The Lazy Susan! And itâs locked!
âZenon Dylanâ struggles as best as he can, but he canât breathe. Nothing is worse than losing all air from you lungs. And with it overwhelming him, he has no choice but to tap.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER! BY SUUUUUBMISSION! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABNEY! DOOOOOOOOOOOUBLE! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Nick Stuart: And THAT is an interesting way to make a debut in PRIME!
Richard Parker: Kid looks strong. But with what we saw, I mean really, you can argue that Zagnuts wasnât sure of his own footing with all this. Crazy as it is, maybe if he tightens it upâŚ
Nick Stuart: In any event, Iâm being told we are being cut in byâŚoh lordâŚWON Action News?
Richard Parker: I sure hope we learn more about Nashville Hot Chicken tonight, especially in the land of the Buffalo Wing!
From the cold open, we come back to the ring. In the process, we notice that both men for this opening contest are already in the ring. Dabney Doubleday, debuting, and looking rather happy and chipper, stands in his corner, his little brother and manager, Douglas, is there to give him support. In the other corner? A garish and loud pink clad Darin Zion, though this time, with the words Zenon Dylan firmly ensconced on his tights.
Referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And 2024 in PRIME is OFFICIALLY underwayâŚ
Richard Parker: Year three of the ReVival. And despite what most would think, itâs always a pleasure, Nick.
For his part, Dabney Doubleday takes the center of the ring, his hand extended, a smile spread across his face. The earnest Doubleday holds no malice as he offers the handshake. For his part, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, raises his own hand, only to slap his opponentâs away.
Nick Stuart: Fair Play trying to show his sportsmanship and respect, but âZenon Dylanâ is having none of itâ
Richard Parker: Just like Iâm having none of this constant identity crisis. HE WAS AT COLOSSUS in the corner of Almasy Invitational winner Jonathan-Christopher Hall as âDrizzy Zâ! I didnât cut the checks for that event, but NickâŚtwo sell out nights in the Caesarâs Superdome.
Nick Stuart: RichardâŚ
Richard Parker: Iâm just sayingâŚif youâre resorting to Zagnut scraps after getting payoffs like that, then maybe you should never be allowed access to funds. Maybe a mommy or daddy figure needs to give you allowances so you can only burn small bits of money without going whole hog.
Nick Stuart: Going whole OinkersâŚ
Richard Parker: Stop trying to bring levity into this, Nicholas. This is like an argument to have âDylanâ be stuck in a reverse Macaulay Culkin situation.
As this has been going on, Doubleday and the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan HAVE been engaging. Doubleday looks for a tie up, but every time he tries to lock up, âDylanâ steps away, point to his own head in exaggerated taunts. Against most opponents, âZenonâ would be opening himself to be absolutely pounded into the dirt for his arrogance. Thankfully for his gray matter, heâs in the ring with One Swell Fellaâ.
Finally, they lock up, and when they do, Doubleday quickly gets hold and wrenches at the arm.
Nick Stuart: No matter what the case may be, given the relationship that still exists between PRIME and Missouri Valley Wrestling, I imagine Ray McAvay is none too pleased with what he is seeing here.
Richard Parker: Well, I canât imagine either. Look, McAvay runs an interesting little ship with MVW, and I mean, look at Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear. Itâs got a homely, people of Wal-Mart vibe stitched in its DNAâŚbut theyâre polite enough rednecks.
With the arm wrench, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan starts hopping about, exclaiming to all that can hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: THIS IS BORING! ENTERTAINMENT! SPORTS AND ENTERTAINMENT!
Nick Stuart: Seeing the âbrillianceâ of a rival of his in Mr. McMann on the airâŚI do have to wonder if it makes sense to have allowed it, given that relationship. Then again, to be clear, âZenon Dylanâ is facing off against a protege of Lindsay Troy. A hungry up and comer getting his first real taste of exposure after coming through the southern independent wrestling sceneâŚ
As the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan seems more worried about sports entertaining than he does the arm wrench, he is given reason to feel different, as Doubleday slams his shoulder into the shoulder joint of the wrenched arm of his opponent. And again. And again. Finally, âZenon Dylanâ slaps himself free, a big pink imprint showing across the cheek of Dabney, causing some fans to wince. The same can be said of his brother Douglas, who bares his teeth from the strike.
Richard Parker: Iâll be frankâŚI like tactical, skilled, no compromises wrestling. If Darin Zionâ
Nick Stuart: The card saysâ
Richard Parker: If Zagnuts is embracing a different style, a different approach, and it brings him more success, then hey, maybe the joke is on all of us.
Whereas most, again, might get rather angry, Dabney merely shakes it off, proffering a cheeky little smile, his arms wringing with frenetic energy. He rolls his shoulders, ready for more. âZenon Dylanâ, for his part, stares daggers through his opponent, before exclaiming for all to hear.
âZenon Dylanâ: Iâm NOT sorry. I HATE you.
Nick Stuart: Dabney might want to get going a little harder. âZenonâ has given him MULTIPLE openings to pour on offense and take advantageâ
Richard Parker: And this is where Iâm going to loathe this kid, I can tell. From what Iâve seen, from what Iâve heard, heâs a staunch optimist. Someone who gives it his all and puts up the mythical good fight. Yeah. That works real good. Until Ivan Stanislav is grinding your skull into powder on the mat and laughing at how your morals didnât save you from your fate.
Doubleday once again engages, but is hit with a clothesline by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan. The blow doesnât take him off his feet, so âDylanâ decides to do another. Doubleday seems enthralled with the blows, even though heâs getting backed up by them. Maybe itâs a clothesline exchange? He charges forward himself in good spirits.
And as he does, he takes a tumble from a drop kick.
Richard Parker: And is RIGHT on cueâŚ
Doubleday quickly gets to his feet after being struck so brutally, coming back with some fire as he fires off a few punches of his own, clocking âZenon Dylanâ. However, the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan comes back with a right of his own. They switch blows for a good couple of seconds, but it is Doubleday sending last punch that lands on the right temple of âDylanâ, sending him to the mat.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday picking âZenonââŚ
Doubleday picks up âZenon Dylanâ, setting him up for a vertical suplex. He grabs him by the trunks, picking him up straight in the air and they both land hard on the mat. Doubleday quickly gets back to his feet not wanting to let âZenonâ get ahead of him, dropping a crisp elbow on his opponent and covering.
ONE
TWO
NO!
An aggressive kickout means that both men are back to their feet. It doesnât last. The former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan shoves Doubleday forcefully to the canvas, dropping an elbow of his own, and then lifting Dabney to his feet and aggressive lashing him with a european uppercut. It doesnât help that âZenon Dylanâ goes for another, hitting it. Dabney goes and throws a punch, only to have it ducked. In the process? âZenonâ quickly hits a blow to the lower regions of Doubleday, sending him to the canvas yelping in pain.
Nick Stuart: And Turnbull in there, admonishing Zenon Dylan for what just transpiredâŚ
Richard Parker: And Zagnuts is doing the smart thing, saying it was accidental.
Turnbull is pushed away, gently, by the former Darin Zion/Wrestler X/Timmy and now apparently Zenon Dylan, who gets on the near turnbuckle and tries to get the Buffalo crowd going wild.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
He gives off a few claps.
âZenon Dylanâ: SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
Another few claps.
The fans cheer.
The guidance of Mr. McMann is paying dividends!Just like he said they would! And âZenon Dylanâ can see it all before him. The dollars. The movie roles. The championships. Dominance in PRIME. What he canât see is Dabney Doubleday, standing behind him, hands on hips, waiting for this act to end. This Swell Fellaâ, he will not take any road considered low. And as âZenon Dylanâ drops from the corner, he turns around and audibly gasps at seeing his opponent right there in front of him.
Thatâs not the only reason he gasps.
Nick Stuart: OOOOH! Atomic drop! The Hot Seat!
Richard Parker: That DIDNâT look very nice Dabney! So much for sportsmanship in style.
Nick Stuart: And HEAVY OOOOOOH MY GOSH! WOOOOOW! IRISH WHIP INTO THE CORNER WITH ALL HE HAS!
Richard Parker: OkayâŚnow THAT was brutal!
Nick Stuart: He calls that The Miracle Whip, and good lord, it will TAKE a miracle for âZenon Dylanâ to not have broken his sternum from the way his chest collided with the corner turnbuckle!
Richard Parker: ZagnutsâŚheâsâŚoh man heâs coughing, heâs in real trouble here.
Nick Stuart: Doubleday coming forward, the loss of air from the Miracle WhipâŚoh! OH! Thatâs! Spider walk cattle mutilation! The Lazy Susan! And itâs locked!
âZenon Dylanâ struggles as best as he can, but he canât breathe. Nothing is worse than losing all air from you lungs. And with it overwhelming him, he has no choice but to tap.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER! BY SUUUUUBMISSION! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABNEY! DOOOOOOOOOOOUBLE! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Nick Stuart: And THAT is an interesting way to make a debut in PRIME!
Richard Parker: Kid looks strong. But with what we saw, I mean really, you can argue that Zagnuts wasnât sure of his own footing with all this. Crazy as it is, maybe if he tightens it upâŚ
Nick Stuart: In any event, Iâm being told we are being cut in byâŚoh lordâŚWON Action News?
Richard Parker: I sure hope we learn more about Nashville Hot Chicken tonight, especially in the land of the Buffalo Wing!
You know who doesnât need a cold opening?
You know who is above needing the golden segment 21a, if such a thing even exists?
Oh you know who it is.
That old familiar powerful news music hits completely with a high paced beat and sexy sax saxing all up on this theme. You canât see it but you know there is some sweaty, shirtless dude pouring all his pain and pleasure into zootinâ and tootinâ!
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM
The words flash across the screen in bold black letters against a stark white background. This could be a Finishâs art studio production, beware!
Time to dive into the team!
Ulsa N. Couth, Weather
An anime version of U.N. Couth done in the modern Shonen style can be seen standing in front of a vibrantly colored weather map. Couth is decked out in a rich red, black and gold outfit. The camera pans around her as she moves her arms through the air as though she was some kind of magical old woman. Lighting and wind, rain and snow explode from her weather controlling hands as the violent powers tear the studio apart.
Violent Purple, Sports
Now it was time for Violent as she appears in the more subdued stylings of the 1980s ala Fists of the North Star. She is dramatically colored, her rich, deep red hair popping out against the dark shadows that hide away a lot of her facial features. She is attacked by a generic basketball player, football lineman and a Canadian curler, each wielding their chosen sport ball/rock. Violent quickly dispatches them with ultraviolet punches and kicks highlighted with bright flashes of light!
Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, Herald
It seems that the Herald is getting the full Shoujo treatment here! With unmatched zeal the lean, youthful, masked-up Herald appears with long, thin limbs and a painfully angular face. Two wide, cheerful eyes beg you to either love him or drown him in a lake, such is the abomination that is the Sub-Marquis. Things get even more intense when the anime Herald suddenly vanishes in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced with a sharp toothed chibi Herald.
Max Kael?, Lead Anchor
Normal, regular old Max Kael is seen sitting behind the news desk. He sees a small, white wand with an M on the top of it. Max looks either way, checking his surroundings before picking up the wand with curiosity.
The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM theme subsides as we get a dazzling, high tempo transformation theme!
Max is completely covered in shimmering pink and blue light! As the scene spirals around him pieces of a black suit begin to manifest on parts of his body. Energy pours from the newly placed articles of clothing filling the newsroom with magical newsman power! This continues until at last Maxâs #d60000 red tie crackles into place around his neck. We get a smash zoom out as News Sailor Max poses in his elaborate Sailor Moon style News Anchor suit, the white wand held over his head proudly.
Somewhere in the background an owl is zapped by magical News energy.
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM GOOOOOO!
We are returned to the non-animated WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage in the parking lot of the Keybank Arena. Its brightly lit news desk is manned by the lead anchor himself, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael in his black suit and red tie.
Max Kael!: Welcome to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, Iâm lead anchor, Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Letâs get straight to the REAL news!
And just like that, BOOM!, a new camera angle as the image of Crash Jackson appears over Maxâs left shoulder. He looks sad and lonely.
Max Kael!: Since Colossus my good friend and bro, Crash Jackson, has been MIA. His disappearance is unusual as he helped me, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, achieve even greater heights in my PRIME career when he counted the one, two, three! Instead of celebrating with his bro, Crash was seen leaving the arena alone. So where did you go buddy? I hope to see you later, bro, so we can talk finally. Please..
The sickly sweet smile on Maxâs face melts away for a moment into a very unpleasant looking sneer. The kind of sneer that involves every part of the face as the muscles twist themselves like angry contortionists.
Max Kael!: âŚdonât make me come looking for you.
His darkened expression vanishes as he falls back into his news man look, fake smile and all.
Max Kael!: Up next, the weather!
Camera three lights up as we change scenes to a weather map of the United States. Ulsa N. Couth stands there looking like the former Queen of England in her little blue outfit complete with felt Homburg hat. Unlike the Queen, Couth isnât putting on airs, instead she scowls unhappily at the camera.
U.N.Couth: So I keep hearing the name War Games thrown around. So I checked Bing and Iâm told that a War Games is some kind of multi-person, multi-ring cage match involving teams. What the fuck is it with you people and your obsession with escalating matches by just adding more of the same parts to it!? Whatever, you fucking marks, I donât give a shit what you do so long as weâre getting paid for it when our client is picked.
Couth steps to the side as the weather map of the United States begins to get covered in storms that are raining⌠money.
U.N.Couth: With his incredible record and impressive showings since his debut, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael is one of the hottest free agency talents in PRIME! And after tonight, when he leaves that swamp donkey, Paxton Ray, bloodied and abandoned like a prom night tampon, his value will be even greater! Business is business and Iâm here to say that your future Intense Champion is ready to take your money and carry your team to victory!
She pauses for a moment, remembering something. Whatever it is, the memory haunts her eyes like a hot box fart.
U.N.Couth: Oh, and if that mustache haunting the corpse of Stalinâs favorite communist cuck, Alexei Russlan, wants what my client has earned he can beat it or cheat him out of him like the rest of us. Welcome to Capitalism, shitbag.
On the map behind Couth, the money storms gather into a massive hurricane that takes the shape of Maxâs smiling face. This leads to a transition back to the real Max Kael behind his news desk. He looks a little nervous about Couthâs comments directed at an actual Russian operator.
Max Kael!: Oh boy do I love radiation poisoning.. And now, an important message from⌠The HERALD!
Intense club music plays as the Herald runs out onto the stage. The lights begin flashing as the stage floor comes alive with colors. With his banner in one hand, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington cuts a rug. The music shifts from a hard club hit to a remix of ABBAâs âMoney, Money, Money.â
âMoney, money, money! Must be funny! In a rich manâs World!â
I wouldnât call it good dancing but the Herald manages to cut a rug with his awkward, unsophisticated movements. Really itâs more of an interpretive dance that wealthy white people are able to interpret. Everyone else is left rather in the dark but still, itâs provocative! Once finished, the Herald bows and dashes off screen again while the stage returns to its normal appearance.
Max Kael!: Inspiring! Before we move onto our final story of the night, I just want to take a moment to invite Joe Fontaine and Sid Philips of the Glue Boys to participate in the Emmy winning segment, WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?!, on ReVival 42! Hope to see you both here. And so⌠Now? Using the power of editing, we shall take to the field for our first WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE, the elusive, the mysterious.. The bird lady herself..
Max winks at the screen before snapping his fingers. The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage and Max Kael vanish into a sea of black. This place of darkness is only present for a moment before we are spat back out into the cold, unfeeling world. Max is seated in a chair opposite a desk.
Behind that desk?
Max Kael!: Lindsay Troy!
Yes, indeed, the Unquestionable One has breached the STEEL DOOR OF DOOM~! and has made himself quite comfy inside the office of the President of PRIME. His former HOW Group of Death stablemate stares at him, perturbed, her hands folded in front of her mouth. Wade Elliott stands just off to her left against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Lindsay Troy: Max. Itâs about time.
The lead anchor of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM looks confused for a moment before checking his watch.
Max Kael!: My Herald! Are we late?!
He holds his watch up and waves the Herald over. The youthful Primrose-Farthington stares at the watch for a moment before nodding toward Max.
The Herald: The watch is correct! The Great and Glorious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is here on time, as per the original agreed upon time!
The Herald has no idea what he is talking about but he spits with fiery confidence and well earned ignorance. Nodding to himself, pleased with the result, Max turns his attention back to Lindsay Troy.
Max Kael!: We are here on time, I have no idea what you are talking about President Troy! Shall we proceed with this unprecedented interview then!?
Lindsay lifts an eyebrow. Wade stares at the Herald and his ridiculous fucking outfit.
Wade Elliott: âŚwhere tâhell dâya even buy that kinda outfitâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Iâve wondered about that too. And what interview are you talking about, Max? I was told you were finally ready to sit down and tell me whatâs been going on.
The Herald: This is vintage!
The Herald indicates the hotness of the outfit but licking his thumb and making a sizzling noise as he presses it against his posterior.
She casts her gaze over to the Sub-Marquis.
Lindsay Troy: I watched Jack Harmen cave your skull in with a rock, Bentley. What the hell?
Unhappy that his Herald might get more attention than himself, Max redirects the conversation.
Max Kael!: Yes! Exactly! An interview for the acclaimed WON ACTION NEWS TEAM segment WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE. So, President Troy and clearly a living-abilist, who are you and why are you here? Other than making insane accusations of being dead which, clearly, the Herald and I are not.
The Herald quickly pulls out a small desk flag and pole with the North Kaelrean flag proudly displayed on it. The young man begins to hunt for a place to place it, giggling to himself as he does.
Lindsay Troy: This is insane. If youâre really Max, you know who I am. We were in a stable together. We fought against each other, multiple times. You shot me with a crossbow! I still have the scar!
Wade Elliott: Thatâs what that scar is from? A god damn crossbow?Â
Max Kael!: And what a collection of scars she has, I just hope she remembers who gave her the best ones.
Max grins a wide, toothy and entirely unpleasant smile.
Lindsay Troy: I was in the medical tent that night at Alcatraz. I eulogized you for Christâs sake. Even if youâre not the Max Kael I know, I donât think youâd be dumb enough to not know all this anyway. And you know why Iâm here, beyond being the person who signs your paychecks. Because despite you not wanting to be my best buddy back then, you were the best buddy of someone Iâm close to now. That means something to me.
The mentioning that he was best buddies with somebody she is close to seems to darken Maxâs otherwise jovial demeanor. The Herald pauses in his attempt to place the flag when he realizes what Troy has done. The Unquestionable Kaelâs eyes narrow as he leans back in the chair.
Max Kael!: You should be careful of friends, President Troy. I used to have friends and I ended up dead because of them.
Though his lips are not open the sound of Max grinding his teeth together can be heard before his dour expression lightens back up like a cool Winter morning.
Max Kael!: Anyway, enough of that sad talk of death and doom, weâre in PRIME now and regardless of whatever happened in the past, Iâm here. Iâm sure Iâll leave enough bio-hazardous waste in the ring later tonight, heh-heh, you can scrape some off the ring and send it in for a DNA test if you want but, if you really, really know me, then you already know the answer to this question you keep asking me. Why else would I be called Unquestionably Max Kael!?
The Herald finally settles on placing the flag on the corner of Lindsayâs desk closest to Wade.
Lindsay Troy: Why else indeed.
She looks at the flag and frowns.
Lindsay Troy: Did you have any more questions, Max?
Max Kael!: Just aâŚA warning more than a question, President Troy.
The Lord of Kaelsalvania rises from his chair as the Herald prances behind him like a good lad.
Max Kael!: Best to stay out of my business. Best not to stay..glued.. to your friends.. Iâve got much better aim these days with two eyes. Heh-heh..
Having had quite enough, The Bad Dog unfolds his arms and takes a step toward Max, ushering him out of the office.
Wade Elliott: Anâ youâd be smart to git to goinâ if yâwanna keep it that way. Interviewâs over, son.
Max winks at Lindsay before he slowly starts to back out of the room wringing his hands together like a Vaudeville villain. If only Xam Leak and his magnificent mustache were here.
As Max and the rest of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM file their way out the door, Wade turns a confused set of blue eyes toward the Queen of the Ring.
Wade Elliott: Who thâhellâve you been hanginâ âround all those years I was gone??
Lindsay takes the North Kaelrean flag and turns it over in her hands.
Lindsay Troy: Iâve asked myself that same question.
On that unanswered note, letâs go elsewhere.
You know who doesnât need a cold opening?
You know who is above needing the golden segment 21a, if such a thing even exists?
Oh you know who it is.
That old familiar powerful news music hits completely with a high paced beat and sexy sax saxing all up on this theme. You canât see it but you know there is some sweaty, shirtless dude pouring all his pain and pleasure into zootinâ and tootinâ!
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM
The words flash across the screen in bold black letters against a stark white background. This could be a Finishâs art studio production, beware!
Time to dive into the team!
Ulsa N. Couth, Weather
An anime version of U.N. Couth done in the modern Shonen style can be seen standing in front of a vibrantly colored weather map. Couth is decked out in a rich red, black and gold outfit. The camera pans around her as she moves her arms through the air as though she was some kind of magical old woman. Lighting and wind, rain and snow explode from her weather controlling hands as the violent powers tear the studio apart.
Violent Purple, Sports
Now it was time for Violent as she appears in the more subdued stylings of the 1980s ala Fists of the North Star. She is dramatically colored, her rich, deep red hair popping out against the dark shadows that hide away a lot of her facial features. She is attacked by a generic basketball player, football lineman and a Canadian curler, each wielding their chosen sport ball/rock. Violent quickly dispatches them with ultraviolet punches and kicks highlighted with bright flashes of light!
Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, Herald
It seems that the Herald is getting the full Shoujo treatment here! With unmatched zeal the lean, youthful, masked-up Herald appears with long, thin limbs and a painfully angular face. Two wide, cheerful eyes beg you to either love him or drown him in a lake, such is the abomination that is the Sub-Marquis. Things get even more intense when the anime Herald suddenly vanishes in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced with a sharp toothed chibi Herald.
Max Kael?, Lead Anchor
Normal, regular old Max Kael is seen sitting behind the news desk. He sees a small, white wand with an M on the top of it. Max looks either way, checking his surroundings before picking up the wand with curiosity.
The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM theme subsides as we get a dazzling, high tempo transformation theme!
Max is completely covered in shimmering pink and blue light! As the scene spirals around him pieces of a black suit begin to manifest on parts of his body. Energy pours from the newly placed articles of clothing filling the newsroom with magical newsman power! This continues until at last Maxâs #d60000 red tie crackles into place around his neck. We get a smash zoom out as News Sailor Max poses in his elaborate Sailor Moon style News Anchor suit, the white wand held over his head proudly.
Somewhere in the background an owl is zapped by magical News energy.
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM GOOOOOO!
We are returned to the non-animated WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage in the parking lot of the Keybank Arena. Its brightly lit news desk is manned by the lead anchor himself, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael in his black suit and red tie.
Max Kael!: Welcome to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, Iâm lead anchor, Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Letâs get straight to the REAL news!
And just like that, BOOM!, a new camera angle as the image of Crash Jackson appears over Maxâs left shoulder. He looks sad and lonely.
Max Kael!: Since Colossus my good friend and bro, Crash Jackson, has been MIA. His disappearance is unusual as he helped me, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, achieve even greater heights in my PRIME career when he counted the one, two, three! Instead of celebrating with his bro, Crash was seen leaving the arena alone. So where did you go buddy? I hope to see you later, bro, so we can talk finally. Please..
The sickly sweet smile on Maxâs face melts away for a moment into a very unpleasant looking sneer. The kind of sneer that involves every part of the face as the muscles twist themselves like angry contortionists.
Max Kael!: âŚdonât make me come looking for you.
His darkened expression vanishes as he falls back into his news man look, fake smile and all.
Max Kael!: Up next, the weather!
Camera three lights up as we change scenes to a weather map of the United States. Ulsa N. Couth stands there looking like the former Queen of England in her little blue outfit complete with felt Homburg hat. Unlike the Queen, Couth isnât putting on airs, instead she scowls unhappily at the camera.
U.N.Couth: So I keep hearing the name War Games thrown around. So I checked Bing and Iâm told that a War Games is some kind of multi-person, multi-ring cage match involving teams. What the fuck is it with you people and your obsession with escalating matches by just adding more of the same parts to it!? Whatever, you fucking marks, I donât give a shit what you do so long as weâre getting paid for it when our client is picked.
Couth steps to the side as the weather map of the United States begins to get covered in storms that are raining⌠money.
U.N.Couth: With his incredible record and impressive showings since his debut, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael is one of the hottest free agency talents in PRIME! And after tonight, when he leaves that swamp donkey, Paxton Ray, bloodied and abandoned like a prom night tampon, his value will be even greater! Business is business and Iâm here to say that your future Intense Champion is ready to take your money and carry your team to victory!
She pauses for a moment, remembering something. Whatever it is, the memory haunts her eyes like a hot box fart.
U.N.Couth: Oh, and if that mustache haunting the corpse of Stalinâs favorite communist cuck, Alexei Russlan, wants what my client has earned he can beat it or cheat him out of him like the rest of us. Welcome to Capitalism, shitbag.
On the map behind Couth, the money storms gather into a massive hurricane that takes the shape of Maxâs smiling face. This leads to a transition back to the real Max Kael behind his news desk. He looks a little nervous about Couthâs comments directed at an actual Russian operator.
Max Kael!: Oh boy do I love radiation poisoning.. And now, an important message from⌠The HERALD!
Intense club music plays as the Herald runs out onto the stage. The lights begin flashing as the stage floor comes alive with colors. With his banner in one hand, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington cuts a rug. The music shifts from a hard club hit to a remix of ABBAâs âMoney, Money, Money.â
âMoney, money, money! Must be funny! In a rich manâs World!â
I wouldnât call it good dancing but the Herald manages to cut a rug with his awkward, unsophisticated movements. Really itâs more of an interpretive dance that wealthy white people are able to interpret. Everyone else is left rather in the dark but still, itâs provocative! Once finished, the Herald bows and dashes off screen again while the stage returns to its normal appearance.
Max Kael!: Inspiring! Before we move onto our final story of the night, I just want to take a moment to invite Joe Fontaine and Sid Philips of the Glue Boys to participate in the Emmy winning segment, WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?!, on ReVival 42! Hope to see you both here. And so⌠Now? Using the power of editing, we shall take to the field for our first WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE, the elusive, the mysterious.. The bird lady herself..
Max winks at the screen before snapping his fingers. The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage and Max Kael vanish into a sea of black. This place of darkness is only present for a moment before we are spat back out into the cold, unfeeling world. Max is seated in a chair opposite a desk.
Behind that desk?
Max Kael!: Lindsay Troy!
Yes, indeed, the Unquestionable One has breached the STEEL DOOR OF DOOM~! and has made himself quite comfy inside the office of the President of PRIME. His former HOW Group of Death stablemate stares at him, perturbed, her hands folded in front of her mouth. Wade Elliott stands just off to her left against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Lindsay Troy: Max. Itâs about time.
The lead anchor of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM looks confused for a moment before checking his watch.
Max Kael!: My Herald! Are we late?!
He holds his watch up and waves the Herald over. The youthful Primrose-Farthington stares at the watch for a moment before nodding toward Max.
The Herald: The watch is correct! The Great and Glorious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is here on time, as per the original agreed upon time!
The Herald has no idea what he is talking about but he spits with fiery confidence and well earned ignorance. Nodding to himself, pleased with the result, Max turns his attention back to Lindsay Troy.
Max Kael!: We are here on time, I have no idea what you are talking about President Troy! Shall we proceed with this unprecedented interview then!?
Lindsay lifts an eyebrow. Wade stares at the Herald and his ridiculous fucking outfit.
Wade Elliott: âŚwhere tâhell dâya even buy that kinda outfitâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Iâve wondered about that too. And what interview are you talking about, Max? I was told you were finally ready to sit down and tell me whatâs been going on.
The Herald: This is vintage!
The Herald indicates the hotness of the outfit but licking his thumb and making a sizzling noise as he presses it against his posterior.
She casts her gaze over to the Sub-Marquis.
Lindsay Troy: I watched Jack Harmen cave your skull in with a rock, Bentley. What the hell?
Unhappy that his Herald might get more attention than himself, Max redirects the conversation.
Max Kael!: Yes! Exactly! An interview for the acclaimed WON ACTION NEWS TEAM segment WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE. So, President Troy and clearly a living-abilist, who are you and why are you here? Other than making insane accusations of being dead which, clearly, the Herald and I are not.
The Herald quickly pulls out a small desk flag and pole with the North Kaelrean flag proudly displayed on it. The young man begins to hunt for a place to place it, giggling to himself as he does.
Lindsay Troy: This is insane. If youâre really Max, you know who I am. We were in a stable together. We fought against each other, multiple times. You shot me with a crossbow! I still have the scar!
Wade Elliott: Thatâs what that scar is from? A god damn crossbow?Â
Max Kael!: And what a collection of scars she has, I just hope she remembers who gave her the best ones.
Max grins a wide, toothy and entirely unpleasant smile.
Lindsay Troy: I was in the medical tent that night at Alcatraz. I eulogized you for Christâs sake. Even if youâre not the Max Kael I know, I donât think youâd be dumb enough to not know all this anyway. And you know why Iâm here, beyond being the person who signs your paychecks. Because despite you not wanting to be my best buddy back then, you were the best buddy of someone Iâm close to now. That means something to me.
The mentioning that he was best buddies with somebody she is close to seems to darken Maxâs otherwise jovial demeanor. The Herald pauses in his attempt to place the flag when he realizes what Troy has done. The Unquestionable Kaelâs eyes narrow as he leans back in the chair.
Max Kael!: You should be careful of friends, President Troy. I used to have friends and I ended up dead because of them.
Though his lips are not open the sound of Max grinding his teeth together can be heard before his dour expression lightens back up like a cool Winter morning.
Max Kael!: Anyway, enough of that sad talk of death and doom, weâre in PRIME now and regardless of whatever happened in the past, Iâm here. Iâm sure Iâll leave enough bio-hazardous waste in the ring later tonight, heh-heh, you can scrape some off the ring and send it in for a DNA test if you want but, if you really, really know me, then you already know the answer to this question you keep asking me. Why else would I be called Unquestionably Max Kael!?
The Herald finally settles on placing the flag on the corner of Lindsayâs desk closest to Wade.
Lindsay Troy: Why else indeed.
She looks at the flag and frowns.
Lindsay Troy: Did you have any more questions, Max?
Max Kael!: Just aâŚA warning more than a question, President Troy.
The Lord of Kaelsalvania rises from his chair as the Herald prances behind him like a good lad.
Max Kael!: Best to stay out of my business. Best not to stay..glued.. to your friends.. Iâve got much better aim these days with two eyes. Heh-heh..
Having had quite enough, The Bad Dog unfolds his arms and takes a step toward Max, ushering him out of the office.
Wade Elliott: Anâ youâd be smart to git to goinâ if yâwanna keep it that way. Interviewâs over, son.
Max winks at Lindsay before he slowly starts to back out of the room wringing his hands together like a Vaudeville villain. If only Xam Leak and his magnificent mustache were here.
As Max and the rest of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM file their way out the door, Wade turns a confused set of blue eyes toward the Queen of the Ring.
Wade Elliott: Who thâhellâve you been hanginâ âround all those years I was gone??
Lindsay takes the North Kaelrean flag and turns it over in her hands.
Lindsay Troy: Iâve asked myself that same question.
On that unanswered note, letâs go elsewhere.
You know who doesnât need a cold opening?
You know who is above needing the golden segment 21a, if such a thing even exists?
Oh you know who it is.
That old familiar powerful news music hits completely with a high paced beat and sexy sax saxing all up on this theme. You canât see it but you know there is some sweaty, shirtless dude pouring all his pain and pleasure into zootinâ and tootinâ!
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM
The words flash across the screen in bold black letters against a stark white background. This could be a Finishâs art studio production, beware!
Time to dive into the team!
Ulsa N. Couth, Weather
An anime version of U.N. Couth done in the modern Shonen style can be seen standing in front of a vibrantly colored weather map. Couth is decked out in a rich red, black and gold outfit. The camera pans around her as she moves her arms through the air as though she was some kind of magical old woman. Lighting and wind, rain and snow explode from her weather controlling hands as the violent powers tear the studio apart.
Violent Purple, Sports
Now it was time for Violent as she appears in the more subdued stylings of the 1980s ala Fists of the North Star. She is dramatically colored, her rich, deep red hair popping out against the dark shadows that hide away a lot of her facial features. She is attacked by a generic basketball player, football lineman and a Canadian curler, each wielding their chosen sport ball/rock. Violent quickly dispatches them with ultraviolet punches and kicks highlighted with bright flashes of light!
Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, Herald
It seems that the Herald is getting the full Shoujo treatment here! With unmatched zeal the lean, youthful, masked-up Herald appears with long, thin limbs and a painfully angular face. Two wide, cheerful eyes beg you to either love him or drown him in a lake, such is the abomination that is the Sub-Marquis. Things get even more intense when the anime Herald suddenly vanishes in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced with a sharp toothed chibi Herald.
Max Kael?, Lead Anchor
Normal, regular old Max Kael is seen sitting behind the news desk. He sees a small, white wand with an M on the top of it. Max looks either way, checking his surroundings before picking up the wand with curiosity.
The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM theme subsides as we get a dazzling, high tempo transformation theme!
Max is completely covered in shimmering pink and blue light! As the scene spirals around him pieces of a black suit begin to manifest on parts of his body. Energy pours from the newly placed articles of clothing filling the newsroom with magical newsman power! This continues until at last Maxâs #d60000 red tie crackles into place around his neck. We get a smash zoom out as News Sailor Max poses in his elaborate Sailor Moon style News Anchor suit, the white wand held over his head proudly.
Somewhere in the background an owl is zapped by magical News energy.
WON ACTION NEWS TEAM GOOOOOO!
We are returned to the non-animated WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage in the parking lot of the Keybank Arena. Its brightly lit news desk is manned by the lead anchor himself, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael in his black suit and red tie.
Max Kael!: Welcome to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, Iâm lead anchor, Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Letâs get straight to the REAL news!
And just like that, BOOM!, a new camera angle as the image of Crash Jackson appears over Maxâs left shoulder. He looks sad and lonely.
Max Kael!: Since Colossus my good friend and bro, Crash Jackson, has been MIA. His disappearance is unusual as he helped me, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, achieve even greater heights in my PRIME career when he counted the one, two, three! Instead of celebrating with his bro, Crash was seen leaving the arena alone. So where did you go buddy? I hope to see you later, bro, so we can talk finally. Please..
The sickly sweet smile on Maxâs face melts away for a moment into a very unpleasant looking sneer. The kind of sneer that involves every part of the face as the muscles twist themselves like angry contortionists.
Max Kael!: âŚdonât make me come looking for you.
His darkened expression vanishes as he falls back into his news man look, fake smile and all.
Max Kael!: Up next, the weather!
Camera three lights up as we change scenes to a weather map of the United States. Ulsa N. Couth stands there looking like the former Queen of England in her little blue outfit complete with felt Homburg hat. Unlike the Queen, Couth isnât putting on airs, instead she scowls unhappily at the camera.
U.N.Couth: So I keep hearing the name War Games thrown around. So I checked Bing and Iâm told that a War Games is some kind of multi-person, multi-ring cage match involving teams. What the fuck is it with you people and your obsession with escalating matches by just adding more of the same parts to it!? Whatever, you fucking marks, I donât give a shit what you do so long as weâre getting paid for it when our client is picked.
Couth steps to the side as the weather map of the United States begins to get covered in storms that are raining⌠money.
U.N.Couth: With his incredible record and impressive showings since his debut, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael is one of the hottest free agency talents in PRIME! And after tonight, when he leaves that swamp donkey, Paxton Ray, bloodied and abandoned like a prom night tampon, his value will be even greater! Business is business and Iâm here to say that your future Intense Champion is ready to take your money and carry your team to victory!
She pauses for a moment, remembering something. Whatever it is, the memory haunts her eyes like a hot box fart.
U.N.Couth: Oh, and if that mustache haunting the corpse of Stalinâs favorite communist cuck, Alexei Russlan, wants what my client has earned he can beat it or cheat him out of him like the rest of us. Welcome to Capitalism, shitbag.
On the map behind Couth, the money storms gather into a massive hurricane that takes the shape of Maxâs smiling face. This leads to a transition back to the real Max Kael behind his news desk. He looks a little nervous about Couthâs comments directed at an actual Russian operator.
Max Kael!: Oh boy do I love radiation poisoning.. And now, an important message from⌠The HERALD!
Intense club music plays as the Herald runs out onto the stage. The lights begin flashing as the stage floor comes alive with colors. With his banner in one hand, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington cuts a rug. The music shifts from a hard club hit to a remix of ABBAâs âMoney, Money, Money.â
âMoney, money, money! Must be funny! In a rich manâs World!â
I wouldnât call it good dancing but the Herald manages to cut a rug with his awkward, unsophisticated movements. Really itâs more of an interpretive dance that wealthy white people are able to interpret. Everyone else is left rather in the dark but still, itâs provocative! Once finished, the Herald bows and dashes off screen again while the stage returns to its normal appearance.
Max Kael!: Inspiring! Before we move onto our final story of the night, I just want to take a moment to invite Joe Fontaine and Sid Philips of the Glue Boys to participate in the Emmy winning segment, WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?!, on ReVival 42! Hope to see you both here. And so⌠Now? Using the power of editing, we shall take to the field for our first WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE, the elusive, the mysterious.. The bird lady herself..
Max winks at the screen before snapping his fingers. The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage and Max Kael vanish into a sea of black. This place of darkness is only present for a moment before we are spat back out into the cold, unfeeling world. Max is seated in a chair opposite a desk.
Behind that desk?
Max Kael!: Lindsay Troy!
Yes, indeed, the Unquestionable One has breached the STEEL DOOR OF DOOM~! and has made himself quite comfy inside the office of the President of PRIME. His former HOW Group of Death stablemate stares at him, perturbed, her hands folded in front of her mouth. Wade Elliott stands just off to her left against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Lindsay Troy: Max. Itâs about time.
The lead anchor of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM looks confused for a moment before checking his watch.
Max Kael!: My Herald! Are we late?!
He holds his watch up and waves the Herald over. The youthful Primrose-Farthington stares at the watch for a moment before nodding toward Max.
The Herald: The watch is correct! The Great and Glorious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is here on time, as per the original agreed upon time!
The Herald has no idea what he is talking about but he spits with fiery confidence and well earned ignorance. Nodding to himself, pleased with the result, Max turns his attention back to Lindsay Troy.
Max Kael!: We are here on time, I have no idea what you are talking about President Troy! Shall we proceed with this unprecedented interview then!?
Lindsay lifts an eyebrow. Wade stares at the Herald and his ridiculous fucking outfit.
Wade Elliott: âŚwhere tâhell dâya even buy that kinda outfitâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Iâve wondered about that too. And what interview are you talking about, Max? I was told you were finally ready to sit down and tell me whatâs been going on.
The Herald: This is vintage!
The Herald indicates the hotness of the outfit but licking his thumb and making a sizzling noise as he presses it against his posterior.
She casts her gaze over to the Sub-Marquis.
Lindsay Troy: I watched Jack Harmen cave your skull in with a rock, Bentley. What the hell?
Unhappy that his Herald might get more attention than himself, Max redirects the conversation.
Max Kael!: Yes! Exactly! An interview for the acclaimed WON ACTION NEWS TEAM segment WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE. So, President Troy and clearly a living-abilist, who are you and why are you here? Other than making insane accusations of being dead which, clearly, the Herald and I are not.
The Herald quickly pulls out a small desk flag and pole with the North Kaelrean flag proudly displayed on it. The young man begins to hunt for a place to place it, giggling to himself as he does.
Lindsay Troy: This is insane. If youâre really Max, you know who I am. We were in a stable together. We fought against each other, multiple times. You shot me with a crossbow! I still have the scar!
Wade Elliott: Thatâs what that scar is from? A god damn crossbow?Â
Max Kael!: And what a collection of scars she has, I just hope she remembers who gave her the best ones.
Max grins a wide, toothy and entirely unpleasant smile.
Lindsay Troy: I was in the medical tent that night at Alcatraz. I eulogized you for Christâs sake. Even if youâre not the Max Kael I know, I donât think youâd be dumb enough to not know all this anyway. And you know why Iâm here, beyond being the person who signs your paychecks. Because despite you not wanting to be my best buddy back then, you were the best buddy of someone Iâm close to now. That means something to me.
The mentioning that he was best buddies with somebody she is close to seems to darken Maxâs otherwise jovial demeanor. The Herald pauses in his attempt to place the flag when he realizes what Troy has done. The Unquestionable Kaelâs eyes narrow as he leans back in the chair.
Max Kael!: You should be careful of friends, President Troy. I used to have friends and I ended up dead because of them.
Though his lips are not open the sound of Max grinding his teeth together can be heard before his dour expression lightens back up like a cool Winter morning.
Max Kael!: Anyway, enough of that sad talk of death and doom, weâre in PRIME now and regardless of whatever happened in the past, Iâm here. Iâm sure Iâll leave enough bio-hazardous waste in the ring later tonight, heh-heh, you can scrape some off the ring and send it in for a DNA test if you want but, if you really, really know me, then you already know the answer to this question you keep asking me. Why else would I be called Unquestionably Max Kael!?
The Herald finally settles on placing the flag on the corner of Lindsayâs desk closest to Wade.
Lindsay Troy: Why else indeed.
She looks at the flag and frowns.
Lindsay Troy: Did you have any more questions, Max?
Max Kael!: Just aâŚA warning more than a question, President Troy.
The Lord of Kaelsalvania rises from his chair as the Herald prances behind him like a good lad.
Max Kael!: Best to stay out of my business. Best not to stay..glued.. to your friends.. Iâve got much better aim these days with two eyes. Heh-heh..
Having had quite enough, The Bad Dog unfolds his arms and takes a step toward Max, ushering him out of the office.
Wade Elliott: Anâ youâd be smart to git to goinâ if yâwanna keep it that way. Interviewâs over, son.
Max winks at Lindsay before he slowly starts to back out of the room wringing his hands together like a Vaudeville villain. If only Xam Leak and his magnificent mustache were here.
As Max and the rest of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM file their way out the door, Wade turns a confused set of blue eyes toward the Queen of the Ring.
Wade Elliott: Who thâhellâve you been hanginâ âround all those years I was gone??
Lindsay takes the North Kaelrean flag and turns it over in her hands.
Lindsay Troy: Iâve asked myself that same question.
On that unanswered note, letâs go elsewhere.
Joe Fontaine: Why do you have so many gifts?
Sid Phillips: I donât know. Itâs weird. What am I going to do with a novelty expandable ball and like four fidget spinners?
Joe Fontaine: I donât know, build a helicopter?
Sid Phillips: Why would I build a helicopter?
Joe Fontaine: Look, itâs the first thing I thought of when I heard all of those materials together, so I figured that someone out there wants you to build a quad copter.
Sid Phillips: The fuck is that?
Joe Fontaine: The future!
As the sounds of Joe and Sidâs always-odd banter carry on in the background, the scene opens to PRIMEâs prodigal son, fallen from grace. Hayes Hanlon, the Thresher of Hooves as FLAMBERGE called him months ago, stares off into the void within this apparent room backstage. Comfy couches, larger TV screens, and a mini bar make this space less of a locker room and more of a suite for the Glueminati.
Weâll call it the âGuite.â
No?
Weâll workshop it.
Sid Phillips: This all came from some place in South America. Or Africa. Or wherever the fuck, I donât know, I almost flunked geography.
Joe Fontaine: Itâs Guyana, but it doesnât have the decency to be French Guiana.
Joe may or may not understand that they have different spellings.
Joe Fontaine: What fans would you have in South America? Their toilets flush backwards there, thatâs weird.
Sid Phillips: I donât know, okay? I just want to know what Iâm going to do with this novelty sweater with boxing gloves built into them. Iâm not supposed to know what boxing gloves are for, remember?
Joe Fontaine: Typing, obviously.
One elbow against the bar, with a half drank gin and tonic within reach, Hayes continues to stare, though not out of the exhaustion heâd experienced while PRIME closed out Season 2 of the ReVival era. No, this time itâs something moreâŚfocused.
Sid Phillips: Did you get any gifts?
Joe Fontaine: No.
On the further side of the room, Cecilworth Farthington, laying flat on his back along one of the cushy couches. One hand holding a phone hovering above his eyes, the other hanging limp toward the floor.
Joe Fontaine: Thatâs weird, though. None of us have any cool gifts from shady South American sources, and I for one am immensely jealous of this!
He shakes his fist in the air.
Joe Fontaine: Arenât you jealous of all these gifts, Hayes?
At this point, Home Run Hayes snaps out of it.
Hayes Hanlon: Hmm, what? I wasnât listening.
Joe Fontaine: The gifts! That Sid got! Like this weird quad copter fidget spinner thingie that Sidâs going to build.
Sid Phillips: I am not building that.
Hayes Hanlon: A quad copter isâŚkinda dope. So maybe a little jealous. And sorry, I wasâŚthinking about something else.
Joe turns his attention to another person in the room
Joe Fontaine: Hey, Farthy boss sensei sir, arenât you a little weirded out by Sid getting gifts like this off-brand plush Baby Dusk doll thatâs wearing a sweet eyepatch?
Hayes Hanlon: I wouldnât bother. He hasnât left that couch since we got here, and heâs said like, two words.
Cecilworth Farthington: (mumbling) And it shall remain as such.
Hayes Hanlon: Eight.
The sound of the entry opening steals attention away from the melancholic Lord of Farthington Manor. Panning to the entrance reveals PRIMEâs brand new Universal Champion, FLAMBERGE, with the absolute SHINIEST of all belts sitting comfortably around his waist.
FLAMBERGE: Iâm getting ready, are you all coming?
Joe Fontaine: Aw, yeah, weâre coming!
Sid smolders. And also nods.
Hayes Hanlon: UmâŚno.
FLAMBO raises an eyebrow, as do Joe and Sid. Hayes, redirecting his dark eyes, takes a step forward with a small grin, patting FLAMBERGE on the shoulder.
Hayes Hanlon: (Thumbing toward Farthington) And I wouldnât count on him. But nah, the spotlight is all yours for this one. BesidesâŚ
The Event Horizon glances quickly to the spot on the wall where heâd been previously staring.
Hayes Hanlon: âŚI think I need to get ready for something else.
At that, Hayes gives FLAMBO one more clap on the shoulder and walks by, exiting into the hallway. The Universal Champion shares a confused glance with Joe and Sid while the camera pans to that spot on the wall. That spot holds a television monitor, airing an ACE Network commercial for PRIMEâŚ
âŚfeaturing Brandon Youngblood.
We then cut to the ring.
Joe Fontaine: Why do you have so many gifts?
Sid Phillips: I donât know. Itâs weird. What am I going to do with a novelty expandable ball and like four fidget spinners?
Joe Fontaine: I donât know, build a helicopter?
Sid Phillips: Why would I build a helicopter?
Joe Fontaine: Look, itâs the first thing I thought of when I heard all of those materials together, so I figured that someone out there wants you to build a quad copter.
Sid Phillips: The fuck is that?
Joe Fontaine: The future!
As the sounds of Joe and Sidâs always-odd banter carry on in the background, the scene opens to PRIMEâs prodigal son, fallen from grace. Hayes Hanlon, the Thresher of Hooves as FLAMBERGE called him months ago, stares off into the void within this apparent room backstage. Comfy couches, larger TV screens, and a mini bar make this space less of a locker room and more of a suite for the Glueminati.
Weâll call it the âGuite.â
No?
Weâll workshop it.
Sid Phillips: This all came from some place in South America. Or Africa. Or wherever the fuck, I donât know, I almost flunked geography.
Joe Fontaine: Itâs Guyana, but it doesnât have the decency to be French Guiana.
Joe may or may not understand that they have different spellings.
Joe Fontaine: What fans would you have in South America? Their toilets flush backwards there, thatâs weird.
Sid Phillips: I donât know, okay? I just want to know what Iâm going to do with this novelty sweater with boxing gloves built into them. Iâm not supposed to know what boxing gloves are for, remember?
Joe Fontaine: Typing, obviously.
One elbow against the bar, with a half drank gin and tonic within reach, Hayes continues to stare, though not out of the exhaustion heâd experienced while PRIME closed out Season 2 of the ReVival era. No, this time itâs something moreâŚfocused.
Sid Phillips: Did you get any gifts?
Joe Fontaine: No.
On the further side of the room, Cecilworth Farthington, laying flat on his back along one of the cushy couches. One hand holding a phone hovering above his eyes, the other hanging limp toward the floor.
Joe Fontaine: Thatâs weird, though. None of us have any cool gifts from shady South American sources, and I for one am immensely jealous of this!
He shakes his fist in the air.
Joe Fontaine: Arenât you jealous of all these gifts, Hayes?
At this point, Home Run Hayes snaps out of it.
Hayes Hanlon: Hmm, what? I wasnât listening.
Joe Fontaine: The gifts! That Sid got! Like this weird quad copter fidget spinner thingie that Sidâs going to build.
Sid Phillips: I am not building that.
Hayes Hanlon: A quad copter isâŚkinda dope. So maybe a little jealous. And sorry, I wasâŚthinking about something else.
Joe turns his attention to another person in the room
Joe Fontaine: Hey, Farthy boss sensei sir, arenât you a little weirded out by Sid getting gifts like this off-brand plush Baby Dusk doll thatâs wearing a sweet eyepatch?
Hayes Hanlon: I wouldnât bother. He hasnât left that couch since we got here, and heâs said like, two words.
Cecilworth Farthington: (mumbling) And it shall remain as such.
Hayes Hanlon: Eight.
The sound of the entry opening steals attention away from the melancholic Lord of Farthington Manor. Panning to the entrance reveals PRIMEâs brand new Universal Champion, FLAMBERGE, with the absolute SHINIEST of all belts sitting comfortably around his waist.
FLAMBERGE: Iâm getting ready, are you all coming?
Joe Fontaine: Aw, yeah, weâre coming!
Sid smolders. And also nods.
Hayes Hanlon: UmâŚno.
FLAMBO raises an eyebrow, as do Joe and Sid. Hayes, redirecting his dark eyes, takes a step forward with a small grin, patting FLAMBERGE on the shoulder.
Hayes Hanlon: (Thumbing toward Farthington) And I wouldnât count on him. But nah, the spotlight is all yours for this one. BesidesâŚ
The Event Horizon glances quickly to the spot on the wall where heâd been previously staring.
Hayes Hanlon: âŚI think I need to get ready for something else.
At that, Hayes gives FLAMBO one more clap on the shoulder and walks by, exiting into the hallway. The Universal Champion shares a confused glance with Joe and Sid while the camera pans to that spot on the wall. That spot holds a television monitor, airing an ACE Network commercial for PRIMEâŚ
âŚfeaturing Brandon Youngblood.
We then cut to the ring.
Joe Fontaine: Why do you have so many gifts?
Sid Phillips: I donât know. Itâs weird. What am I going to do with a novelty expandable ball and like four fidget spinners?
Joe Fontaine: I donât know, build a helicopter?
Sid Phillips: Why would I build a helicopter?
Joe Fontaine: Look, itâs the first thing I thought of when I heard all of those materials together, so I figured that someone out there wants you to build a quad copter.
Sid Phillips: The fuck is that?
Joe Fontaine: The future!
As the sounds of Joe and Sidâs always-odd banter carry on in the background, the scene opens to PRIMEâs prodigal son, fallen from grace. Hayes Hanlon, the Thresher of Hooves as FLAMBERGE called him months ago, stares off into the void within this apparent room backstage. Comfy couches, larger TV screens, and a mini bar make this space less of a locker room and more of a suite for the Glueminati.
Weâll call it the âGuite.â
No?
Weâll workshop it.
Sid Phillips: This all came from some place in South America. Or Africa. Or wherever the fuck, I donât know, I almost flunked geography.
Joe Fontaine: Itâs Guyana, but it doesnât have the decency to be French Guiana.
Joe may or may not understand that they have different spellings.
Joe Fontaine: What fans would you have in South America? Their toilets flush backwards there, thatâs weird.
Sid Phillips: I donât know, okay? I just want to know what Iâm going to do with this novelty sweater with boxing gloves built into them. Iâm not supposed to know what boxing gloves are for, remember?
Joe Fontaine: Typing, obviously.
One elbow against the bar, with a half drank gin and tonic within reach, Hayes continues to stare, though not out of the exhaustion heâd experienced while PRIME closed out Season 2 of the ReVival era. No, this time itâs something moreâŚfocused.
Sid Phillips: Did you get any gifts?
Joe Fontaine: No.
On the further side of the room, Cecilworth Farthington, laying flat on his back along one of the cushy couches. One hand holding a phone hovering above his eyes, the other hanging limp toward the floor.
Joe Fontaine: Thatâs weird, though. None of us have any cool gifts from shady South American sources, and I for one am immensely jealous of this!
He shakes his fist in the air.
Joe Fontaine: Arenât you jealous of all these gifts, Hayes?
At this point, Home Run Hayes snaps out of it.
Hayes Hanlon: Hmm, what? I wasnât listening.
Joe Fontaine: The gifts! That Sid got! Like this weird quad copter fidget spinner thingie that Sidâs going to build.
Sid Phillips: I am not building that.
Hayes Hanlon: A quad copter isâŚkinda dope. So maybe a little jealous. And sorry, I wasâŚthinking about something else.
Joe turns his attention to another person in the room
Joe Fontaine: Hey, Farthy boss sensei sir, arenât you a little weirded out by Sid getting gifts like this off-brand plush Baby Dusk doll thatâs wearing a sweet eyepatch?
Hayes Hanlon: I wouldnât bother. He hasnât left that couch since we got here, and heâs said like, two words.
Cecilworth Farthington: (mumbling) And it shall remain as such.
Hayes Hanlon: Eight.
The sound of the entry opening steals attention away from the melancholic Lord of Farthington Manor. Panning to the entrance reveals PRIMEâs brand new Universal Champion, FLAMBERGE, with the absolute SHINIEST of all belts sitting comfortably around his waist.
FLAMBERGE: Iâm getting ready, are you all coming?
Joe Fontaine: Aw, yeah, weâre coming!
Sid smolders. And also nods.
Hayes Hanlon: UmâŚno.
FLAMBO raises an eyebrow, as do Joe and Sid. Hayes, redirecting his dark eyes, takes a step forward with a small grin, patting FLAMBERGE on the shoulder.
Hayes Hanlon: (Thumbing toward Farthington) And I wouldnât count on him. But nah, the spotlight is all yours for this one. BesidesâŚ
The Event Horizon glances quickly to the spot on the wall where heâd been previously staring.
Hayes Hanlon: âŚI think I need to get ready for something else.
At that, Hayes gives FLAMBO one more clap on the shoulder and walks by, exiting into the hallway. The Universal Champion shares a confused glance with Joe and Sid while the camera pans to that spot on the wall. That spot holds a television monitor, airing an ACE Network commercial for PRIMEâŚ
âŚfeaturing Brandon Youngblood.
We then cut to the ring.
Nick Stuart: Okay, up next we have Kennade Starr versus Sage Pontiff.
Richard Parker: You mean Mr. Bubbles versus Sage Pontiff.
Nick Stuart: Sure.
âCaramelldansenâ by Caramella Girls cues up as Kennade Starr, phone in hand, wanders down the ramp with Mr. Bubbles trailing behind. Starr reaches the end of the staging as the large, hulking and brooding Mr. Bubbles finally catches up. He climbs onto the apron and then steps over the three ropes entirely as he waits for their opponent.
Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALLâŚ
RAAAAHHHH, it never gets old to know how many falls there are.
Vince Howard: From âyour favorite streamâ⌠weighing ânone of you businessâ⌠Kennade Starr!!
Her theme song comes to a close and itâs replaced by âSatori Part IIâ by the Flower Travellinâ Band. Sage Pontiff strolls out, his eyes deadlocked on Mr. Bubbles inside the ring.
Vince Howard: And her opponent⌠from Joshua Tree, California⌠weighing two-hundred-one pounds⌠Sage Pontiff!
Pontiff reaches the apron. He looks over at Kennade Starr on the outside and raises an eyebrow. He slides into the ring and sees Mr. Bubbles up close.
Referee Elvis Nixon asks both participants if theyâre ready⌠but Starr shoos him away because her twitch stream was suddenly lagging, heaven forbid.
Sage Pontiff is quick on the offense as the bell sounds.
DING DING
Pontiff with a running knee strike but Mr. Bubbles actually avoids the move as Kennade alerts him at the very last second. Well, not so much alerts him BY VOICE or anything like that. Starr moved to the right so then Mr. Bubbles moved to the right and avoided the knee. Needless to say, Starr tells all her streamers how much she was sweating and thought she was DOA inside the ring⌠but instead, Mr. Bubbles bounces off the ropes and hits Sage with a clothesline. Pontiff falls into a corner and Mr. Bubbles surveys his surroundings. He marches into the far corner, the one directly across from where Pontiff is stuck and then proceeds to thump forward with a big splash.
This time, however, Sage ducks and rolls out of the way so Mr. Bubbles eats the top buckle.
Nick Stuart: Hard not to see a big, slow man coming.
Pontiff spins around and blasts the avatar with a roundhouse kick. Pontiff Irish whips Mr. Bubbles into the corner to which he came from and the manager crashes into the padding chest first.
Mr. Bubbles keels over but heâs not exactly down. Being near seven feet tall, itâs going to take a lot more than that. Pontiff knows this. He races towards the corner and delivers a hard missile dropkick into Mr. Bubblesâ back. Then he drives the back of his right elbow into Mr. Bubblesâ temple.
And again.
Again.
Whatâs one more?
Hell yeah!
Mr. Bubbles head is looking more like Mr. Bobble on a paper thin neck after the stiff as shit elbows.
Sage Pontiff nods to himself, as if deciding there and then the next move heâs going to perform, a hard out headbutt.
This works Mr. Bubbles onto a knee.
CRACK!
And then Sage Pontiff delivers a right knee directly into Mr. Bubblesâ face, working the avatar onto the mat.
The headbutt from before, however, also stunned Sage, as he falls into a corner and runs a hand across his forehead. As The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience checks on himself, he still keeps his eyes deadlocked on his surrogate opponent.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Pontiff has taken his eyes off Mr. Bubbles since before the bell sounded.
Richard Parker: Heâs out for blood, Nick.
Parker has a point, as Sage deadlifts Mr. Bubbles off the mat in an amazing display of power and then connects with a gutwrench release suplex. Likely the release part of the suplex is because Sage could only lift Mr. Bubbles for so long, giving up almost two-hundred pounds to the big man.
Mr. Bubbles lands on the crown of his head, the move completely paying off for Pontiff.
On the outside of the ring, Starr seemingly runs into the ring post, too but at nowhere near the same speed or impact. In fact, it was all for show. Meanwhile, Pontiff drags Mr. Bubbles out of the corner and performs a running forearm strike. This wobbles the bigger man but heâs still on his feet⌠so Sage bounces off the ropes and comes back with a flying headbutt!
Mr. Bubbles remains on his feet but boy oh boy, he looks to be asking to be put out of his misery.
Pontiff bounces off the ropes again.
Suddenly Mr. Bubbles as ALIVE! He connects with a wicked looking, ring shaking sidewalk slam on Sage!
The crowd is stunned. Pontiff might be out of it.
Mr. Bubbles hooks a leg!
ONE.
TW-
SHOULDER UP.
Starr bends down to pick up her opponent so Mr. Bubbles does the same. Mr. Bubbles places Pontiff on his shoulders and starts running around the ring, albeit as fast as a slow Mr. Bubbles can run.
Powerslam.
Another pin!
ONE.
TWO.
KICKOUT!
Pontiff immediately finds a second wind and begins to unload elbows into the side of Mr. Bubblesâ temple. Heâs trying to work away from the big manâs body and hoping to regain the upper hand. Sage finds his footing and-
WHAM!
Dropkick square on Mr. Bubblesâ nose.
SLAM!
Followed by a evenflow DDT.
Pontiff doesnât cover, however. He doesnât even move Mr. Bubbles onto his back. With the avatar face-down on the canvas, Pontiff pulls upright, bounces off the ropes and delivers a curbstomp. A HARD, merciless curbstomp.
Nick Stuart: That might be all she wrote for Kennade Starr and Mr. Bubbles.
Richard Parker: Damn. And I was just starting my Twitch stream, too.
Nick Stuart: Isnât she on SnapChat?
Richard Parker: Nick, get with the times.
Pontiff leans down and with all his might, he peels Mr. Bubbles up and onto his knees. Pontiff begins to unload kick after kick against Mr. Bubblesâ chest.
These kicks slowly start to work their way up, finding the side of mr. Bubblesâ head or his right temple, to be exact.
Nick Stuart: Sage is working away on Mr. Bubblesâ head.
Richard Parker: For a big man like that, work on the legs or the head. Both are great ideas.
Pontiff delivers kick after kick to the side of Mr. Bubbles until he roars back and tries for a roundhouse kick-
That Mr. Bubbles catches.
Well, Kennade Starr thinks sheâs caught it on the outside and is jumping up and down.
So then Mr. Bubbles stands up and with Sage Pontiffâs foot in his mitts, he starts jumping up and down.
The Buffalo crowd is weirded out by seeing this, and most of the fans in attendance have seen a lot from the fandom of BiLLs MaFiA.
Mr. Bubbles is done jumping and although Sage wants to do something, he canât break free because Mr. Bubblesâ grip is really tight.
Pontiff tries for the enziguri but Mr. Bubbles ducks! Mr. Bubbles hasnât let go of Pontiffâs leg. He reels the Joshua Tree native into a huge bearhug and then belly-to-belly suplex.
Pontiffâs body looks like itâs been snapped in half. He doesnât move, as Mr. Bubbles stands and slowly walk-runs into the ropes. The avatar returns with a measured leg drop across Pontiffâs neck. Mr. Bubbles lifts Sage off the mat and hurls him via a snap release suplex, sending Pontiffâs body crashing to a heap on the canvas.
Nick Stuart: Well, this changed course rather quickly.
Mr. Bubbles stalks his prey. He reaches down for Pontiff⌠when Pontiff shows signs of life! Sage blasts Mr. Bubbles with a boot, leaps to his feet and lands an implant DDT.
Pontiff hits the ropes as Mr. Bubbles gets onto a knee. Pontiff throws his entire body, almost recklessly into the avatar. Itâs not even a wrestling move, itâs almost as if Sage wanted to completely destroy his body by hurling every little bit of it into the big manâs upper torso. Therefore, hurting Bubbles more.
It seemingly worked.
Mr. Bubbles crashes to the mat and Sage bounces off the ropes looking for a second curbstomp.
WHAM.
It connects.
Nick Stuart: But heâs not going for the pin, Rich! Why?
Richard Parker: I think Sage wants to hurt Mr. Bubbles. Violence!
Pontiff tries to position the fallen Mr. Bubbles in the middle of the ring. Itâs clear Kennade Starr is trying her darndest to get up off the floor but sheâs struggling so hard and her stream viewers are likely panicking at this point in time.
Pontiff marches over to a corner of the ring and climbs. He measures Mr. Bubbles and jumps-
When Mr. Bubbles rolls out of the way at the VERY last second, slowly struggling to a knee and then grabbing Sage Pontiff by the neck.
Mr. Bubbles pulls Sage Pontiff up with him.
CHOKESLAM.
No!
Pontiff escapes.
Sage hits the ropes and shoulder blocks the back of Mr. Bubbles as hard as he can. The big man stumbles a few feet forward so Sage hits the ropes and does this again.
Mr. Bubbles stumbles a few MORE feet.
One more time. Sage hits the ropes, runs into Mr. BubblesâŚ
And the avatar/manager falls onto the apron.
Pontiff kips to his feet. He sees Mr. Bubbles trying to re-enter the ring when he goes for a thrusting mule kick. In other words, the Namaste.
Exhausted himself, Sage collapses on all fours as the referee begins a TEN count.
Mr. Bubbles has fallen down right beside Kennade Starr but she has also âfallen downâ, too. Her eyes locked on her cell phone, she continues struggling, in the hopes she can get up⌠but she canât, since Mr. Bubbles canât.
The refereeâs count is at THREE.
Sage Pontiff is on one knee. He thinks about exiting the ring⌠but Nixonâs count is at FIVE.
Mr. Bubbles finds a knee.
SIX.
Mr. Bubbles find a foot.
SEVEN.
Mr. Bubbles finds two feet.
EIGHT.
Mr. Bubbles turns around.
NINE.
Mr. Bubbles is just too damn slow.
TEN.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: Well, nowâŚ
Pontiff grits his teeth and falls against the ropes nearest Mr. Bubbles. It seems more than clear he was going to destroy the avatar with a knee strike the second Bubbles wouldâve stepped inside the ring, anyway.
Kennade Starr falls on her stomach. Mr. Bubbles does the same.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match by countout⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Nick Stuart: Well, however you slice it, Pontiff receives the W.
Richard Parker: Great so the SnapChat stream is over?
Nick Stuart: I thought you said it was on Twitch?
Richard Parker: Whatever.
Pontiffâs theme plays as the ref raises his hand and ReVival cuts to commercial.
Nick Stuart: Okay, up next we have Kennade Starr versus Sage Pontiff.
Richard Parker: You mean Mr. Bubbles versus Sage Pontiff.
Nick Stuart: Sure.
âCaramelldansenâ by Caramella Girls cues up as Kennade Starr, phone in hand, wanders down the ramp with Mr. Bubbles trailing behind. Starr reaches the end of the staging as the large, hulking and brooding Mr. Bubbles finally catches up. He climbs onto the apron and then steps over the three ropes entirely as he waits for their opponent.
Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALLâŚ
RAAAAHHHH, it never gets old to know how many falls there are.
Vince Howard: From âyour favorite streamâ⌠weighing ânone of you businessâ⌠Kennade Starr!!
Her theme song comes to a close and itâs replaced by âSatori Part IIâ by the Flower Travellinâ Band. Sage Pontiff strolls out, his eyes deadlocked on Mr. Bubbles inside the ring.
Vince Howard: And her opponent⌠from Joshua Tree, California⌠weighing two-hundred-one pounds⌠Sage Pontiff!
Pontiff reaches the apron. He looks over at Kennade Starr on the outside and raises an eyebrow. He slides into the ring and sees Mr. Bubbles up close.
Referee Elvis Nixon asks both participants if theyâre ready⌠but Starr shoos him away because her twitch stream was suddenly lagging, heaven forbid.
Sage Pontiff is quick on the offense as the bell sounds.
DING DING
Pontiff with a running knee strike but Mr. Bubbles actually avoids the move as Kennade alerts him at the very last second. Well, not so much alerts him BY VOICE or anything like that. Starr moved to the right so then Mr. Bubbles moved to the right and avoided the knee. Needless to say, Starr tells all her streamers how much she was sweating and thought she was DOA inside the ring⌠but instead, Mr. Bubbles bounces off the ropes and hits Sage with a clothesline. Pontiff falls into a corner and Mr. Bubbles surveys his surroundings. He marches into the far corner, the one directly across from where Pontiff is stuck and then proceeds to thump forward with a big splash.
This time, however, Sage ducks and rolls out of the way so Mr. Bubbles eats the top buckle.
Nick Stuart: Hard not to see a big, slow man coming.
Pontiff spins around and blasts the avatar with a roundhouse kick. Pontiff Irish whips Mr. Bubbles into the corner to which he came from and the manager crashes into the padding chest first.
Mr. Bubbles keels over but heâs not exactly down. Being near seven feet tall, itâs going to take a lot more than that. Pontiff knows this. He races towards the corner and delivers a hard missile dropkick into Mr. Bubblesâ back. Then he drives the back of his right elbow into Mr. Bubblesâ temple.
And again.
Again.
Whatâs one more?
Hell yeah!
Mr. Bubbles head is looking more like Mr. Bobble on a paper thin neck after the stiff as shit elbows.
Sage Pontiff nods to himself, as if deciding there and then the next move heâs going to perform, a hard out headbutt.
This works Mr. Bubbles onto a knee.
CRACK!
And then Sage Pontiff delivers a right knee directly into Mr. Bubblesâ face, working the avatar onto the mat.
The headbutt from before, however, also stunned Sage, as he falls into a corner and runs a hand across his forehead. As The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience checks on himself, he still keeps his eyes deadlocked on his surrogate opponent.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Pontiff has taken his eyes off Mr. Bubbles since before the bell sounded.
Richard Parker: Heâs out for blood, Nick.
Parker has a point, as Sage deadlifts Mr. Bubbles off the mat in an amazing display of power and then connects with a gutwrench release suplex. Likely the release part of the suplex is because Sage could only lift Mr. Bubbles for so long, giving up almost two-hundred pounds to the big man.
Mr. Bubbles lands on the crown of his head, the move completely paying off for Pontiff.
On the outside of the ring, Starr seemingly runs into the ring post, too but at nowhere near the same speed or impact. In fact, it was all for show. Meanwhile, Pontiff drags Mr. Bubbles out of the corner and performs a running forearm strike. This wobbles the bigger man but heâs still on his feet⌠so Sage bounces off the ropes and comes back with a flying headbutt!
Mr. Bubbles remains on his feet but boy oh boy, he looks to be asking to be put out of his misery.
Pontiff bounces off the ropes again.
Suddenly Mr. Bubbles as ALIVE! He connects with a wicked looking, ring shaking sidewalk slam on Sage!
The crowd is stunned. Pontiff might be out of it.
Mr. Bubbles hooks a leg!
ONE.
TW-
SHOULDER UP.
Starr bends down to pick up her opponent so Mr. Bubbles does the same. Mr. Bubbles places Pontiff on his shoulders and starts running around the ring, albeit as fast as a slow Mr. Bubbles can run.
Powerslam.
Another pin!
ONE.
TWO.
KICKOUT!
Pontiff immediately finds a second wind and begins to unload elbows into the side of Mr. Bubblesâ temple. Heâs trying to work away from the big manâs body and hoping to regain the upper hand. Sage finds his footing and-
WHAM!
Dropkick square on Mr. Bubblesâ nose.
SLAM!
Followed by a evenflow DDT.
Pontiff doesnât cover, however. He doesnât even move Mr. Bubbles onto his back. With the avatar face-down on the canvas, Pontiff pulls upright, bounces off the ropes and delivers a curbstomp. A HARD, merciless curbstomp.
Nick Stuart: That might be all she wrote for Kennade Starr and Mr. Bubbles.
Richard Parker: Damn. And I was just starting my Twitch stream, too.
Nick Stuart: Isnât she on SnapChat?
Richard Parker: Nick, get with the times.
Pontiff leans down and with all his might, he peels Mr. Bubbles up and onto his knees. Pontiff begins to unload kick after kick against Mr. Bubblesâ chest.
These kicks slowly start to work their way up, finding the side of mr. Bubblesâ head or his right temple, to be exact.
Nick Stuart: Sage is working away on Mr. Bubblesâ head.
Richard Parker: For a big man like that, work on the legs or the head. Both are great ideas.
Pontiff delivers kick after kick to the side of Mr. Bubbles until he roars back and tries for a roundhouse kick-
That Mr. Bubbles catches.
Well, Kennade Starr thinks sheâs caught it on the outside and is jumping up and down.
So then Mr. Bubbles stands up and with Sage Pontiffâs foot in his mitts, he starts jumping up and down.
The Buffalo crowd is weirded out by seeing this, and most of the fans in attendance have seen a lot from the fandom of BiLLs MaFiA.
Mr. Bubbles is done jumping and although Sage wants to do something, he canât break free because Mr. Bubblesâ grip is really tight.
Pontiff tries for the enziguri but Mr. Bubbles ducks! Mr. Bubbles hasnât let go of Pontiffâs leg. He reels the Joshua Tree native into a huge bearhug and then belly-to-belly suplex.
Pontiffâs body looks like itâs been snapped in half. He doesnât move, as Mr. Bubbles stands and slowly walk-runs into the ropes. The avatar returns with a measured leg drop across Pontiffâs neck. Mr. Bubbles lifts Sage off the mat and hurls him via a snap release suplex, sending Pontiffâs body crashing to a heap on the canvas.
Nick Stuart: Well, this changed course rather quickly.
Mr. Bubbles stalks his prey. He reaches down for Pontiff⌠when Pontiff shows signs of life! Sage blasts Mr. Bubbles with a boot, leaps to his feet and lands an implant DDT.
Pontiff hits the ropes as Mr. Bubbles gets onto a knee. Pontiff throws his entire body, almost recklessly into the avatar. Itâs not even a wrestling move, itâs almost as if Sage wanted to completely destroy his body by hurling every little bit of it into the big manâs upper torso. Therefore, hurting Bubbles more.
It seemingly worked.
Mr. Bubbles crashes to the mat and Sage bounces off the ropes looking for a second curbstomp.
WHAM.
It connects.
Nick Stuart: But heâs not going for the pin, Rich! Why?
Richard Parker: I think Sage wants to hurt Mr. Bubbles. Violence!
Pontiff tries to position the fallen Mr. Bubbles in the middle of the ring. Itâs clear Kennade Starr is trying her darndest to get up off the floor but sheâs struggling so hard and her stream viewers are likely panicking at this point in time.
Pontiff marches over to a corner of the ring and climbs. He measures Mr. Bubbles and jumps-
When Mr. Bubbles rolls out of the way at the VERY last second, slowly struggling to a knee and then grabbing Sage Pontiff by the neck.
Mr. Bubbles pulls Sage Pontiff up with him.
CHOKESLAM.
No!
Pontiff escapes.
Sage hits the ropes and shoulder blocks the back of Mr. Bubbles as hard as he can. The big man stumbles a few feet forward so Sage hits the ropes and does this again.
Mr. Bubbles stumbles a few MORE feet.
One more time. Sage hits the ropes, runs into Mr. BubblesâŚ
And the avatar/manager falls onto the apron.
Pontiff kips to his feet. He sees Mr. Bubbles trying to re-enter the ring when he goes for a thrusting mule kick. In other words, the Namaste.
Exhausted himself, Sage collapses on all fours as the referee begins a TEN count.
Mr. Bubbles has fallen down right beside Kennade Starr but she has also âfallen downâ, too. Her eyes locked on her cell phone, she continues struggling, in the hopes she can get up⌠but she canât, since Mr. Bubbles canât.
The refereeâs count is at THREE.
Sage Pontiff is on one knee. He thinks about exiting the ring⌠but Nixonâs count is at FIVE.
Mr. Bubbles finds a knee.
SIX.
Mr. Bubbles find a foot.
SEVEN.
Mr. Bubbles finds two feet.
EIGHT.
Mr. Bubbles turns around.
NINE.
Mr. Bubbles is just too damn slow.
TEN.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: Well, nowâŚ
Pontiff grits his teeth and falls against the ropes nearest Mr. Bubbles. It seems more than clear he was going to destroy the avatar with a knee strike the second Bubbles wouldâve stepped inside the ring, anyway.
Kennade Starr falls on her stomach. Mr. Bubbles does the same.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match by countout⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Nick Stuart: Well, however you slice it, Pontiff receives the W.
Richard Parker: Great so the SnapChat stream is over?
Nick Stuart: I thought you said it was on Twitch?
Richard Parker: Whatever.
Pontiffâs theme plays as the ref raises his hand and ReVival cuts to commercial.
Nick Stuart: Okay, up next we have Kennade Starr versus Sage Pontiff.
Richard Parker: You mean Mr. Bubbles versus Sage Pontiff.
Nick Stuart: Sure.
âCaramelldansenâ by Caramella Girls cues up as Kennade Starr, phone in hand, wanders down the ramp with Mr. Bubbles trailing behind. Starr reaches the end of the staging as the large, hulking and brooding Mr. Bubbles finally catches up. He climbs onto the apron and then steps over the three ropes entirely as he waits for their opponent.
Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALLâŚ
RAAAAHHHH, it never gets old to know how many falls there are.
Vince Howard: From âyour favorite streamâ⌠weighing ânone of you businessâ⌠Kennade Starr!!
Her theme song comes to a close and itâs replaced by âSatori Part IIâ by the Flower Travellinâ Band. Sage Pontiff strolls out, his eyes deadlocked on Mr. Bubbles inside the ring.
Vince Howard: And her opponent⌠from Joshua Tree, California⌠weighing two-hundred-one pounds⌠Sage Pontiff!
Pontiff reaches the apron. He looks over at Kennade Starr on the outside and raises an eyebrow. He slides into the ring and sees Mr. Bubbles up close.
Referee Elvis Nixon asks both participants if theyâre ready⌠but Starr shoos him away because her twitch stream was suddenly lagging, heaven forbid.
Sage Pontiff is quick on the offense as the bell sounds.
DING DING
Pontiff with a running knee strike but Mr. Bubbles actually avoids the move as Kennade alerts him at the very last second. Well, not so much alerts him BY VOICE or anything like that. Starr moved to the right so then Mr. Bubbles moved to the right and avoided the knee. Needless to say, Starr tells all her streamers how much she was sweating and thought she was DOA inside the ring⌠but instead, Mr. Bubbles bounces off the ropes and hits Sage with a clothesline. Pontiff falls into a corner and Mr. Bubbles surveys his surroundings. He marches into the far corner, the one directly across from where Pontiff is stuck and then proceeds to thump forward with a big splash.
This time, however, Sage ducks and rolls out of the way so Mr. Bubbles eats the top buckle.
Nick Stuart: Hard not to see a big, slow man coming.
Pontiff spins around and blasts the avatar with a roundhouse kick. Pontiff Irish whips Mr. Bubbles into the corner to which he came from and the manager crashes into the padding chest first.
Mr. Bubbles keels over but heâs not exactly down. Being near seven feet tall, itâs going to take a lot more than that. Pontiff knows this. He races towards the corner and delivers a hard missile dropkick into Mr. Bubblesâ back. Then he drives the back of his right elbow into Mr. Bubblesâ temple.
And again.
Again.
Whatâs one more?
Hell yeah!
Mr. Bubbles head is looking more like Mr. Bobble on a paper thin neck after the stiff as shit elbows.
Sage Pontiff nods to himself, as if deciding there and then the next move heâs going to perform, a hard out headbutt.
This works Mr. Bubbles onto a knee.
CRACK!
And then Sage Pontiff delivers a right knee directly into Mr. Bubblesâ face, working the avatar onto the mat.
The headbutt from before, however, also stunned Sage, as he falls into a corner and runs a hand across his forehead. As The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience checks on himself, he still keeps his eyes deadlocked on his surrogate opponent.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Pontiff has taken his eyes off Mr. Bubbles since before the bell sounded.
Richard Parker: Heâs out for blood, Nick.
Parker has a point, as Sage deadlifts Mr. Bubbles off the mat in an amazing display of power and then connects with a gutwrench release suplex. Likely the release part of the suplex is because Sage could only lift Mr. Bubbles for so long, giving up almost two-hundred pounds to the big man.
Mr. Bubbles lands on the crown of his head, the move completely paying off for Pontiff.
On the outside of the ring, Starr seemingly runs into the ring post, too but at nowhere near the same speed or impact. In fact, it was all for show. Meanwhile, Pontiff drags Mr. Bubbles out of the corner and performs a running forearm strike. This wobbles the bigger man but heâs still on his feet⌠so Sage bounces off the ropes and comes back with a flying headbutt!
Mr. Bubbles remains on his feet but boy oh boy, he looks to be asking to be put out of his misery.
Pontiff bounces off the ropes again.
Suddenly Mr. Bubbles as ALIVE! He connects with a wicked looking, ring shaking sidewalk slam on Sage!
The crowd is stunned. Pontiff might be out of it.
Mr. Bubbles hooks a leg!
ONE.
TW-
SHOULDER UP.
Starr bends down to pick up her opponent so Mr. Bubbles does the same. Mr. Bubbles places Pontiff on his shoulders and starts running around the ring, albeit as fast as a slow Mr. Bubbles can run.
Powerslam.
Another pin!
ONE.
TWO.
KICKOUT!
Pontiff immediately finds a second wind and begins to unload elbows into the side of Mr. Bubblesâ temple. Heâs trying to work away from the big manâs body and hoping to regain the upper hand. Sage finds his footing and-
WHAM!
Dropkick square on Mr. Bubblesâ nose.
SLAM!
Followed by a evenflow DDT.
Pontiff doesnât cover, however. He doesnât even move Mr. Bubbles onto his back. With the avatar face-down on the canvas, Pontiff pulls upright, bounces off the ropes and delivers a curbstomp. A HARD, merciless curbstomp.
Nick Stuart: That might be all she wrote for Kennade Starr and Mr. Bubbles.
Richard Parker: Damn. And I was just starting my Twitch stream, too.
Nick Stuart: Isnât she on SnapChat?
Richard Parker: Nick, get with the times.
Pontiff leans down and with all his might, he peels Mr. Bubbles up and onto his knees. Pontiff begins to unload kick after kick against Mr. Bubblesâ chest.
These kicks slowly start to work their way up, finding the side of mr. Bubblesâ head or his right temple, to be exact.
Nick Stuart: Sage is working away on Mr. Bubblesâ head.
Richard Parker: For a big man like that, work on the legs or the head. Both are great ideas.
Pontiff delivers kick after kick to the side of Mr. Bubbles until he roars back and tries for a roundhouse kick-
That Mr. Bubbles catches.
Well, Kennade Starr thinks sheâs caught it on the outside and is jumping up and down.
So then Mr. Bubbles stands up and with Sage Pontiffâs foot in his mitts, he starts jumping up and down.
The Buffalo crowd is weirded out by seeing this, and most of the fans in attendance have seen a lot from the fandom of BiLLs MaFiA.
Mr. Bubbles is done jumping and although Sage wants to do something, he canât break free because Mr. Bubblesâ grip is really tight.
Pontiff tries for the enziguri but Mr. Bubbles ducks! Mr. Bubbles hasnât let go of Pontiffâs leg. He reels the Joshua Tree native into a huge bearhug and then belly-to-belly suplex.
Pontiffâs body looks like itâs been snapped in half. He doesnât move, as Mr. Bubbles stands and slowly walk-runs into the ropes. The avatar returns with a measured leg drop across Pontiffâs neck. Mr. Bubbles lifts Sage off the mat and hurls him via a snap release suplex, sending Pontiffâs body crashing to a heap on the canvas.
Nick Stuart: Well, this changed course rather quickly.
Mr. Bubbles stalks his prey. He reaches down for Pontiff⌠when Pontiff shows signs of life! Sage blasts Mr. Bubbles with a boot, leaps to his feet and lands an implant DDT.
Pontiff hits the ropes as Mr. Bubbles gets onto a knee. Pontiff throws his entire body, almost recklessly into the avatar. Itâs not even a wrestling move, itâs almost as if Sage wanted to completely destroy his body by hurling every little bit of it into the big manâs upper torso. Therefore, hurting Bubbles more.
It seemingly worked.
Mr. Bubbles crashes to the mat and Sage bounces off the ropes looking for a second curbstomp.
WHAM.
It connects.
Nick Stuart: But heâs not going for the pin, Rich! Why?
Richard Parker: I think Sage wants to hurt Mr. Bubbles. Violence!
Pontiff tries to position the fallen Mr. Bubbles in the middle of the ring. Itâs clear Kennade Starr is trying her darndest to get up off the floor but sheâs struggling so hard and her stream viewers are likely panicking at this point in time.
Pontiff marches over to a corner of the ring and climbs. He measures Mr. Bubbles and jumps-
When Mr. Bubbles rolls out of the way at the VERY last second, slowly struggling to a knee and then grabbing Sage Pontiff by the neck.
Mr. Bubbles pulls Sage Pontiff up with him.
CHOKESLAM.
No!
Pontiff escapes.
Sage hits the ropes and shoulder blocks the back of Mr. Bubbles as hard as he can. The big man stumbles a few feet forward so Sage hits the ropes and does this again.
Mr. Bubbles stumbles a few MORE feet.
One more time. Sage hits the ropes, runs into Mr. BubblesâŚ
And the avatar/manager falls onto the apron.
Pontiff kips to his feet. He sees Mr. Bubbles trying to re-enter the ring when he goes for a thrusting mule kick. In other words, the Namaste.
Exhausted himself, Sage collapses on all fours as the referee begins a TEN count.
Mr. Bubbles has fallen down right beside Kennade Starr but she has also âfallen downâ, too. Her eyes locked on her cell phone, she continues struggling, in the hopes she can get up⌠but she canât, since Mr. Bubbles canât.
The refereeâs count is at THREE.
Sage Pontiff is on one knee. He thinks about exiting the ring⌠but Nixonâs count is at FIVE.
Mr. Bubbles finds a knee.
SIX.
Mr. Bubbles find a foot.
SEVEN.
Mr. Bubbles finds two feet.
EIGHT.
Mr. Bubbles turns around.
NINE.
Mr. Bubbles is just too damn slow.
TEN.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: Well, nowâŚ
Pontiff grits his teeth and falls against the ropes nearest Mr. Bubbles. It seems more than clear he was going to destroy the avatar with a knee strike the second Bubbles wouldâve stepped inside the ring, anyway.
Kennade Starr falls on her stomach. Mr. Bubbles does the same.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match by countout⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Nick Stuart: Well, however you slice it, Pontiff receives the W.
Richard Parker: Great so the SnapChat stream is over?
Nick Stuart: I thought you said it was on Twitch?
Richard Parker: Whatever.
Pontiffâs theme plays as the ref raises his hand and ReVival cuts to commercial.
We find ourselves in an undisclosed location in the Keybank Arena. The location is undisclosed due to uncertainty issues of the location rather than some form of security protocol.
In it we find the master of running it up, the current PRIME Five Star Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. The shot is a simple affair of Cecilworth standing afront a black curtain, but also for some reason thereâs a wheelchair to his side. The wheelchair is empty, but due to the lack of deep Scottish gurgles and screams of agony, it is safe to assume that we have not found ourselves in another one of those forking situations that the kids are up to these days.
To make it clear why we found ourselves in Cecilworthâs company, he is wearing a âCaptainâ armband on his left arm.
Also another one on his right arm.
Just to make it clear from both directions.
Cecilworth Farthington: Hello sharks, thank you for affording me the time today to share with you my great new idea, a War Games team that wheely is the best! I have put together a team of some real wheelchair fetishists and sickos, and that is the exact kind of unhinged lunacy that I know from experience is required for War Games glory. Or at least a good showing!
Cecilworth looks down at the chair and back to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: The chair is here as⌠a metaphor? Sure, thatâs it. It provides the kind of edge that my team needs.
Cecilworth claps his hands together and refocuses to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: Anyhoo, hereâs the sweet deets on the team that canât be beat! In one case, literally. Thatâs right, I got my good close personal friend, the Universal Champion, the man whose brain is controlled by some sort of Phil Atken lizard⌠meaning heâs got a wheelchair lizard in his brain⌠itâs FLAMBERGE!
Cecilworth pauses for the applause and roars of the crowd he anticipates even though this is clearly, clearly pre-recorded.
Cecilworth Farthington: Well, exactly, I agree with you! Joining myself, a man who stabbed a fork into a wheelyman, and the one that has him in the brain, is none other than my other very close personal friend, the best mustache in the history of PRIME, a former Universal champion in his own right, twice over⌠HAYES HANLON! His connection to wheelchairs is⌠well⌠I guess Phil covers that too. Maybe I didnât think this all the way through.
Cecilworth stops for a second to consider rethinking his bit, but decides itâs best not to back down, much better to double down.
Cecilworth Farthington: Alongside my sticky brethren on Team Name To Be Confirmed, I have selected someone who probably had a version of themselves that existed in a wheelchair at some point now or in the future, and then likely solved or will solve mysteries⌠Anna Daniels!
Cecilworth mutters âor was that the Burger King Kids Club?â to himself.
Cecilworth Farthington: Okay, circling back to making this whole pitch totally work, I have a man who knows what itâs like to confine their enemies to spinny medical devices, a man who has forced another human to live a life on immense agony, and thatâs why heâs a gem⌠itâs Paxton Ray!
Cecilworth stops for a second, and considers that he may live to regret that choice but heâs not going to let those negative nancies in his brain skull dissuade him from such an excellent idea.
Cecilworth Farthington: Finally, to complete this beautiful ensemble, I looked to a man who cares so little for his body, heâs bound to be bonded to a wheels-like structure within the next five years, a man that I know will relish the opportunity to inflict as much pain onto eighteen others as he can manage, a wildcard that I mercifully donât have to worry about⌠probably⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Cecilworth starts to celebrate and applaud his own picks.
Cecilworth Farthington: Truly wonderful stuff! Not a hinged person amongst them.
Cecilworth looks down at the wheelchair one last time, and then returns to face the camera, his aloof smug face has been replaced with more of a scowl.
Cecilworth Farthington: The rest of you are all going to die, if weâre merciful.
The scowl immediately returns to the generally smuggins demeanor of the Five Star Champion.
Cecilworth Farthington: I think we can all agree I done did a great job. Now back to the show, because I think this was a commercial?
The camera cuts to ringside.
We find ourselves in an undisclosed location in the Keybank Arena. The location is undisclosed due to uncertainty issues of the location rather than some form of security protocol.
In it we find the master of running it up, the current PRIME Five Star Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. The shot is a simple affair of Cecilworth standing afront a black curtain, but also for some reason thereâs a wheelchair to his side. The wheelchair is empty, but due to the lack of deep Scottish gurgles and screams of agony, it is safe to assume that we have not found ourselves in another one of those forking situations that the kids are up to these days.
To make it clear why we found ourselves in Cecilworthâs company, he is wearing a âCaptainâ armband on his left arm.
Also another one on his right arm.
Just to make it clear from both directions.
Cecilworth Farthington: Hello sharks, thank you for affording me the time today to share with you my great new idea, a War Games team that wheely is the best! I have put together a team of some real wheelchair fetishists and sickos, and that is the exact kind of unhinged lunacy that I know from experience is required for War Games glory. Or at least a good showing!
Cecilworth looks down at the chair and back to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: The chair is here as⌠a metaphor? Sure, thatâs it. It provides the kind of edge that my team needs.
Cecilworth claps his hands together and refocuses to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: Anyhoo, hereâs the sweet deets on the team that canât be beat! In one case, literally. Thatâs right, I got my good close personal friend, the Universal Champion, the man whose brain is controlled by some sort of Phil Atken lizard⌠meaning heâs got a wheelchair lizard in his brain⌠itâs FLAMBERGE!
Cecilworth pauses for the applause and roars of the crowd he anticipates even though this is clearly, clearly pre-recorded.
Cecilworth Farthington: Well, exactly, I agree with you! Joining myself, a man who stabbed a fork into a wheelyman, and the one that has him in the brain, is none other than my other very close personal friend, the best mustache in the history of PRIME, a former Universal champion in his own right, twice over⌠HAYES HANLON! His connection to wheelchairs is⌠well⌠I guess Phil covers that too. Maybe I didnât think this all the way through.
Cecilworth stops for a second to consider rethinking his bit, but decides itâs best not to back down, much better to double down.
Cecilworth Farthington: Alongside my sticky brethren on Team Name To Be Confirmed, I have selected someone who probably had a version of themselves that existed in a wheelchair at some point now or in the future, and then likely solved or will solve mysteries⌠Anna Daniels!
Cecilworth mutters âor was that the Burger King Kids Club?â to himself.
Cecilworth Farthington: Okay, circling back to making this whole pitch totally work, I have a man who knows what itâs like to confine their enemies to spinny medical devices, a man who has forced another human to live a life on immense agony, and thatâs why heâs a gem⌠itâs Paxton Ray!
Cecilworth stops for a second, and considers that he may live to regret that choice but heâs not going to let those negative nancies in his brain skull dissuade him from such an excellent idea.
Cecilworth Farthington: Finally, to complete this beautiful ensemble, I looked to a man who cares so little for his body, heâs bound to be bonded to a wheels-like structure within the next five years, a man that I know will relish the opportunity to inflict as much pain onto eighteen others as he can manage, a wildcard that I mercifully donât have to worry about⌠probably⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Cecilworth starts to celebrate and applaud his own picks.
Cecilworth Farthington: Truly wonderful stuff! Not a hinged person amongst them.
Cecilworth looks down at the wheelchair one last time, and then returns to face the camera, his aloof smug face has been replaced with more of a scowl.
Cecilworth Farthington: The rest of you are all going to die, if weâre merciful.
The scowl immediately returns to the generally smuggins demeanor of the Five Star Champion.
Cecilworth Farthington: I think we can all agree I done did a great job. Now back to the show, because I think this was a commercial?
The camera cuts to ringside.
We find ourselves in an undisclosed location in the Keybank Arena. The location is undisclosed due to uncertainty issues of the location rather than some form of security protocol.
In it we find the master of running it up, the current PRIME Five Star Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. The shot is a simple affair of Cecilworth standing afront a black curtain, but also for some reason thereâs a wheelchair to his side. The wheelchair is empty, but due to the lack of deep Scottish gurgles and screams of agony, it is safe to assume that we have not found ourselves in another one of those forking situations that the kids are up to these days.
To make it clear why we found ourselves in Cecilworthâs company, he is wearing a âCaptainâ armband on his left arm.
Also another one on his right arm.
Just to make it clear from both directions.
Cecilworth Farthington: Hello sharks, thank you for affording me the time today to share with you my great new idea, a War Games team that wheely is the best! I have put together a team of some real wheelchair fetishists and sickos, and that is the exact kind of unhinged lunacy that I know from experience is required for War Games glory. Or at least a good showing!
Cecilworth looks down at the chair and back to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: The chair is here as⌠a metaphor? Sure, thatâs it. It provides the kind of edge that my team needs.
Cecilworth claps his hands together and refocuses to the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: Anyhoo, hereâs the sweet deets on the team that canât be beat! In one case, literally. Thatâs right, I got my good close personal friend, the Universal Champion, the man whose brain is controlled by some sort of Phil Atken lizard⌠meaning heâs got a wheelchair lizard in his brain⌠itâs FLAMBERGE!
Cecilworth pauses for the applause and roars of the crowd he anticipates even though this is clearly, clearly pre-recorded.
Cecilworth Farthington: Well, exactly, I agree with you! Joining myself, a man who stabbed a fork into a wheelyman, and the one that has him in the brain, is none other than my other very close personal friend, the best mustache in the history of PRIME, a former Universal champion in his own right, twice over⌠HAYES HANLON! His connection to wheelchairs is⌠well⌠I guess Phil covers that too. Maybe I didnât think this all the way through.
Cecilworth stops for a second to consider rethinking his bit, but decides itâs best not to back down, much better to double down.
Cecilworth Farthington: Alongside my sticky brethren on Team Name To Be Confirmed, I have selected someone who probably had a version of themselves that existed in a wheelchair at some point now or in the future, and then likely solved or will solve mysteries⌠Anna Daniels!
Cecilworth mutters âor was that the Burger King Kids Club?â to himself.
Cecilworth Farthington: Okay, circling back to making this whole pitch totally work, I have a man who knows what itâs like to confine their enemies to spinny medical devices, a man who has forced another human to live a life on immense agony, and thatâs why heâs a gem⌠itâs Paxton Ray!
Cecilworth stops for a second, and considers that he may live to regret that choice but heâs not going to let those negative nancies in his brain skull dissuade him from such an excellent idea.
Cecilworth Farthington: Finally, to complete this beautiful ensemble, I looked to a man who cares so little for his body, heâs bound to be bonded to a wheels-like structure within the next five years, a man that I know will relish the opportunity to inflict as much pain onto eighteen others as he can manage, a wildcard that I mercifully donât have to worry about⌠probably⌠SAGE PONTIFF!
Cecilworth starts to celebrate and applaud his own picks.
Cecilworth Farthington: Truly wonderful stuff! Not a hinged person amongst them.
Cecilworth looks down at the wheelchair one last time, and then returns to face the camera, his aloof smug face has been replaced with more of a scowl.
Cecilworth Farthington: The rest of you are all going to die, if weâre merciful.
The scowl immediately returns to the generally smuggins demeanor of the Five Star Champion.
Cecilworth Farthington: I think we can all agree I done did a great job. Now back to the show, because I think this was a commercial?
The camera cuts to ringside.
A familiar piano sample begins to loop throughout the KeyBank Arena as PRIMEates rise to their feet!
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚoh, shit.
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
As the beat kicks in and âooh la laâ by Run The Jewels (feat. Greg Nice & DJ Premier) blares through the speakers, three very dapper boys step through the back.
Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips, collectively the Glue Man Group, beaming with a lot of pride at the job their boy has done. Joe is in his usual bedazzled green suit that really hurts the eyes if the light catches it the wrong way, while Sid is smoldering in his suit. Both have party hats, because of course they do. FLAMBERGE, the aforementioned âboyâ, looks about as extra as it getsâŚheâs got a bright copper coat that seems to be covered with reptilian scales and pokey bits and tassels and, somehow, not a single pocket, as well as bright teal tailored slacks. His yellow sunglasses, once perhaps made of plastic and available at your local discount bin, have been upgraded to yellow Wayfarer tinted Ray-Bans. The PRIME Universal Championship gleams around his waist, freshly polished and glorious.
Behold, PRIME. You allowed this to happen. The snowball was allowed to roll down the hill, and now itâs Move Or Get Flattened By The Fucking Boulder.
The Lizard King has come to collect. Again.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing at this timeâŚthe NEWWWWWWW PRIME Universal Champion! FLAAAAAAAMBEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRGE!
Nick Stuart: What a remarkable 2023 this young man has had, partner â he became the Intense Champion after an unforgettable Pier Six Brawl against Anna Daniels, he broke â let me repeat, he BROKE â the all time record for consecutive singles victories in the history of PRIME across its twenty-plus year history, a streak that is still alive by the way, and he found a way to defeat the unstoppable Russian juggernaut that is Ivan Stanislav to claim the Universal Championship in the main event of Colossus. Unreal!
Richard Parker: All hail the Bearded Dragon, Nick! Nobody seems to be able to figure out how to deal with this, I donât know, this ENIGMA, and just like the rest of the glue boys, heâs an ace. A weird, weird freakinâ ace.
FLAMBERGE grabs a microphone from a ringside staffer as his music fades out. Itâs, again, not a full-on boo and CERTAINLY not a cheer from the crowd tonight â theyâre certainly happy that the Russian Bear is no longer champion, but there is no love lost for the French Lizard standing before them now, nor for the all-too-eager Joe and Sid flanking him. Joe is going to town with his party blower, thatâs how eager he is.
FLAMBERGE: This is the part where I say something bizarre, non?
He takes a look at Sid, whoâs smoldering as always. He doesnât say âheyâ because that might actually break something.
FLAMBERGE: Letâs start with this â hey, hello, I would like to dedicate my victory of this prized Universal Championship to the one man who saw something in me that no one else did, the one man who unlocked the TRUE potential inside â PRIMEâs first TRUE Big Bad, before the Russians or the Paxtons or the Vickies or the Farthington Jizz Pods or the Vampire Werewolf Boys With Stupid Little Tattoos ever sunk their teethy little teeth into this place â THIS IS FOR PHIL! ATKEN!!
FLAMBERGE unstraps the Universal Championship and holds it aloft, and NOW the boos come pouring in, because really, fuck that Phil Atken guy.
FLAMBERGE: Unjustly maligned, forced to retire before he truly hit his stride, the hero that made the bitch Brandon Youngblood choke on his own blood and spit and bile until the referee said ânon, no more, this man has had the enoughâ like I wish so badly I had done myself â Phil, I hope to have done you proud. I hope I have shown PRIME what it really, actually takes to be The Man here in the big leagues. SOMEBODY HAD TO.
The boos are a roaring cacophony at this point â not only is Phil Atken among the most loathed figures of the ReVival Era, but damn it, they like that zaddy Brandon Youngblood, and gosh darn this French kid for disagreeing!
FLAMBERGE: Do you know what happens when you win and you win, and you win and you win? For nearly sixteen months, not a single fall to the pin nor the submission to the hold, and as the championship belts flow? Need I remind you â NOBODY in this company has been able to touch me! Not the Stanislav who whines and moans like a child that I was some sort of âsurpriseâ when he had AN ENTIRE MONTH TO PREPARE FOR OUR MATCHâŚnot the Tsondas or the Avalons or the Gambles or the Byrneses or the Anglue Gluechadors, all of whom have held the championship gold in the ReVival EraâŚnot the Jonathan-Christopher Hall, winner of the Almasy and just warming up that windpipe with his gal-pal before itâs collected againâŚit has just been necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and now that my mantle has become so overcrowded with the damn necks that I need to hire a contractor to build an extension? I AM THE TOP OF THIS MOUNTAIN. PRIME â I AM NUMBER ONE, BY DEFINITION!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Joe pats his best friend in the whole wide world, FLAMBERGE, on the back in excitement. Sid continues smoldering. Itâs powerful.
FLAMBERGE: And so in another world, I may ask âwhose neck is next?â, but we all know the answer! The man with the Golden Ticket, the Heart And/Or Soul of this place they sayâŚthe Jared Sykes.
YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!
FLAMBERGE: SYKES! I know you are here tonight, and I want to look you in the eyes. Champion to challenger. Wrestler to wrestler. I will not cower away, I will not complain about the HoRrIbLe FaTe of defending my title like my predecessor does, and still does, and wonât stop doing â we must measure, moi et toi. I am PRIMEâs ace, and you are PRIMEâs heart, and only one of those truths can matter the most in the end. Sid and Sidâs friend â hey, guys, listen, this is important â Sid and Sidâs friend are cool, they arenât going to do anything to you. The Mustache has moved on after your Colossus clash, and I am pretty certain that the Cecilworth does not even want to be here right now â so please. If you will. Come on out.
Thereâs a moment where it just gets quiet, almost to the point where things start to feel a little awkward. Fortunately we never quite hit that moment of full-on please-Jesus-someone-say-something-weâre-on-live-television when that first note of Northlaneâs âPlentyâ rips through the speakers. The crowd reaction is about what youâd expect, if what you expect is to get very loud all of a goddamn sudden.
Tonight Jared is wearing street clothes and the expression of a man whoâs not sure he actually wants to be out here right now. Some of that is probably the jetlag. Dude did just fly in from Japan after the Bang! tour concluded. But heâs here nonetheless, because heâs a little idiot man who sees a ring full of people keen on doing him bodily harm and thinks, âVisiting them would be a crackerjack idea!â
Still, he moves to the ring at a decent clip, and manages to secure a microphone from a ringside attendant before joining the Glue contingent in the ring.
Jared Sykes: Well⌠this is a little unexpected. You know, I just want to go on record here and say that I didnât plan on crashing your party tonight, because after the year youâve had⌠man, I think you, and Sid, and Sidâs friend have more than earned the right to brag.
There are a few boos rising from the crowd, because this isnât what these people want to hear right now. For his part, Jared raises a hand to try and get them to settle.
Jared Sykes: No no, Iâm serious. I know it might not be a popular opinion, but heâs right. This man has been on a run for the ages. Heâs broken records. Heâs collected half a billion necks. And he is the Universal Champion.
He turns his attention towards FLAMBERGE.
Jared Sykes: And⌠and⌠I know that moment was taken away from you at Colossus. I wasnât going to be the reason why it happened again tonight, because I know what that feels like.
He offers an exaggerated shrug.
Jared Sykes: Buuuuuuuuuttt since you called me out here, I figure I get to tell you face-to-face. 2023 was a HELL of a year for the burning sword of Strasbourg, and for whatever itâs worth, you have my respect for that.
Somehow, despite all of FLAMBERGEâs earlier incendiary words, thereâs a look of mutual respect between the two competitors. Neither man flinches, and in doing so, both have passed some sort of silent test with each other. Sykes holds out his hand for a handshake â despite it all, despite everything with Hanlonâs involvement with the Glueminati and despite Joe and Sid being mere feet away, he knows this is the right thing to do â and FLAMBERGE looks down at it. Then he looks at the crowd.
Is this the moment we see a flicker of Julien Lavigne slip through the façade of FLAMBERGE?
The Frenchman begins to extend his hand.
âŚ
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
Nick Stuart: OH, WHAT THE HELL? WHERE DID HE COME FROM??
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Cecilworth Farthington. Of course that fucker decided to show up after all.
Bent steel chair in hand, he sneers intensely at the crumbling Sykes, who is clutching at his back. Cecilworth gives him another-
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
-before ditching his weapon and diving in, looking to cause any kind of physical harm he can to the joints and ears and eyes of Jared Sykes.
UntilâŚ
âŚdid FLAMBERGE just shove Farthington off?
He did. FLAMBO just pushed The Financier off of Sykes.
OHHHHHHHHHHHH
The two almost come nose-to-nose and start to jaw at each other. Lipreaders may catch Cecilworth saying something along the lines of âyou donât know a damn thing about what this is aboutâ and FLAMBERGE saying something along the lines of âI didnât ask for your damn helpâ. Joe and Sid are frozen, unsure whether to intervene, whomstâs behalf to intervene for, or if they should maybe start hitting Sykes too? No, they decide â FLAMBOâs not happy about the hitting, letâs not hit.
After a VERY tense staredown between the original two Crown Princes of Glue, Cecilworth rolls his eyes and backs off. This idiot Frenchman isnât capable of understanding, and this conversation is going to take more time than heâs willing to give in front of a bunch of plebs here in Buffalo.
FLAMBERGE turns to the prone Sykes.
FLAMBERGE: Thatâs TWO you owe me now, Sykes.
Jared rolls onto his side and bites on his upper lip. Then, in a rare moment of pure, unchecked frustration, he pounds the mat with his fist.
Every time. Every goddamn time. Maybe one day heâll learn.
Probably not.
The Glueminati all exit the ring to leave Sykes to his thoughts as we cut to backstage.
A familiar piano sample begins to loop throughout the KeyBank Arena as PRIMEates rise to their feet!
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚoh, shit.
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
As the beat kicks in and âooh la laâ by Run The Jewels (feat. Greg Nice & DJ Premier) blares through the speakers, three very dapper boys step through the back.
Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips, collectively the Glue Man Group, beaming with a lot of pride at the job their boy has done. Joe is in his usual bedazzled green suit that really hurts the eyes if the light catches it the wrong way, while Sid is smoldering in his suit. Both have party hats, because of course they do. FLAMBERGE, the aforementioned âboyâ, looks about as extra as it getsâŚheâs got a bright copper coat that seems to be covered with reptilian scales and pokey bits and tassels and, somehow, not a single pocket, as well as bright teal tailored slacks. His yellow sunglasses, once perhaps made of plastic and available at your local discount bin, have been upgraded to yellow Wayfarer tinted Ray-Bans. The PRIME Universal Championship gleams around his waist, freshly polished and glorious.
Behold, PRIME. You allowed this to happen. The snowball was allowed to roll down the hill, and now itâs Move Or Get Flattened By The Fucking Boulder.
The Lizard King has come to collect. Again.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing at this timeâŚthe NEWWWWWWW PRIME Universal Champion! FLAAAAAAAMBEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRGE!
Nick Stuart: What a remarkable 2023 this young man has had, partner â he became the Intense Champion after an unforgettable Pier Six Brawl against Anna Daniels, he broke â let me repeat, he BROKE â the all time record for consecutive singles victories in the history of PRIME across its twenty-plus year history, a streak that is still alive by the way, and he found a way to defeat the unstoppable Russian juggernaut that is Ivan Stanislav to claim the Universal Championship in the main event of Colossus. Unreal!
Richard Parker: All hail the Bearded Dragon, Nick! Nobody seems to be able to figure out how to deal with this, I donât know, this ENIGMA, and just like the rest of the glue boys, heâs an ace. A weird, weird freakinâ ace.
FLAMBERGE grabs a microphone from a ringside staffer as his music fades out. Itâs, again, not a full-on boo and CERTAINLY not a cheer from the crowd tonight â theyâre certainly happy that the Russian Bear is no longer champion, but there is no love lost for the French Lizard standing before them now, nor for the all-too-eager Joe and Sid flanking him. Joe is going to town with his party blower, thatâs how eager he is.
FLAMBERGE: This is the part where I say something bizarre, non?
He takes a look at Sid, whoâs smoldering as always. He doesnât say âheyâ because that might actually break something.
FLAMBERGE: Letâs start with this â hey, hello, I would like to dedicate my victory of this prized Universal Championship to the one man who saw something in me that no one else did, the one man who unlocked the TRUE potential inside â PRIMEâs first TRUE Big Bad, before the Russians or the Paxtons or the Vickies or the Farthington Jizz Pods or the Vampire Werewolf Boys With Stupid Little Tattoos ever sunk their teethy little teeth into this place â THIS IS FOR PHIL! ATKEN!!
FLAMBERGE unstraps the Universal Championship and holds it aloft, and NOW the boos come pouring in, because really, fuck that Phil Atken guy.
FLAMBERGE: Unjustly maligned, forced to retire before he truly hit his stride, the hero that made the bitch Brandon Youngblood choke on his own blood and spit and bile until the referee said ânon, no more, this man has had the enoughâ like I wish so badly I had done myself â Phil, I hope to have done you proud. I hope I have shown PRIME what it really, actually takes to be The Man here in the big leagues. SOMEBODY HAD TO.
The boos are a roaring cacophony at this point â not only is Phil Atken among the most loathed figures of the ReVival Era, but damn it, they like that zaddy Brandon Youngblood, and gosh darn this French kid for disagreeing!
FLAMBERGE: Do you know what happens when you win and you win, and you win and you win? For nearly sixteen months, not a single fall to the pin nor the submission to the hold, and as the championship belts flow? Need I remind you â NOBODY in this company has been able to touch me! Not the Stanislav who whines and moans like a child that I was some sort of âsurpriseâ when he had AN ENTIRE MONTH TO PREPARE FOR OUR MATCHâŚnot the Tsondas or the Avalons or the Gambles or the Byrneses or the Anglue Gluechadors, all of whom have held the championship gold in the ReVival EraâŚnot the Jonathan-Christopher Hall, winner of the Almasy and just warming up that windpipe with his gal-pal before itâs collected againâŚit has just been necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and now that my mantle has become so overcrowded with the damn necks that I need to hire a contractor to build an extension? I AM THE TOP OF THIS MOUNTAIN. PRIME â I AM NUMBER ONE, BY DEFINITION!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Joe pats his best friend in the whole wide world, FLAMBERGE, on the back in excitement. Sid continues smoldering. Itâs powerful.
FLAMBERGE: And so in another world, I may ask âwhose neck is next?â, but we all know the answer! The man with the Golden Ticket, the Heart And/Or Soul of this place they sayâŚthe Jared Sykes.
YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!
FLAMBERGE: SYKES! I know you are here tonight, and I want to look you in the eyes. Champion to challenger. Wrestler to wrestler. I will not cower away, I will not complain about the HoRrIbLe FaTe of defending my title like my predecessor does, and still does, and wonât stop doing â we must measure, moi et toi. I am PRIMEâs ace, and you are PRIMEâs heart, and only one of those truths can matter the most in the end. Sid and Sidâs friend â hey, guys, listen, this is important â Sid and Sidâs friend are cool, they arenât going to do anything to you. The Mustache has moved on after your Colossus clash, and I am pretty certain that the Cecilworth does not even want to be here right now â so please. If you will. Come on out.
Thereâs a moment where it just gets quiet, almost to the point where things start to feel a little awkward. Fortunately we never quite hit that moment of full-on please-Jesus-someone-say-something-weâre-on-live-television when that first note of Northlaneâs âPlentyâ rips through the speakers. The crowd reaction is about what youâd expect, if what you expect is to get very loud all of a goddamn sudden.
Tonight Jared is wearing street clothes and the expression of a man whoâs not sure he actually wants to be out here right now. Some of that is probably the jetlag. Dude did just fly in from Japan after the Bang! tour concluded. But heâs here nonetheless, because heâs a little idiot man who sees a ring full of people keen on doing him bodily harm and thinks, âVisiting them would be a crackerjack idea!â
Still, he moves to the ring at a decent clip, and manages to secure a microphone from a ringside attendant before joining the Glue contingent in the ring.
Jared Sykes: Well⌠this is a little unexpected. You know, I just want to go on record here and say that I didnât plan on crashing your party tonight, because after the year youâve had⌠man, I think you, and Sid, and Sidâs friend have more than earned the right to brag.
There are a few boos rising from the crowd, because this isnât what these people want to hear right now. For his part, Jared raises a hand to try and get them to settle.
Jared Sykes: No no, Iâm serious. I know it might not be a popular opinion, but heâs right. This man has been on a run for the ages. Heâs broken records. Heâs collected half a billion necks. And he is the Universal Champion.
He turns his attention towards FLAMBERGE.
Jared Sykes: And⌠and⌠I know that moment was taken away from you at Colossus. I wasnât going to be the reason why it happened again tonight, because I know what that feels like.
He offers an exaggerated shrug.
Jared Sykes: Buuuuuuuuuttt since you called me out here, I figure I get to tell you face-to-face. 2023 was a HELL of a year for the burning sword of Strasbourg, and for whatever itâs worth, you have my respect for that.
Somehow, despite all of FLAMBERGEâs earlier incendiary words, thereâs a look of mutual respect between the two competitors. Neither man flinches, and in doing so, both have passed some sort of silent test with each other. Sykes holds out his hand for a handshake â despite it all, despite everything with Hanlonâs involvement with the Glueminati and despite Joe and Sid being mere feet away, he knows this is the right thing to do â and FLAMBERGE looks down at it. Then he looks at the crowd.
Is this the moment we see a flicker of Julien Lavigne slip through the façade of FLAMBERGE?
The Frenchman begins to extend his hand.
âŚ
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
Nick Stuart: OH, WHAT THE HELL? WHERE DID HE COME FROM??
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Cecilworth Farthington. Of course that fucker decided to show up after all.
Bent steel chair in hand, he sneers intensely at the crumbling Sykes, who is clutching at his back. Cecilworth gives him another-
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
-before ditching his weapon and diving in, looking to cause any kind of physical harm he can to the joints and ears and eyes of Jared Sykes.
UntilâŚ
âŚdid FLAMBERGE just shove Farthington off?
He did. FLAMBO just pushed The Financier off of Sykes.
OHHHHHHHHHHHH
The two almost come nose-to-nose and start to jaw at each other. Lipreaders may catch Cecilworth saying something along the lines of âyou donât know a damn thing about what this is aboutâ and FLAMBERGE saying something along the lines of âI didnât ask for your damn helpâ. Joe and Sid are frozen, unsure whether to intervene, whomstâs behalf to intervene for, or if they should maybe start hitting Sykes too? No, they decide â FLAMBOâs not happy about the hitting, letâs not hit.
After a VERY tense staredown between the original two Crown Princes of Glue, Cecilworth rolls his eyes and backs off. This idiot Frenchman isnât capable of understanding, and this conversation is going to take more time than heâs willing to give in front of a bunch of plebs here in Buffalo.
FLAMBERGE turns to the prone Sykes.
FLAMBERGE: Thatâs TWO you owe me now, Sykes.
Jared rolls onto his side and bites on his upper lip. Then, in a rare moment of pure, unchecked frustration, he pounds the mat with his fist.
Every time. Every goddamn time. Maybe one day heâll learn.
Probably not.
The Glueminati all exit the ring to leave Sykes to his thoughts as we cut to backstage.
A familiar piano sample begins to loop throughout the KeyBank Arena as PRIMEates rise to their feet!
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚâŤ, âŤ
âŤâŚoh, shit.
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
As the beat kicks in and âooh la laâ by Run The Jewels (feat. Greg Nice & DJ Premier) blares through the speakers, three very dapper boys step through the back.
Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips, collectively the Glue Man Group, beaming with a lot of pride at the job their boy has done. Joe is in his usual bedazzled green suit that really hurts the eyes if the light catches it the wrong way, while Sid is smoldering in his suit. Both have party hats, because of course they do. FLAMBERGE, the aforementioned âboyâ, looks about as extra as it getsâŚheâs got a bright copper coat that seems to be covered with reptilian scales and pokey bits and tassels and, somehow, not a single pocket, as well as bright teal tailored slacks. His yellow sunglasses, once perhaps made of plastic and available at your local discount bin, have been upgraded to yellow Wayfarer tinted Ray-Bans. The PRIME Universal Championship gleams around his waist, freshly polished and glorious.
Behold, PRIME. You allowed this to happen. The snowball was allowed to roll down the hill, and now itâs Move Or Get Flattened By The Fucking Boulder.
The Lizard King has come to collect. Again.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing at this timeâŚthe NEWWWWWWW PRIME Universal Champion! FLAAAAAAAMBEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRGE!
Nick Stuart: What a remarkable 2023 this young man has had, partner â he became the Intense Champion after an unforgettable Pier Six Brawl against Anna Daniels, he broke â let me repeat, he BROKE â the all time record for consecutive singles victories in the history of PRIME across its twenty-plus year history, a streak that is still alive by the way, and he found a way to defeat the unstoppable Russian juggernaut that is Ivan Stanislav to claim the Universal Championship in the main event of Colossus. Unreal!
Richard Parker: All hail the Bearded Dragon, Nick! Nobody seems to be able to figure out how to deal with this, I donât know, this ENIGMA, and just like the rest of the glue boys, heâs an ace. A weird, weird freakinâ ace.
FLAMBERGE grabs a microphone from a ringside staffer as his music fades out. Itâs, again, not a full-on boo and CERTAINLY not a cheer from the crowd tonight â theyâre certainly happy that the Russian Bear is no longer champion, but there is no love lost for the French Lizard standing before them now, nor for the all-too-eager Joe and Sid flanking him. Joe is going to town with his party blower, thatâs how eager he is.
FLAMBERGE: This is the part where I say something bizarre, non?
He takes a look at Sid, whoâs smoldering as always. He doesnât say âheyâ because that might actually break something.
FLAMBERGE: Letâs start with this â hey, hello, I would like to dedicate my victory of this prized Universal Championship to the one man who saw something in me that no one else did, the one man who unlocked the TRUE potential inside â PRIMEâs first TRUE Big Bad, before the Russians or the Paxtons or the Vickies or the Farthington Jizz Pods or the Vampire Werewolf Boys With Stupid Little Tattoos ever sunk their teethy little teeth into this place â THIS IS FOR PHIL! ATKEN!!
FLAMBERGE unstraps the Universal Championship and holds it aloft, and NOW the boos come pouring in, because really, fuck that Phil Atken guy.
FLAMBERGE: Unjustly maligned, forced to retire before he truly hit his stride, the hero that made the bitch Brandon Youngblood choke on his own blood and spit and bile until the referee said ânon, no more, this man has had the enoughâ like I wish so badly I had done myself â Phil, I hope to have done you proud. I hope I have shown PRIME what it really, actually takes to be The Man here in the big leagues. SOMEBODY HAD TO.
The boos are a roaring cacophony at this point â not only is Phil Atken among the most loathed figures of the ReVival Era, but damn it, they like that zaddy Brandon Youngblood, and gosh darn this French kid for disagreeing!
FLAMBERGE: Do you know what happens when you win and you win, and you win and you win? For nearly sixteen months, not a single fall to the pin nor the submission to the hold, and as the championship belts flow? Need I remind you â NOBODY in this company has been able to touch me! Not the Stanislav who whines and moans like a child that I was some sort of âsurpriseâ when he had AN ENTIRE MONTH TO PREPARE FOR OUR MATCHâŚnot the Tsondas or the Avalons or the Gambles or the Byrneses or the Anglue Gluechadors, all of whom have held the championship gold in the ReVival EraâŚnot the Jonathan-Christopher Hall, winner of the Almasy and just warming up that windpipe with his gal-pal before itâs collected againâŚit has just been necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and necks, and now that my mantle has become so overcrowded with the damn necks that I need to hire a contractor to build an extension? I AM THE TOP OF THIS MOUNTAIN. PRIME â I AM NUMBER ONE, BY DEFINITION!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Joe pats his best friend in the whole wide world, FLAMBERGE, on the back in excitement. Sid continues smoldering. Itâs powerful.
FLAMBERGE: And so in another world, I may ask âwhose neck is next?â, but we all know the answer! The man with the Golden Ticket, the Heart And/Or Soul of this place they sayâŚthe Jared Sykes.
YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!
FLAMBERGE: SYKES! I know you are here tonight, and I want to look you in the eyes. Champion to challenger. Wrestler to wrestler. I will not cower away, I will not complain about the HoRrIbLe FaTe of defending my title like my predecessor does, and still does, and wonât stop doing â we must measure, moi et toi. I am PRIMEâs ace, and you are PRIMEâs heart, and only one of those truths can matter the most in the end. Sid and Sidâs friend â hey, guys, listen, this is important â Sid and Sidâs friend are cool, they arenât going to do anything to you. The Mustache has moved on after your Colossus clash, and I am pretty certain that the Cecilworth does not even want to be here right now â so please. If you will. Come on out.
Thereâs a moment where it just gets quiet, almost to the point where things start to feel a little awkward. Fortunately we never quite hit that moment of full-on please-Jesus-someone-say-something-weâre-on-live-television when that first note of Northlaneâs âPlentyâ rips through the speakers. The crowd reaction is about what youâd expect, if what you expect is to get very loud all of a goddamn sudden.
Tonight Jared is wearing street clothes and the expression of a man whoâs not sure he actually wants to be out here right now. Some of that is probably the jetlag. Dude did just fly in from Japan after the Bang! tour concluded. But heâs here nonetheless, because heâs a little idiot man who sees a ring full of people keen on doing him bodily harm and thinks, âVisiting them would be a crackerjack idea!â
Still, he moves to the ring at a decent clip, and manages to secure a microphone from a ringside attendant before joining the Glue contingent in the ring.
Jared Sykes: Well⌠this is a little unexpected. You know, I just want to go on record here and say that I didnât plan on crashing your party tonight, because after the year youâve had⌠man, I think you, and Sid, and Sidâs friend have more than earned the right to brag.
There are a few boos rising from the crowd, because this isnât what these people want to hear right now. For his part, Jared raises a hand to try and get them to settle.
Jared Sykes: No no, Iâm serious. I know it might not be a popular opinion, but heâs right. This man has been on a run for the ages. Heâs broken records. Heâs collected half a billion necks. And he is the Universal Champion.
He turns his attention towards FLAMBERGE.
Jared Sykes: And⌠and⌠I know that moment was taken away from you at Colossus. I wasnât going to be the reason why it happened again tonight, because I know what that feels like.
He offers an exaggerated shrug.
Jared Sykes: Buuuuuuuuuttt since you called me out here, I figure I get to tell you face-to-face. 2023 was a HELL of a year for the burning sword of Strasbourg, and for whatever itâs worth, you have my respect for that.
Somehow, despite all of FLAMBERGEâs earlier incendiary words, thereâs a look of mutual respect between the two competitors. Neither man flinches, and in doing so, both have passed some sort of silent test with each other. Sykes holds out his hand for a handshake â despite it all, despite everything with Hanlonâs involvement with the Glueminati and despite Joe and Sid being mere feet away, he knows this is the right thing to do â and FLAMBERGE looks down at it. Then he looks at the crowd.
Is this the moment we see a flicker of Julien Lavigne slip through the façade of FLAMBERGE?
The Frenchman begins to extend his hand.
âŚ
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
Nick Stuart: OH, WHAT THE HELL? WHERE DID HE COME FROM??
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Cecilworth Farthington. Of course that fucker decided to show up after all.
Bent steel chair in hand, he sneers intensely at the crumbling Sykes, who is clutching at his back. Cecilworth gives him another-
SMACKKKKKKKKK!!!
-before ditching his weapon and diving in, looking to cause any kind of physical harm he can to the joints and ears and eyes of Jared Sykes.
UntilâŚ
âŚdid FLAMBERGE just shove Farthington off?
He did. FLAMBO just pushed The Financier off of Sykes.
OHHHHHHHHHHHH
The two almost come nose-to-nose and start to jaw at each other. Lipreaders may catch Cecilworth saying something along the lines of âyou donât know a damn thing about what this is aboutâ and FLAMBERGE saying something along the lines of âI didnât ask for your damn helpâ. Joe and Sid are frozen, unsure whether to intervene, whomstâs behalf to intervene for, or if they should maybe start hitting Sykes too? No, they decide â FLAMBOâs not happy about the hitting, letâs not hit.
After a VERY tense staredown between the original two Crown Princes of Glue, Cecilworth rolls his eyes and backs off. This idiot Frenchman isnât capable of understanding, and this conversation is going to take more time than heâs willing to give in front of a bunch of plebs here in Buffalo.
FLAMBERGE turns to the prone Sykes.
FLAMBERGE: Thatâs TWO you owe me now, Sykes.
Jared rolls onto his side and bites on his upper lip. Then, in a rare moment of pure, unchecked frustration, he pounds the mat with his fist.
Every time. Every goddamn time. Maybe one day heâll learn.
Probably not.
The Glueminati all exit the ring to leave Sykes to his thoughts as we cut to backstage.
There are clocks.
Sorry to spring that on you all of a sudden, but the walls of the room are covered in various timepieces. You have the old-timey analog clocks. You had digital clocks. You had weird novelty clocks that look like they belonged to various cartoons and intellectual properties that we might get in trouble with the owl police for name-dropping. The camera pans down, and catches the feet of a well-dressed man as he walks in.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): TimeâŚ
The scene fade cuts to the wall of clocks, with the sound of ticking clocks overwhelming the senses.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚIt runs out, eventually.
As the camera pans over the wall of clocks, the back of Avalonâs head rolls by as he stares at them.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who laces the boots and walks out from behind that curtain, they do so believing that their time will never run out.
Now it cuts to more clocks. So many clocks. Thereâs also a sundial hidden in there, which is pretty useless since thereâs no discernable sun in this room.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who goes out there and thinks that time is on their sideâŚ
The scene cuts to the end of the Alias championship match at Colossus, with the shocked expression on Chandler Tsondaâs face when time ran out right before he could even the match back up.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚis not thinking straight.
The camera cuts to a table. A flat surface. Slowly, it tilts forward until it faces Coral Avalon. Wearing a blue waistcoat and a red tie, the Crownless King looks as stylish as he ever had before. Behind him is the wall of clocks, ticking away. The âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship once held by Chandler Tsonda sits to his left. The actual Alias championship, the one previously carried by Kjedelig, Lipschitz, and Gamble, sits by his right. His fingers are tented before him.
Coral Avalon: My name is Coral AvalonâŚ
Applause!
Coral Avalon: âŚAnd Iâm here to make sure that time is your enemy.
He smiled dangerously. The camera cuts to the side of Coralâs face, while he addressed the camera thatâs actually in front of him.
Coral Avalon: I know the first thing people are excited about when they get a new Alias champion is the answer to the question, âWell, whatâs going to be different with this champion?â
Clocks. Itâs a shot of more clocks. Tick tock.
Coral Avalon: And, you know, being one of the eGG Bandits, I couldâve easily picked something absolutely stupid to be the stipulation. Bandit Lumberjack matches, USS Octane Dungeon matches, Bobby Dean on a pole matchesâŚ
A shot of Coral shrugging, still sitting next to the two title belts in his possession.
Coral Avalon: Donât ask me how that one works. We might need a forklift and a gravitational anchor for that, but I digress.
Now we get a shot of just the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship that Tsonda had made. You could still see the motions that Avalon is making as he continues talking.
Coral Avalon: My predecessor thought he could harness time. Mold it to his liking. He bargained that he could beat a man more times than they could beat him in that time. Hence, he made a title he called âNumbers Donât Lieâ. Literally, he made it. Went to a belt maker and said, âMake this for me.â
A shot of Coralâs incredulous smile.
Coral Avalon: And I thought about that for a while, so long that I came to two decisions.
The camera pans out as Coral gestures at the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship.
Coral Avalon: The first one is in regards to you, Chandler Tsonda. Iâm sending this belt back to you. I canât claim ownership of this.
Coral tents his fingers again as he shrugs.
Coral Avalon: Okay, so I did consider letting Bobby have it, but yâknow, it doesnât quite fit him. Either way, youâre the one who had this made, so go mount it on a wall next to your second Hall of Fame plaque or something.
A production assistant came in to take the âNumbers Donât Lieâ belt off of the table. As they do, the camera pans over to the original Alias championship.
Coral Avalon: Second⌠time wasnât on Chandlerâs side. And under my reign, it wonât be on anyone elseâs side, either. None but mine.
The camera pans back over to Coral, who holds up one finger on his right hand and a full five with his left.
Coral Avalon: Fifteen minutes.
The camera starts to zoom back into Coral as he continues to hold his fingers up.
Coral Avalon: To any of you looking to take this belt off of me, thatâs how long you have to do it. Fifteen minutes. For reference, thatâs how long itâll take Bobby to get his pizza rolls just the way he likes them. When your time runs out, so does your chance to win this belt from me.
There is a pause as the camera stops zooming in.
Coral Avalon: Because when you run out of time, itâs my victory.
He stares at the camera with a more serious expression than the carefree one heâd worn until now.
Coral Avalon: Of course, Iâm not going to run or hide from any of you to keep this title around my waist.
He tents his fingers again, smiling that dangerous smile once more.
Coral Avalon: No, I promise that for anyone who challenges me for this title that these are going to be the worst fifteen minutes of your lives.
He winks.
Coral Avalon: Tick tock.
The scene switches to a view of so many clocks. The sound of their ticking grows ever louder until, at last, the scene cuts away.
There are clocks.
Sorry to spring that on you all of a sudden, but the walls of the room are covered in various timepieces. You have the old-timey analog clocks. You had digital clocks. You had weird novelty clocks that look like they belonged to various cartoons and intellectual properties that we might get in trouble with the owl police for name-dropping. The camera pans down, and catches the feet of a well-dressed man as he walks in.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): TimeâŚ
The scene fade cuts to the wall of clocks, with the sound of ticking clocks overwhelming the senses.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚIt runs out, eventually.
As the camera pans over the wall of clocks, the back of Avalonâs head rolls by as he stares at them.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who laces the boots and walks out from behind that curtain, they do so believing that their time will never run out.
Now it cuts to more clocks. So many clocks. Thereâs also a sundial hidden in there, which is pretty useless since thereâs no discernable sun in this room.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who goes out there and thinks that time is on their sideâŚ
The scene cuts to the end of the Alias championship match at Colossus, with the shocked expression on Chandler Tsondaâs face when time ran out right before he could even the match back up.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚis not thinking straight.
The camera cuts to a table. A flat surface. Slowly, it tilts forward until it faces Coral Avalon. Wearing a blue waistcoat and a red tie, the Crownless King looks as stylish as he ever had before. Behind him is the wall of clocks, ticking away. The âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship once held by Chandler Tsonda sits to his left. The actual Alias championship, the one previously carried by Kjedelig, Lipschitz, and Gamble, sits by his right. His fingers are tented before him.
Coral Avalon: My name is Coral AvalonâŚ
Applause!
Coral Avalon: âŚAnd Iâm here to make sure that time is your enemy.
He smiled dangerously. The camera cuts to the side of Coralâs face, while he addressed the camera thatâs actually in front of him.
Coral Avalon: I know the first thing people are excited about when they get a new Alias champion is the answer to the question, âWell, whatâs going to be different with this champion?â
Clocks. Itâs a shot of more clocks. Tick tock.
Coral Avalon: And, you know, being one of the eGG Bandits, I couldâve easily picked something absolutely stupid to be the stipulation. Bandit Lumberjack matches, USS Octane Dungeon matches, Bobby Dean on a pole matchesâŚ
A shot of Coral shrugging, still sitting next to the two title belts in his possession.
Coral Avalon: Donât ask me how that one works. We might need a forklift and a gravitational anchor for that, but I digress.
Now we get a shot of just the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship that Tsonda had made. You could still see the motions that Avalon is making as he continues talking.
Coral Avalon: My predecessor thought he could harness time. Mold it to his liking. He bargained that he could beat a man more times than they could beat him in that time. Hence, he made a title he called âNumbers Donât Lieâ. Literally, he made it. Went to a belt maker and said, âMake this for me.â
A shot of Coralâs incredulous smile.
Coral Avalon: And I thought about that for a while, so long that I came to two decisions.
The camera pans out as Coral gestures at the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship.
Coral Avalon: The first one is in regards to you, Chandler Tsonda. Iâm sending this belt back to you. I canât claim ownership of this.
Coral tents his fingers again as he shrugs.
Coral Avalon: Okay, so I did consider letting Bobby have it, but yâknow, it doesnât quite fit him. Either way, youâre the one who had this made, so go mount it on a wall next to your second Hall of Fame plaque or something.
A production assistant came in to take the âNumbers Donât Lieâ belt off of the table. As they do, the camera pans over to the original Alias championship.
Coral Avalon: Second⌠time wasnât on Chandlerâs side. And under my reign, it wonât be on anyone elseâs side, either. None but mine.
The camera pans back over to Coral, who holds up one finger on his right hand and a full five with his left.
Coral Avalon: Fifteen minutes.
The camera starts to zoom back into Coral as he continues to hold his fingers up.
Coral Avalon: To any of you looking to take this belt off of me, thatâs how long you have to do it. Fifteen minutes. For reference, thatâs how long itâll take Bobby to get his pizza rolls just the way he likes them. When your time runs out, so does your chance to win this belt from me.
There is a pause as the camera stops zooming in.
Coral Avalon: Because when you run out of time, itâs my victory.
He stares at the camera with a more serious expression than the carefree one heâd worn until now.
Coral Avalon: Of course, Iâm not going to run or hide from any of you to keep this title around my waist.
He tents his fingers again, smiling that dangerous smile once more.
Coral Avalon: No, I promise that for anyone who challenges me for this title that these are going to be the worst fifteen minutes of your lives.
He winks.
Coral Avalon: Tick tock.
The scene switches to a view of so many clocks. The sound of their ticking grows ever louder until, at last, the scene cuts away.
There are clocks.
Sorry to spring that on you all of a sudden, but the walls of the room are covered in various timepieces. You have the old-timey analog clocks. You had digital clocks. You had weird novelty clocks that look like they belonged to various cartoons and intellectual properties that we might get in trouble with the owl police for name-dropping. The camera pans down, and catches the feet of a well-dressed man as he walks in.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): TimeâŚ
The scene fade cuts to the wall of clocks, with the sound of ticking clocks overwhelming the senses.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚIt runs out, eventually.
As the camera pans over the wall of clocks, the back of Avalonâs head rolls by as he stares at them.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who laces the boots and walks out from behind that curtain, they do so believing that their time will never run out.
Now it cuts to more clocks. So many clocks. Thereâs also a sundial hidden in there, which is pretty useless since thereâs no discernable sun in this room.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): Every man who goes out there and thinks that time is on their sideâŚ
The scene cuts to the end of the Alias championship match at Colossus, with the shocked expression on Chandler Tsondaâs face when time ran out right before he could even the match back up.
Coral Avalon (voice-over): âŚis not thinking straight.
The camera cuts to a table. A flat surface. Slowly, it tilts forward until it faces Coral Avalon. Wearing a blue waistcoat and a red tie, the Crownless King looks as stylish as he ever had before. Behind him is the wall of clocks, ticking away. The âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship once held by Chandler Tsonda sits to his left. The actual Alias championship, the one previously carried by Kjedelig, Lipschitz, and Gamble, sits by his right. His fingers are tented before him.
Coral Avalon: My name is Coral AvalonâŚ
Applause!
Coral Avalon: âŚAnd Iâm here to make sure that time is your enemy.
He smiled dangerously. The camera cuts to the side of Coralâs face, while he addressed the camera thatâs actually in front of him.
Coral Avalon: I know the first thing people are excited about when they get a new Alias champion is the answer to the question, âWell, whatâs going to be different with this champion?â
Clocks. Itâs a shot of more clocks. Tick tock.
Coral Avalon: And, you know, being one of the eGG Bandits, I couldâve easily picked something absolutely stupid to be the stipulation. Bandit Lumberjack matches, USS Octane Dungeon matches, Bobby Dean on a pole matchesâŚ
A shot of Coral shrugging, still sitting next to the two title belts in his possession.
Coral Avalon: Donât ask me how that one works. We might need a forklift and a gravitational anchor for that, but I digress.
Now we get a shot of just the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship that Tsonda had made. You could still see the motions that Avalon is making as he continues talking.
Coral Avalon: My predecessor thought he could harness time. Mold it to his liking. He bargained that he could beat a man more times than they could beat him in that time. Hence, he made a title he called âNumbers Donât Lieâ. Literally, he made it. Went to a belt maker and said, âMake this for me.â
A shot of Coralâs incredulous smile.
Coral Avalon: And I thought about that for a while, so long that I came to two decisions.
The camera pans out as Coral gestures at the âNumbers Donât Lieâ championship.
Coral Avalon: The first one is in regards to you, Chandler Tsonda. Iâm sending this belt back to you. I canât claim ownership of this.
Coral tents his fingers again as he shrugs.
Coral Avalon: Okay, so I did consider letting Bobby have it, but yâknow, it doesnât quite fit him. Either way, youâre the one who had this made, so go mount it on a wall next to your second Hall of Fame plaque or something.
A production assistant came in to take the âNumbers Donât Lieâ belt off of the table. As they do, the camera pans over to the original Alias championship.
Coral Avalon: Second⌠time wasnât on Chandlerâs side. And under my reign, it wonât be on anyone elseâs side, either. None but mine.
The camera pans back over to Coral, who holds up one finger on his right hand and a full five with his left.
Coral Avalon: Fifteen minutes.
The camera starts to zoom back into Coral as he continues to hold his fingers up.
Coral Avalon: To any of you looking to take this belt off of me, thatâs how long you have to do it. Fifteen minutes. For reference, thatâs how long itâll take Bobby to get his pizza rolls just the way he likes them. When your time runs out, so does your chance to win this belt from me.
There is a pause as the camera stops zooming in.
Coral Avalon: Because when you run out of time, itâs my victory.
He stares at the camera with a more serious expression than the carefree one heâd worn until now.
Coral Avalon: Of course, Iâm not going to run or hide from any of you to keep this title around my waist.
He tents his fingers again, smiling that dangerous smile once more.
Coral Avalon: No, I promise that for anyone who challenges me for this title that these are going to be the worst fifteen minutes of your lives.
He winks.
Coral Avalon: Tick tock.
The scene switches to a view of so many clocks. The sound of their ticking grows ever louder until, at last, the scene cuts away.
The feed switches from Coralâs big, alien, satellite of a forehead to Bobbyâs big, exposed, cavernous belly button. After an extended, and presumably laborious zoom out, the Honaleean can be seen standing next to his faithful brethren: Tony Gamble and Cancer Jiles.
Tony is dressed for battle seeing as he is up next, and frankly seems just a little smaller in stature when standing next to the T-shaded behemoth.
The Little Gallows Boy is in his typical tracksuit, and his Alfredo colored hair looks to be creamy as ever.
Dreamy.
The dubious trio has, like most everyone else, just gotten done watching Coralâs Paternity Pit.
Bobby Dean: HmmmmâŚ. I was wonderingâŚ.
Tony Gamble: So thatâs why heâs not here? Seems a little sus if you ask me.
Cancer Jiles: Thatâs why we didnât. Though, I will say a simple text, or phone call would have been nice. I get it heâs the Golden Bandit and all, but itâs not like heâs the UNIVERSAL champion for yolkâs sake. No matter, we got our hands full to begin with.
The Grin nods, readying himself for pep. Bob looks on, inquisitively.
Cancer Jiles: The road to War Games starts tonight, so letâs set the tone for things to come. Tony, go out there and prove to us, and PRIME, that thereâs only room for one black swan. Bobbyâ
The Crown Prince of Honalee clears his throat, stopping the proceedings before they can really get rolling.
Cancer Jiles: Yes, Captain?
Bobby Dean: I think one of the duties of being Captain is to give the rah rah speech, right?
With a flourishing wave of his hand and a bow at the waist, Cancer Jiles takes a step back, motioning that the floor was all Bobbyâs.
Cancer Jiles: By all means.
Bobby walks into the center of the room as tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. An audible gulp is heard as the large man mentally prepares himself before starting.
Bobby Dean: The road to War Crimes starts tonight, I think. So letâs set the time so weâre all synched, like ladies aligning their cycles. Tony, I want you to go in there and prove to us, and to all of HOW, that thereâs only room for one black man.
Tony Gamble: Iâm not really sure HOW to respond to that without getting my Jabber account suspended again, so Iâm just going to say that I donât want to be owled but will make you proud El Capitan.
Bobby Dean: Bobby, wait, thatâs me. Cancer what were you going to say for me?
Cancer Jiles: I donât think you need my help here, Cap, youâre flowing quite nicely as it is.
Bobby Dean: Right. Bobby, donât fuck this up! Be sure your, I mean, my laces are double knotted, and you, I mean, I paid the referee before the match! Wait, did I remember to pay the ref?
Cancer nods his head as if it were the best advice heâs heard, as Bobby mutters that last question to himself.
Bobby Dean: Cancer, I want you to be at ringside tonight. I want you in your best cheerleading outfit, you know, the one that barely covers your cheeks. I want them pom poms fluffed and shaking like there is no tomorrow! Weâre only as strong as our weakest link, and considering Doozer is no longer with us, someone has to take up his mantle.
The Maestro of COOL smirks as if he were sitting on a log; having aged many years over.
Doozer, suddenly appearing in the corner, doesnât look too pleased as he throws his hands up, which causes Cancerâs smirk to grow even smirkier.
Bobby Dean: Now, as Captain of this motley crue, I say, tally ho and follow the yellow brick road! Letâs fucking go!
With that rousing speech Bobby leads the way towards the exit. Gripping the knob of the door Bobby pushes forward, only for the door to not open. A gentle push followed by a little firmer push, and yet nothing happens. The door remains closed.
Cancer Jiles: Come on Bobbo, PULL yourself together man!
With frantic motions Bobby pushes against the door, throwing his meaty shoulder against it time and time again.
Tony Gamble: He canât be serious, right? Weâre about to PULL an all nighter here, buddy.
Bobby Dean: I think Coral locked the door when he started his segment!
Cancer rolls his eyes at the absurdity of that statement, as Bobby leans back and with a grunt slams his shoulder once more into the door.
Cancer Jiles: Someone has definitely PULLed a fast one on you Captain.
Tony Gamble: Perhaps we should PULL up a chair?
Cancer Jiles: If only he could PULL his weight.
Tony Gamble: Iâm surprised he hasnât asked us to PULL his fingerâŚ
You can visibly see when it finally clicks, Bobby reaches down for the knob and pulls the door towards him, opening it with ease.
Bobby Dean: Itâs okay guys, I unlocked it. Good luck out there, Tony. Iâm pooped.
Cut to elsewhere.
The feed switches from Coralâs big, alien, satellite of a forehead to Bobbyâs big, exposed, cavernous belly button. After an extended, and presumably laborious zoom out, the Honaleean can be seen standing next to his faithful brethren: Tony Gamble and Cancer Jiles.
Tony is dressed for battle seeing as he is up next, and frankly seems just a little smaller in stature when standing next to the T-shaded behemoth.
The Little Gallows Boy is in his typical tracksuit, and his Alfredo colored hair looks to be creamy as ever.
Dreamy.
The dubious trio has, like most everyone else, just gotten done watching Coralâs Paternity Pit.
Bobby Dean: HmmmmâŚ. I was wonderingâŚ.
Tony Gamble: So thatâs why heâs not here? Seems a little sus if you ask me.
Cancer Jiles: Thatâs why we didnât. Though, I will say a simple text, or phone call would have been nice. I get it heâs the Golden Bandit and all, but itâs not like heâs the UNIVERSAL champion for yolkâs sake. No matter, we got our hands full to begin with.
The Grin nods, readying himself for pep. Bob looks on, inquisitively.
Cancer Jiles: The road to War Games starts tonight, so letâs set the tone for things to come. Tony, go out there and prove to us, and PRIME, that thereâs only room for one black swan. Bobbyâ
The Crown Prince of Honalee clears his throat, stopping the proceedings before they can really get rolling.
Cancer Jiles: Yes, Captain?
Bobby Dean: I think one of the duties of being Captain is to give the rah rah speech, right?
With a flourishing wave of his hand and a bow at the waist, Cancer Jiles takes a step back, motioning that the floor was all Bobbyâs.
Cancer Jiles: By all means.
Bobby walks into the center of the room as tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. An audible gulp is heard as the large man mentally prepares himself before starting.
Bobby Dean: The road to War Crimes starts tonight, I think. So letâs set the time so weâre all synched, like ladies aligning their cycles. Tony, I want you to go in there and prove to us, and to all of HOW, that thereâs only room for one black man.
Tony Gamble: Iâm not really sure HOW to respond to that without getting my Jabber account suspended again, so Iâm just going to say that I donât want to be owled but will make you proud El Capitan.
Bobby Dean: Bobby, wait, thatâs me. Cancer what were you going to say for me?
Cancer Jiles: I donât think you need my help here, Cap, youâre flowing quite nicely as it is.
Bobby Dean: Right. Bobby, donât fuck this up! Be sure your, I mean, my laces are double knotted, and you, I mean, I paid the referee before the match! Wait, did I remember to pay the ref?
Cancer nods his head as if it were the best advice heâs heard, as Bobby mutters that last question to himself.
Bobby Dean: Cancer, I want you to be at ringside tonight. I want you in your best cheerleading outfit, you know, the one that barely covers your cheeks. I want them pom poms fluffed and shaking like there is no tomorrow! Weâre only as strong as our weakest link, and considering Doozer is no longer with us, someone has to take up his mantle.
The Maestro of COOL smirks as if he were sitting on a log; having aged many years over.
Doozer, suddenly appearing in the corner, doesnât look too pleased as he throws his hands up, which causes Cancerâs smirk to grow even smirkier.
Bobby Dean: Now, as Captain of this motley crue, I say, tally ho and follow the yellow brick road! Letâs fucking go!
With that rousing speech Bobby leads the way towards the exit. Gripping the knob of the door Bobby pushes forward, only for the door to not open. A gentle push followed by a little firmer push, and yet nothing happens. The door remains closed.
Cancer Jiles: Come on Bobbo, PULL yourself together man!
With frantic motions Bobby pushes against the door, throwing his meaty shoulder against it time and time again.
Tony Gamble: He canât be serious, right? Weâre about to PULL an all nighter here, buddy.
Bobby Dean: I think Coral locked the door when he started his segment!
Cancer rolls his eyes at the absurdity of that statement, as Bobby leans back and with a grunt slams his shoulder once more into the door.
Cancer Jiles: Someone has definitely PULLed a fast one on you Captain.
Tony Gamble: Perhaps we should PULL up a chair?
Cancer Jiles: If only he could PULL his weight.
Tony Gamble: Iâm surprised he hasnât asked us to PULL his fingerâŚ
You can visibly see when it finally clicks, Bobby reaches down for the knob and pulls the door towards him, opening it with ease.
Bobby Dean: Itâs okay guys, I unlocked it. Good luck out there, Tony. Iâm pooped.
Cut to elsewhere.
The feed switches from Coralâs big, alien, satellite of a forehead to Bobbyâs big, exposed, cavernous belly button. After an extended, and presumably laborious zoom out, the Honaleean can be seen standing next to his faithful brethren: Tony Gamble and Cancer Jiles.
Tony is dressed for battle seeing as he is up next, and frankly seems just a little smaller in stature when standing next to the T-shaded behemoth.
The Little Gallows Boy is in his typical tracksuit, and his Alfredo colored hair looks to be creamy as ever.
Dreamy.
The dubious trio has, like most everyone else, just gotten done watching Coralâs Paternity Pit.
Bobby Dean: HmmmmâŚ. I was wonderingâŚ.
Tony Gamble: So thatâs why heâs not here? Seems a little sus if you ask me.
Cancer Jiles: Thatâs why we didnât. Though, I will say a simple text, or phone call would have been nice. I get it heâs the Golden Bandit and all, but itâs not like heâs the UNIVERSAL champion for yolkâs sake. No matter, we got our hands full to begin with.
The Grin nods, readying himself for pep. Bob looks on, inquisitively.
Cancer Jiles: The road to War Games starts tonight, so letâs set the tone for things to come. Tony, go out there and prove to us, and PRIME, that thereâs only room for one black swan. Bobbyâ
The Crown Prince of Honalee clears his throat, stopping the proceedings before they can really get rolling.
Cancer Jiles: Yes, Captain?
Bobby Dean: I think one of the duties of being Captain is to give the rah rah speech, right?
With a flourishing wave of his hand and a bow at the waist, Cancer Jiles takes a step back, motioning that the floor was all Bobbyâs.
Cancer Jiles: By all means.
Bobby walks into the center of the room as tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. An audible gulp is heard as the large man mentally prepares himself before starting.
Bobby Dean: The road to War Crimes starts tonight, I think. So letâs set the time so weâre all synched, like ladies aligning their cycles. Tony, I want you to go in there and prove to us, and to all of HOW, that thereâs only room for one black man.
Tony Gamble: Iâm not really sure HOW to respond to that without getting my Jabber account suspended again, so Iâm just going to say that I donât want to be owled but will make you proud El Capitan.
Bobby Dean: Bobby, wait, thatâs me. Cancer what were you going to say for me?
Cancer Jiles: I donât think you need my help here, Cap, youâre flowing quite nicely as it is.
Bobby Dean: Right. Bobby, donât fuck this up! Be sure your, I mean, my laces are double knotted, and you, I mean, I paid the referee before the match! Wait, did I remember to pay the ref?
Cancer nods his head as if it were the best advice heâs heard, as Bobby mutters that last question to himself.
Bobby Dean: Cancer, I want you to be at ringside tonight. I want you in your best cheerleading outfit, you know, the one that barely covers your cheeks. I want them pom poms fluffed and shaking like there is no tomorrow! Weâre only as strong as our weakest link, and considering Doozer is no longer with us, someone has to take up his mantle.
The Maestro of COOL smirks as if he were sitting on a log; having aged many years over.
Doozer, suddenly appearing in the corner, doesnât look too pleased as he throws his hands up, which causes Cancerâs smirk to grow even smirkier.
Bobby Dean: Now, as Captain of this motley crue, I say, tally ho and follow the yellow brick road! Letâs fucking go!
With that rousing speech Bobby leads the way towards the exit. Gripping the knob of the door Bobby pushes forward, only for the door to not open. A gentle push followed by a little firmer push, and yet nothing happens. The door remains closed.
Cancer Jiles: Come on Bobbo, PULL yourself together man!
With frantic motions Bobby pushes against the door, throwing his meaty shoulder against it time and time again.
Tony Gamble: He canât be serious, right? Weâre about to PULL an all nighter here, buddy.
Bobby Dean: I think Coral locked the door when he started his segment!
Cancer rolls his eyes at the absurdity of that statement, as Bobby leans back and with a grunt slams his shoulder once more into the door.
Cancer Jiles: Someone has definitely PULLed a fast one on you Captain.
Tony Gamble: Perhaps we should PULL up a chair?
Cancer Jiles: If only he could PULL his weight.
Tony Gamble: Iâm surprised he hasnât asked us to PULL his fingerâŚ
You can visibly see when it finally clicks, Bobby reaches down for the knob and pulls the door towards him, opening it with ease.
Bobby Dean: Itâs okay guys, I unlocked it. Good luck out there, Tony. Iâm pooped.
Cut to elsewhere.
Cut away from the wall of clocks and Coral Avalonâs beautiful face to the Keybank Arena backstage area.
In a locker room, flanked by the Father, Lem, and the weirdos, Rob Williams sits wrapping his hands in tape. It helps, sometimes, to conceal the aching in his knuckles from years of playing the bongo drums on opponentsâ dome pieces. He holds hand in front of himself, clenching and relaxing his fist. Inspecting his work with a cocky smile, Rob nods. A job well done.
He looks up just in time to see the raven haired woman from the press conference passing by outside the door.
The Father: Serendipitous.
Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Maybe a God above who meddles in small personal affairs of two wrestlers to align their paths in a backstage area of Keybank Arena? Whatever you believe, or don ât, youâd be hard pressed to not admit that Anna Daniels and Rob Williams running into one another backstage of ReVival 41 was more than a fluke. In fact, given their schedules on this show, the amount of other wrestlers/staff/support at the show, and that they have no common threads⌠the chances are likely less than 10%. Yet here they are.
Rob: I like your energy. Youâre⌠chaotic, like a pipe bomb in a bingo hall.
At first, itâs unclear whether or not the Multitudes have even heard the comment. There is a pause followed by the squeaking of wrestling boots as the vessel moonwalks back to the doorway and takes a peek at the surroundings. Somewhere in the background is the lighting of a cigarette and the impervious snark of ah, fuck, yet another cult. Another flicks a glance at an empty spot near the Legend (or is it leGend considering the shirt) as if sensing something there, before deciding that making that Anna Daniels-shaped hole in the fourth wall that much deeper isnât necessaryâŚfor now.
Bone and sinew shape into a lounging position, leaning against the doorway. The hardness of the steel is softened by the faux-fur coat that makes her look like Cruella De Vilâs twin.
Anna: This bingo hall wouldnât be in Philadelphia, would it?
Thereâs a scramble for the microphone in her head after that question. The next attempt at speaking is less quippy.
Anna: Youâre not so horrible either. At least you have the balls to look us in the eye and smart enough to not go on a tirade.
Thereâs another bit of smoke in her head saying itâs a damn shame we have to compliment basic fucking decency that is shook off.
The Father: She hates Philadelphia. I like the cut of her jib.
Rob wants to let him know that nobody uses that expression, but heâs busy. Thereâs something striking about this woman. Itâs special. Too special to use a cliche like a car accident you canât look away from. No, this is more like the first time a child sees the red glow of a stovetop. Thereâs warmth and vibrant color and surefire catastrophe ahead. Her voice is like the opening chords to âJubilee Streetâ. Emotional, raw, visceral. Transcendental even.
Rob: It can be anywhere you want it to be. But, where better than Philly?
Her eyes. Something in him reminds him of revelry. Not the general kind, either. The type of fire that leads to a night where you get up claiming you never act like that. What is it about this woman?
Rob: Youâre fighting a Ruskie tonight, too, right? And I believe youâve had some back and forth with that swindling con artist Winters.
From behind he can feel the hot breath of the Father on his neck. He has been sizing Anna up,
The Father: This one is on a⌠different path. Not lost, per se. No, sheâs guided by something all her own. But, she doesnât have many friends left.
A novel idea. ĐŃĐ°Đł ПОогО вŃага â ПОК Đ´ŃŃĐł. Enemy of my enemies and all of that jazz. She may not be on the same path, but that doesnât mean their paths arenât closely aligned.
Rob: You know, in 1494, Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas. The Americas had just been âdiscoveredâ by the Europeans. Obviously, thereâs layers of debate to that statement, but for simplicityâs sake weâll take it at face value. Basically it was an agreement that neither party would fuck with the other while they were plundering and pillaging. Do you like pillaging and plundering?
History is a language she is versed in, even when they quite prefer not to be. The question is an interesting one that they give a shrug on.
Anna: Itâs a hell of a sight better than being the pillaged and plundered, weâd imagine.
Fuck knows Anna has been feeling like that over the past two years in this wretched disgusting universe. Quite honestly, itâs an irritation that never quite seems to go away. But as much as the Father is sizing them up, the Multitudes are taking Robâs measure. Subconsciously, an eyebrow quirks up.
Heâs an odd one, isnât he? Barely knowing us, yet willing to call an alliance of sorts.Â
Watching him there all sliver-haired and rough looking back at them, this conversation they were having feels familiar. It reeks of ancient promises and the dark. This isnât their first rodeo. They also know that, more often than not, it leads to disappointment. Then againâŚ
Anna: Since youâre making the proposal, you have an idea on whoâs going east, whoâs going west, and who flies over the cuckooâs nest?
âŚthereâs nothing left to lose on her end. Sometimes, your best bet is to tread on old roads in order to find stranger ones. Finding a bucket outside, the New Era turns it upside down and sits on the makeshift chair. On a lark, she hisses at the weirdos who seem to flinch in response.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites.
Rob: Sheâs married. And much more dangerous than Aphrodites.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites werenât always portrayed as romantically linked. More importantly, itâs *hissing* symbolism. A commentary depicting the sensual and the violent aspects of life itself and how they are intertwined. You canât separate them as much as you try. And Aphrodites started the Trojan War.
Symbolism. Rob has never really been one to think about things like symbolism. Life is funny. He returns his attention to Anna. Thereâs a certain affinity for how she carries herself. Itâs graceful, but blunt. If she were a weapon would she slice or induce blunt force trauma? Probably both.
Rob: Iâve always been fond of the rising sun. This is all chaos currently. The wretched have been allowed to run amok. Order is natural. If you donât keep the rats out they breed and breed and breed. Canât you smell the filth of the rats? Rats like Don Winters. I want to restore order. And I want to start by exposing that fraudulent rodent. I want to wrap my hands around his neck like a snake and watch the terror in his eyes as he realizes that his bill has come due. I am the reckoning. We can be the reckoning.
He lifts his giant arms, holding them out to vaguely gesture as if saying âlook at all of thisâ.
Rob: You can take your pick. What do you want, Ms. Daniels?
Anna: WhatâŚdo we want?
Itâs one hell of a question. When was the last time she heard that, especially from a mostly total stranger? There is a rattling around in her head as the Multitudes ponder this question. Her head tilts, partially out of confusion but also just listening.
Anna: For ourself or for this place? Because at this point, itâs two different things. You are absolutely right. Thereâs been a stench here for a while, the inmates are running the asylum, and any sort of order isnât coming from on high of this particular totem pole. What this place needs is balance. Too much order makes it stifling, boring, and makes it ripe for rebellion. Too much chaos leads to destruction of the soul. And not in the fun way. Perhaps thatâs why youâ
Yet another glance at the Father. Just enough to make it known. She stands from her seat and kicks it away. The two(ish) old souls make eye contact once again.
Anna: âare making the offer in the first place. As to what we want?
Another shrug.
Anna: At this point, we just want to create our art. Because we tried to warn them and they donât care. The only possibility left is violence.
She strolls into the room, catching the attention of the group. The underlings attempt to move from their places, but there is a look that says sit down, youâre not worth the fines. Anna smiles at Rob.
Anna: Youâve made the unforeseen mistake of being interesting to us. So if you wanna play ball with this âreckoningâ thingâŚ
And this is the part where she holds out a hand.
Anna: Weâll play. If nothing else, itâll be amusing.
Her hand pales in size to Robâs, but he is sure it is just as capable of violence. Maybe even moreso. Through the wrinkles and scars and frown lines of Robâs battle worn face comes a smile. The camera pans in on a tight shot from beside Rob and Anna, catching a framed shot of the moment they commence their handshake, their eyes locked. There is a familiar magnetism between them as if they have lived this encounter a thousand times. Maybe they have. The camera cuts to ringside.
Cut away from the wall of clocks and Coral Avalonâs beautiful face to the Keybank Arena backstage area.
In a locker room, flanked by the Father, Lem, and the weirdos, Rob Williams sits wrapping his hands in tape. It helps, sometimes, to conceal the aching in his knuckles from years of playing the bongo drums on opponentsâ dome pieces. He holds hand in front of himself, clenching and relaxing his fist. Inspecting his work with a cocky smile, Rob nods. A job well done.
He looks up just in time to see the raven haired woman from the press conference passing by outside the door.
The Father: Serendipitous.
Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Maybe a God above who meddles in small personal affairs of two wrestlers to align their paths in a backstage area of Keybank Arena? Whatever you believe, or don ât, youâd be hard pressed to not admit that Anna Daniels and Rob Williams running into one another backstage of ReVival 41 was more than a fluke. In fact, given their schedules on this show, the amount of other wrestlers/staff/support at the show, and that they have no common threads⌠the chances are likely less than 10%. Yet here they are.
Rob: I like your energy. Youâre⌠chaotic, like a pipe bomb in a bingo hall.
At first, itâs unclear whether or not the Multitudes have even heard the comment. There is a pause followed by the squeaking of wrestling boots as the vessel moonwalks back to the doorway and takes a peek at the surroundings. Somewhere in the background is the lighting of a cigarette and the impervious snark of ah, fuck, yet another cult. Another flicks a glance at an empty spot near the Legend (or is it leGend considering the shirt) as if sensing something there, before deciding that making that Anna Daniels-shaped hole in the fourth wall that much deeper isnât necessaryâŚfor now.
Bone and sinew shape into a lounging position, leaning against the doorway. The hardness of the steel is softened by the faux-fur coat that makes her look like Cruella De Vilâs twin.
Anna: This bingo hall wouldnât be in Philadelphia, would it?
Thereâs a scramble for the microphone in her head after that question. The next attempt at speaking is less quippy.
Anna: Youâre not so horrible either. At least you have the balls to look us in the eye and smart enough to not go on a tirade.
Thereâs another bit of smoke in her head saying itâs a damn shame we have to compliment basic fucking decency that is shook off.
The Father: She hates Philadelphia. I like the cut of her jib.
Rob wants to let him know that nobody uses that expression, but heâs busy. Thereâs something striking about this woman. Itâs special. Too special to use a cliche like a car accident you canât look away from. No, this is more like the first time a child sees the red glow of a stovetop. Thereâs warmth and vibrant color and surefire catastrophe ahead. Her voice is like the opening chords to âJubilee Streetâ. Emotional, raw, visceral. Transcendental even.
Rob: It can be anywhere you want it to be. But, where better than Philly?
Her eyes. Something in him reminds him of revelry. Not the general kind, either. The type of fire that leads to a night where you get up claiming you never act like that. What is it about this woman?
Rob: Youâre fighting a Ruskie tonight, too, right? And I believe youâve had some back and forth with that swindling con artist Winters.
From behind he can feel the hot breath of the Father on his neck. He has been sizing Anna up,
The Father: This one is on a⌠different path. Not lost, per se. No, sheâs guided by something all her own. But, she doesnât have many friends left.
A novel idea. ĐŃĐ°Đł ПОогО вŃага â ПОК Đ´ŃŃĐł. Enemy of my enemies and all of that jazz. She may not be on the same path, but that doesnât mean their paths arenât closely aligned.
Rob: You know, in 1494, Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas. The Americas had just been âdiscoveredâ by the Europeans. Obviously, thereâs layers of debate to that statement, but for simplicityâs sake weâll take it at face value. Basically it was an agreement that neither party would fuck with the other while they were plundering and pillaging. Do you like pillaging and plundering?
History is a language she is versed in, even when they quite prefer not to be. The question is an interesting one that they give a shrug on.
Anna: Itâs a hell of a sight better than being the pillaged and plundered, weâd imagine.
Fuck knows Anna has been feeling like that over the past two years in this wretched disgusting universe. Quite honestly, itâs an irritation that never quite seems to go away. But as much as the Father is sizing them up, the Multitudes are taking Robâs measure. Subconsciously, an eyebrow quirks up.
Heâs an odd one, isnât he? Barely knowing us, yet willing to call an alliance of sorts.Â
Watching him there all sliver-haired and rough looking back at them, this conversation they were having feels familiar. It reeks of ancient promises and the dark. This isnât their first rodeo. They also know that, more often than not, it leads to disappointment. Then againâŚ
Anna: Since youâre making the proposal, you have an idea on whoâs going east, whoâs going west, and who flies over the cuckooâs nest?
âŚthereâs nothing left to lose on her end. Sometimes, your best bet is to tread on old roads in order to find stranger ones. Finding a bucket outside, the New Era turns it upside down and sits on the makeshift chair. On a lark, she hisses at the weirdos who seem to flinch in response.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites.
Rob: Sheâs married. And much more dangerous than Aphrodites.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites werenât always portrayed as romantically linked. More importantly, itâs *hissing* symbolism. A commentary depicting the sensual and the violent aspects of life itself and how they are intertwined. You canât separate them as much as you try. And Aphrodites started the Trojan War.
Symbolism. Rob has never really been one to think about things like symbolism. Life is funny. He returns his attention to Anna. Thereâs a certain affinity for how she carries herself. Itâs graceful, but blunt. If she were a weapon would she slice or induce blunt force trauma? Probably both.
Rob: Iâve always been fond of the rising sun. This is all chaos currently. The wretched have been allowed to run amok. Order is natural. If you donât keep the rats out they breed and breed and breed. Canât you smell the filth of the rats? Rats like Don Winters. I want to restore order. And I want to start by exposing that fraudulent rodent. I want to wrap my hands around his neck like a snake and watch the terror in his eyes as he realizes that his bill has come due. I am the reckoning. We can be the reckoning.
He lifts his giant arms, holding them out to vaguely gesture as if saying âlook at all of thisâ.
Rob: You can take your pick. What do you want, Ms. Daniels?
Anna: WhatâŚdo we want?
Itâs one hell of a question. When was the last time she heard that, especially from a mostly total stranger? There is a rattling around in her head as the Multitudes ponder this question. Her head tilts, partially out of confusion but also just listening.
Anna: For ourself or for this place? Because at this point, itâs two different things. You are absolutely right. Thereâs been a stench here for a while, the inmates are running the asylum, and any sort of order isnât coming from on high of this particular totem pole. What this place needs is balance. Too much order makes it stifling, boring, and makes it ripe for rebellion. Too much chaos leads to destruction of the soul. And not in the fun way. Perhaps thatâs why youâ
Yet another glance at the Father. Just enough to make it known. She stands from her seat and kicks it away. The two(ish) old souls make eye contact once again.
Anna: âare making the offer in the first place. As to what we want?
Another shrug.
Anna: At this point, we just want to create our art. Because we tried to warn them and they donât care. The only possibility left is violence.
She strolls into the room, catching the attention of the group. The underlings attempt to move from their places, but there is a look that says sit down, youâre not worth the fines. Anna smiles at Rob.
Anna: Youâve made the unforeseen mistake of being interesting to us. So if you wanna play ball with this âreckoningâ thingâŚ
And this is the part where she holds out a hand.
Anna: Weâll play. If nothing else, itâll be amusing.
Her hand pales in size to Robâs, but he is sure it is just as capable of violence. Maybe even moreso. Through the wrinkles and scars and frown lines of Robâs battle worn face comes a smile. The camera pans in on a tight shot from beside Rob and Anna, catching a framed shot of the moment they commence their handshake, their eyes locked. There is a familiar magnetism between them as if they have lived this encounter a thousand times. Maybe they have. The camera cuts to ringside.
Cut away from the wall of clocks and Coral Avalonâs beautiful face to the Keybank Arena backstage area.
In a locker room, flanked by the Father, Lem, and the weirdos, Rob Williams sits wrapping his hands in tape. It helps, sometimes, to conceal the aching in his knuckles from years of playing the bongo drums on opponentsâ dome pieces. He holds hand in front of himself, clenching and relaxing his fist. Inspecting his work with a cocky smile, Rob nods. A job well done.
He looks up just in time to see the raven haired woman from the press conference passing by outside the door.
The Father: Serendipitous.
Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Maybe a God above who meddles in small personal affairs of two wrestlers to align their paths in a backstage area of Keybank Arena? Whatever you believe, or don ât, youâd be hard pressed to not admit that Anna Daniels and Rob Williams running into one another backstage of ReVival 41 was more than a fluke. In fact, given their schedules on this show, the amount of other wrestlers/staff/support at the show, and that they have no common threads⌠the chances are likely less than 10%. Yet here they are.
Rob: I like your energy. Youâre⌠chaotic, like a pipe bomb in a bingo hall.
At first, itâs unclear whether or not the Multitudes have even heard the comment. There is a pause followed by the squeaking of wrestling boots as the vessel moonwalks back to the doorway and takes a peek at the surroundings. Somewhere in the background is the lighting of a cigarette and the impervious snark of ah, fuck, yet another cult. Another flicks a glance at an empty spot near the Legend (or is it leGend considering the shirt) as if sensing something there, before deciding that making that Anna Daniels-shaped hole in the fourth wall that much deeper isnât necessaryâŚfor now.
Bone and sinew shape into a lounging position, leaning against the doorway. The hardness of the steel is softened by the faux-fur coat that makes her look like Cruella De Vilâs twin.
Anna: This bingo hall wouldnât be in Philadelphia, would it?
Thereâs a scramble for the microphone in her head after that question. The next attempt at speaking is less quippy.
Anna: Youâre not so horrible either. At least you have the balls to look us in the eye and smart enough to not go on a tirade.
Thereâs another bit of smoke in her head saying itâs a damn shame we have to compliment basic fucking decency that is shook off.
The Father: She hates Philadelphia. I like the cut of her jib.
Rob wants to let him know that nobody uses that expression, but heâs busy. Thereâs something striking about this woman. Itâs special. Too special to use a cliche like a car accident you canât look away from. No, this is more like the first time a child sees the red glow of a stovetop. Thereâs warmth and vibrant color and surefire catastrophe ahead. Her voice is like the opening chords to âJubilee Streetâ. Emotional, raw, visceral. Transcendental even.
Rob: It can be anywhere you want it to be. But, where better than Philly?
Her eyes. Something in him reminds him of revelry. Not the general kind, either. The type of fire that leads to a night where you get up claiming you never act like that. What is it about this woman?
Rob: Youâre fighting a Ruskie tonight, too, right? And I believe youâve had some back and forth with that swindling con artist Winters.
From behind he can feel the hot breath of the Father on his neck. He has been sizing Anna up,
The Father: This one is on a⌠different path. Not lost, per se. No, sheâs guided by something all her own. But, she doesnât have many friends left.
A novel idea. ĐŃĐ°Đł ПОогО вŃага â ПОК Đ´ŃŃĐł. Enemy of my enemies and all of that jazz. She may not be on the same path, but that doesnât mean their paths arenât closely aligned.
Rob: You know, in 1494, Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas. The Americas had just been âdiscoveredâ by the Europeans. Obviously, thereâs layers of debate to that statement, but for simplicityâs sake weâll take it at face value. Basically it was an agreement that neither party would fuck with the other while they were plundering and pillaging. Do you like pillaging and plundering?
History is a language she is versed in, even when they quite prefer not to be. The question is an interesting one that they give a shrug on.
Anna: Itâs a hell of a sight better than being the pillaged and plundered, weâd imagine.
Fuck knows Anna has been feeling like that over the past two years in this wretched disgusting universe. Quite honestly, itâs an irritation that never quite seems to go away. But as much as the Father is sizing them up, the Multitudes are taking Robâs measure. Subconsciously, an eyebrow quirks up.
Heâs an odd one, isnât he? Barely knowing us, yet willing to call an alliance of sorts.Â
Watching him there all sliver-haired and rough looking back at them, this conversation they were having feels familiar. It reeks of ancient promises and the dark. This isnât their first rodeo. They also know that, more often than not, it leads to disappointment. Then againâŚ
Anna: Since youâre making the proposal, you have an idea on whoâs going east, whoâs going west, and who flies over the cuckooâs nest?
âŚthereâs nothing left to lose on her end. Sometimes, your best bet is to tread on old roads in order to find stranger ones. Finding a bucket outside, the New Era turns it upside down and sits on the makeshift chair. On a lark, she hisses at the weirdos who seem to flinch in response.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites.
Rob: Sheâs married. And much more dangerous than Aphrodites.
The Father: Ares and Aphrodites werenât always portrayed as romantically linked. More importantly, itâs *hissing* symbolism. A commentary depicting the sensual and the violent aspects of life itself and how they are intertwined. You canât separate them as much as you try. And Aphrodites started the Trojan War.
Symbolism. Rob has never really been one to think about things like symbolism. Life is funny. He returns his attention to Anna. Thereâs a certain affinity for how she carries herself. Itâs graceful, but blunt. If she were a weapon would she slice or induce blunt force trauma? Probably both.
Rob: Iâve always been fond of the rising sun. This is all chaos currently. The wretched have been allowed to run amok. Order is natural. If you donât keep the rats out they breed and breed and breed. Canât you smell the filth of the rats? Rats like Don Winters. I want to restore order. And I want to start by exposing that fraudulent rodent. I want to wrap my hands around his neck like a snake and watch the terror in his eyes as he realizes that his bill has come due. I am the reckoning. We can be the reckoning.
He lifts his giant arms, holding them out to vaguely gesture as if saying âlook at all of thisâ.
Rob: You can take your pick. What do you want, Ms. Daniels?
Anna: WhatâŚdo we want?
Itâs one hell of a question. When was the last time she heard that, especially from a mostly total stranger? There is a rattling around in her head as the Multitudes ponder this question. Her head tilts, partially out of confusion but also just listening.
Anna: For ourself or for this place? Because at this point, itâs two different things. You are absolutely right. Thereâs been a stench here for a while, the inmates are running the asylum, and any sort of order isnât coming from on high of this particular totem pole. What this place needs is balance. Too much order makes it stifling, boring, and makes it ripe for rebellion. Too much chaos leads to destruction of the soul. And not in the fun way. Perhaps thatâs why youâ
Yet another glance at the Father. Just enough to make it known. She stands from her seat and kicks it away. The two(ish) old souls make eye contact once again.
Anna: âare making the offer in the first place. As to what we want?
Another shrug.
Anna: At this point, we just want to create our art. Because we tried to warn them and they donât care. The only possibility left is violence.
She strolls into the room, catching the attention of the group. The underlings attempt to move from their places, but there is a look that says sit down, youâre not worth the fines. Anna smiles at Rob.
Anna: Youâve made the unforeseen mistake of being interesting to us. So if you wanna play ball with this âreckoningâ thingâŚ
And this is the part where she holds out a hand.
Anna: Weâll play. If nothing else, itâll be amusing.
Her hand pales in size to Robâs, but he is sure it is just as capable of violence. Maybe even moreso. Through the wrinkles and scars and frown lines of Robâs battle worn face comes a smile. The camera pans in on a tight shot from beside Rob and Anna, catching a framed shot of the moment they commence their handshake, their eyes locked. There is a familiar magnetism between them as if they have lived this encounter a thousand times. Maybe they have. The camera cuts to ringside.
Nick Stuart: Coming up ladies and gentlemen we have yet another huge PRIME debut match!
Richard Parker: More kindling for the woodpile-
âAmerican Idleâ by Less than Jake hits the speakers and, after a few seconds, Swanny bursts into view to an overwhelmingly positive reaction from the crowd. He curves his right hand over his brow to shield the lights as he surveys the arena with a broad smile, nodding appreciatively. He encourages the crowd to get hyped as he makes his way toward the ring, interacting with every single fan he possibly can. He jogs around the ring, doing much the same. He then hops up on the apron and gestures to the crowd with his back against the ropes. He steps into the ring and energetically hits the ropes before settling into a corner to await his competition.
Richard Parker: This oneâs a little long in the tooth, isnât he?
Nick Stuart: A bit ageist of you, Richard-
Richard Parker: I call it like I see it. Regardless, this Mr. Swanny has his arthritic hands full with his opponent tonight.
âBorn for thisâ by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers, as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain. Tony just stands there for a moment wearing a red Kansas City Chiefs jersey with the last name SWIFT across the back, because everyone knows Tay Tayâs the real MVP. The chorus of boos begin to rain down on him from the crowd.
The lyrics have started, but it is the sound of Johnnieâs voice bellowing out above those lyrics that drives the crowd to get even louder.
Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO BUUUUFFAAAAALLLOOOOO!!!
Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowdâs form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.
Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with thee weight of one hundred and eighty nine pounds of grade A extra large eggs.
Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him as his focus remains on the ring. Fans reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp.
Johnnie Newsman: THEE BANDIT THAT MADE YOU SCRAMBLE TO GET HERE, AND IS ABOUT TO GET THIS MATCH OVER EASY!!
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, and he loves it.
Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!
Tony steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center.
Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!
He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as he does.
Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!
Then stretches his arms out once again, welcoming the hate from the crowd.
DING DING
Neither competitor rushes in- itâs obvious Gamble is wary of the much larger grappler. Itâs not often nowadays Swanny finds himself the younger of the competitors in the ring- taking his time, picking his spots against the wily veteran. The two men start things up with a traditional lockup and a little grappling back and forth. An exchange that Tony Gamble gets the better of with a thumb to the eye of his opponent. Tony immediately draws admonishment from the official-
Gamble wastes no time capitalizing by pulling official Ashley Barlow in close, reaching behind her head and raking the eyes of Swanny.
BOOOOOOOO!
The referee again gets in Tony Gambleâs face barking intense reprimand for his loose interpretation of the rules. Swannyâs offense over the next few minutes comes is snips and stars, continually cut off by the underhanded- some might say desperate- actions of his veteran opponent. Tony Gambleâs shit-eating grin as he works over a desperate Swanny limb by limb with vicious stomps to the ankles, wrists and head leave the newcomer in dire straits.
Nick Stuart: The Grin pulling out every trick in his insidious bag- this is the performance of a desperate man, partner.
Richard Parker: If this Swanny was anything of the veteran he purports himself to be heâd see most of Tonyâs antics a mile away-
Swannyâs eyes red and puffy from the constant behind referee Ashley Barlowâs back assaults, obviously suffering from the veteran Gambleâs almost non-stop offense- the Kansass native starts shrugging off some overhand axehandle blows from Gamble. As the crowd starts to roar at his resolve, Swanny only shrugs off Gambleâs shots with more gusto! The newcomer boots Gamble in the breadbasket and makes a show of hoisting the veteran onto his broad shoulders.
Nick Stuart: TKO from Swanny! Nick Stuart: I believe, looking at my notes here, he calls that the âSugar, Weâre Going Downâ- Gamble is leveled after that one!
RAAAAAAAAAH!Â
Swanny plucks the smaller grappler from the canvas with reactive ease and replants him with a crist Flatliner that sends Gamble sprawling.
Nick Stuart: Almost herculean resolve from the debuting Swanny!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât go counting Gamble out just yet, Nick-
As Swanny takes a few moments to play to one of the bigger crowds heâs ever stepped in front of in his long career- Tony Gamble can be seen shaking off some of the cobwebs with a scowl.
Richard Parker: Never count a canny veteran out, Nick! Never!
As Tony Gamble creeps up behind his adversary for the night, he rears his arm back ready to deliver untold pain to Swannyâs unmentionable bits and bobs the wily Swanny- at the very last second- catches Gambleâs wrist, stopping him from delivering the low blow. The crowd eats it up-
RAAAAAAAAAH!
Swanny maintains wrist control as he turns and irish whips The Grin into the nearest available turnbuckle with all his might. With Gamble rocked in the corner, Swanny gets a running start and leaps, crashing back first into Tonyâs chest. Swanny then does a forward roll out of the corner as Gamble slumps into a seated position. Swanny then charges back in with a brutal double knee!
Richard Parker: I have to give credit where credit is due, that was an incredible sequence! For a man of his age, of course-
Nick Stuart: Hold that thought, partner! Swanny is headed up top!
The debuting Swanny makes quick work scaling the nearest available turnbuckle- he takes a moment, perched precariously on the very top turnbuckle to take in the panoramic view of the packed, roaring crowd before LAUNCHING himself from his perch, delivering a breathtaking tucking senton.
Nick Stuart: MONTREAL CANNONBALL! What a maneuver from Swanny!
Tony Gambleâs eyes nearly pop out of his head with the larger grappler slams down across his chest driving every bit of air from his lungs. Swanny spins and scrabble back towards Tony Gambleâs wheezing frame, hooking the leg with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas- as he does official Ashley Barlow slides in for the three count-
ONEâŚ
TWOâŚ
We see Gamble struggle and fail out of pure desperation to get his shoulder up at the VERY last second to no avail- Barlowâs had hits the mat for a third and final time-
THREE!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DEBUT! Swanny making one heck of a first impression here tonight- what were you saying about his age, Richard?
Richard Parker: I can admit when Iâm off base, Nick, and Swanny did indeed show me something beyond a few gray hairs and some crowd feet- one hell of a performance.
We cut from seeing Swanny celebrate his victory to Nick Stuart.
Nick Stuart: Coming up ladies and gentlemen we have yet another huge PRIME debut match!
Richard Parker: More kindling for the woodpile-
âAmerican Idleâ by Less than Jake hits the speakers and, after a few seconds, Swanny bursts into view to an overwhelmingly positive reaction from the crowd. He curves his right hand over his brow to shield the lights as he surveys the arena with a broad smile, nodding appreciatively. He encourages the crowd to get hyped as he makes his way toward the ring, interacting with every single fan he possibly can. He jogs around the ring, doing much the same. He then hops up on the apron and gestures to the crowd with his back against the ropes. He steps into the ring and energetically hits the ropes before settling into a corner to await his competition.
Richard Parker: This oneâs a little long in the tooth, isnât he?
Nick Stuart: A bit ageist of you, Richard-
Richard Parker: I call it like I see it. Regardless, this Mr. Swanny has his arthritic hands full with his opponent tonight.
âBorn for thisâ by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers, as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain. Tony just stands there for a moment wearing a red Kansas City Chiefs jersey with the last name SWIFT across the back, because everyone knows Tay Tayâs the real MVP. The chorus of boos begin to rain down on him from the crowd.
The lyrics have started, but it is the sound of Johnnieâs voice bellowing out above those lyrics that drives the crowd to get even louder.
Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO BUUUUFFAAAAALLLOOOOO!!!
Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowdâs form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.
Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with thee weight of one hundred and eighty nine pounds of grade A extra large eggs.
Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him as his focus remains on the ring. Fans reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp.
Johnnie Newsman: THEE BANDIT THAT MADE YOU SCRAMBLE TO GET HERE, AND IS ABOUT TO GET THIS MATCH OVER EASY!!
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, and he loves it.
Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!
Tony steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center.
Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!
He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as he does.
Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!
Then stretches his arms out once again, welcoming the hate from the crowd.
DING DING
Neither competitor rushes in- itâs obvious Gamble is wary of the much larger grappler. Itâs not often nowadays Swanny finds himself the younger of the competitors in the ring- taking his time, picking his spots against the wily veteran. The two men start things up with a traditional lockup and a little grappling back and forth. An exchange that Tony Gamble gets the better of with a thumb to the eye of his opponent. Tony immediately draws admonishment from the official-
Gamble wastes no time capitalizing by pulling official Ashley Barlow in close, reaching behind her head and raking the eyes of Swanny.
BOOOOOOOO!
The referee again gets in Tony Gambleâs face barking intense reprimand for his loose interpretation of the rules. Swannyâs offense over the next few minutes comes is snips and stars, continually cut off by the underhanded- some might say desperate- actions of his veteran opponent. Tony Gambleâs shit-eating grin as he works over a desperate Swanny limb by limb with vicious stomps to the ankles, wrists and head leave the newcomer in dire straits.
Nick Stuart: The Grin pulling out every trick in his insidious bag- this is the performance of a desperate man, partner.
Richard Parker: If this Swanny was anything of the veteran he purports himself to be heâd see most of Tonyâs antics a mile away-
Swannyâs eyes red and puffy from the constant behind referee Ashley Barlowâs back assaults, obviously suffering from the veteran Gambleâs almost non-stop offense- the Kansass native starts shrugging off some overhand axehandle blows from Gamble. As the crowd starts to roar at his resolve, Swanny only shrugs off Gambleâs shots with more gusto! The newcomer boots Gamble in the breadbasket and makes a show of hoisting the veteran onto his broad shoulders.
Nick Stuart: TKO from Swanny! Nick Stuart: I believe, looking at my notes here, he calls that the âSugar, Weâre Going Downâ- Gamble is leveled after that one!
RAAAAAAAAAH!Â
Swanny plucks the smaller grappler from the canvas with reactive ease and replants him with a crist Flatliner that sends Gamble sprawling.
Nick Stuart: Almost herculean resolve from the debuting Swanny!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât go counting Gamble out just yet, Nick-
As Swanny takes a few moments to play to one of the bigger crowds heâs ever stepped in front of in his long career- Tony Gamble can be seen shaking off some of the cobwebs with a scowl.
Richard Parker: Never count a canny veteran out, Nick! Never!
As Tony Gamble creeps up behind his adversary for the night, he rears his arm back ready to deliver untold pain to Swannyâs unmentionable bits and bobs the wily Swanny- at the very last second- catches Gambleâs wrist, stopping him from delivering the low blow. The crowd eats it up-
RAAAAAAAAAH!
Swanny maintains wrist control as he turns and irish whips The Grin into the nearest available turnbuckle with all his might. With Gamble rocked in the corner, Swanny gets a running start and leaps, crashing back first into Tonyâs chest. Swanny then does a forward roll out of the corner as Gamble slumps into a seated position. Swanny then charges back in with a brutal double knee!
Richard Parker: I have to give credit where credit is due, that was an incredible sequence! For a man of his age, of course-
Nick Stuart: Hold that thought, partner! Swanny is headed up top!
The debuting Swanny makes quick work scaling the nearest available turnbuckle- he takes a moment, perched precariously on the very top turnbuckle to take in the panoramic view of the packed, roaring crowd before LAUNCHING himself from his perch, delivering a breathtaking tucking senton.
Nick Stuart: MONTREAL CANNONBALL! What a maneuver from Swanny!
Tony Gambleâs eyes nearly pop out of his head with the larger grappler slams down across his chest driving every bit of air from his lungs. Swanny spins and scrabble back towards Tony Gambleâs wheezing frame, hooking the leg with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas- as he does official Ashley Barlow slides in for the three count-
ONEâŚ
TWOâŚ
We see Gamble struggle and fail out of pure desperation to get his shoulder up at the VERY last second to no avail- Barlowâs had hits the mat for a third and final time-
THREE!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DEBUT! Swanny making one heck of a first impression here tonight- what were you saying about his age, Richard?
Richard Parker: I can admit when Iâm off base, Nick, and Swanny did indeed show me something beyond a few gray hairs and some crowd feet- one hell of a performance.
We cut from seeing Swanny celebrate his victory to Nick Stuart.
Nick Stuart: Coming up ladies and gentlemen we have yet another huge PRIME debut match!
Richard Parker: More kindling for the woodpile-
âAmerican Idleâ by Less than Jake hits the speakers and, after a few seconds, Swanny bursts into view to an overwhelmingly positive reaction from the crowd. He curves his right hand over his brow to shield the lights as he surveys the arena with a broad smile, nodding appreciatively. He encourages the crowd to get hyped as he makes his way toward the ring, interacting with every single fan he possibly can. He jogs around the ring, doing much the same. He then hops up on the apron and gestures to the crowd with his back against the ropes. He steps into the ring and energetically hits the ropes before settling into a corner to await his competition.
Richard Parker: This oneâs a little long in the tooth, isnât he?
Nick Stuart: A bit ageist of you, Richard-
Richard Parker: I call it like I see it. Regardless, this Mr. Swanny has his arthritic hands full with his opponent tonight.
âBorn for thisâ by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers, as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain. Tony just stands there for a moment wearing a red Kansas City Chiefs jersey with the last name SWIFT across the back, because everyone knows Tay Tayâs the real MVP. The chorus of boos begin to rain down on him from the crowd.
The lyrics have started, but it is the sound of Johnnieâs voice bellowing out above those lyrics that drives the crowd to get even louder.
Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO BUUUUFFAAAAALLLOOOOO!!!
Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowdâs form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.
Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with thee weight of one hundred and eighty nine pounds of grade A extra large eggs.
Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him as his focus remains on the ring. Fans reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp.
Johnnie Newsman: THEE BANDIT THAT MADE YOU SCRAMBLE TO GET HERE, AND IS ABOUT TO GET THIS MATCH OVER EASY!!
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, and he loves it.
Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!
Tony steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center.
Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!
He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as he does.
Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!
Then stretches his arms out once again, welcoming the hate from the crowd.
DING DING
Neither competitor rushes in- itâs obvious Gamble is wary of the much larger grappler. Itâs not often nowadays Swanny finds himself the younger of the competitors in the ring- taking his time, picking his spots against the wily veteran. The two men start things up with a traditional lockup and a little grappling back and forth. An exchange that Tony Gamble gets the better of with a thumb to the eye of his opponent. Tony immediately draws admonishment from the official-
Gamble wastes no time capitalizing by pulling official Ashley Barlow in close, reaching behind her head and raking the eyes of Swanny.
BOOOOOOOO!
The referee again gets in Tony Gambleâs face barking intense reprimand for his loose interpretation of the rules. Swannyâs offense over the next few minutes comes is snips and stars, continually cut off by the underhanded- some might say desperate- actions of his veteran opponent. Tony Gambleâs shit-eating grin as he works over a desperate Swanny limb by limb with vicious stomps to the ankles, wrists and head leave the newcomer in dire straits.
Nick Stuart: The Grin pulling out every trick in his insidious bag- this is the performance of a desperate man, partner.
Richard Parker: If this Swanny was anything of the veteran he purports himself to be heâd see most of Tonyâs antics a mile away-
Swannyâs eyes red and puffy from the constant behind referee Ashley Barlowâs back assaults, obviously suffering from the veteran Gambleâs almost non-stop offense- the Kansass native starts shrugging off some overhand axehandle blows from Gamble. As the crowd starts to roar at his resolve, Swanny only shrugs off Gambleâs shots with more gusto! The newcomer boots Gamble in the breadbasket and makes a show of hoisting the veteran onto his broad shoulders.
Nick Stuart: TKO from Swanny! Nick Stuart: I believe, looking at my notes here, he calls that the âSugar, Weâre Going Downâ- Gamble is leveled after that one!
RAAAAAAAAAH!Â
Swanny plucks the smaller grappler from the canvas with reactive ease and replants him with a crist Flatliner that sends Gamble sprawling.
Nick Stuart: Almost herculean resolve from the debuting Swanny!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât go counting Gamble out just yet, Nick-
As Swanny takes a few moments to play to one of the bigger crowds heâs ever stepped in front of in his long career- Tony Gamble can be seen shaking off some of the cobwebs with a scowl.
Richard Parker: Never count a canny veteran out, Nick! Never!
As Tony Gamble creeps up behind his adversary for the night, he rears his arm back ready to deliver untold pain to Swannyâs unmentionable bits and bobs the wily Swanny- at the very last second- catches Gambleâs wrist, stopping him from delivering the low blow. The crowd eats it up-
RAAAAAAAAAH!
Swanny maintains wrist control as he turns and irish whips The Grin into the nearest available turnbuckle with all his might. With Gamble rocked in the corner, Swanny gets a running start and leaps, crashing back first into Tonyâs chest. Swanny then does a forward roll out of the corner as Gamble slumps into a seated position. Swanny then charges back in with a brutal double knee!
Richard Parker: I have to give credit where credit is due, that was an incredible sequence! For a man of his age, of course-
Nick Stuart: Hold that thought, partner! Swanny is headed up top!
The debuting Swanny makes quick work scaling the nearest available turnbuckle- he takes a moment, perched precariously on the very top turnbuckle to take in the panoramic view of the packed, roaring crowd before LAUNCHING himself from his perch, delivering a breathtaking tucking senton.
Nick Stuart: MONTREAL CANNONBALL! What a maneuver from Swanny!
Tony Gambleâs eyes nearly pop out of his head with the larger grappler slams down across his chest driving every bit of air from his lungs. Swanny spins and scrabble back towards Tony Gambleâs wheezing frame, hooking the leg with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas- as he does official Ashley Barlow slides in for the three count-
ONEâŚ
TWOâŚ
We see Gamble struggle and fail out of pure desperation to get his shoulder up at the VERY last second to no avail- Barlowâs had hits the mat for a third and final time-
THREE!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DEBUT! Swanny making one heck of a first impression here tonight- what were you saying about his age, Richard?
Richard Parker: I can admit when Iâm off base, Nick, and Swanny did indeed show me something beyond a few gray hairs and some crowd feet- one hell of a performance.
We cut from seeing Swanny celebrate his victory to Nick Stuart.
Nick Stuart: All right, as reported earlier this week in PRIMEâs Winter Break News and Notes, Adam Ellis signed a part-time deal to return to Missouri Valley Wrestling while continuing his PRIME wrestling career. Ellis was in action over a week ago without Ginny Van Lear at ringside and hereâs how it went.
(VIDEO CLIP: January 9th-Missouri Valley Wrestlingâs St. Louis Supershow- St. Louis, Missouri)
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Buckshot Henderson taps out and it is down to Adam Ellis and the Menâs Heartland Champion Aaron Gray!
The blinding lights of the Chaifetz Arena in St. Louis cast a luminescent sheen over the sweat-slicked ring where Adam Ellis prowls with a quiet intensity. The roar of the crowd was a living thing, an electric current that surges through his veins as he faces off against Aaron Gray- a walking arsenal bedecked in military fatigues and a mohawk on top of his head that seemed to slice through the charged atmosphere.
âLong Haulâ Rick Hallâs voice: Randy Barrington has already been dispatched, a fading memory in the chaos of the four-way match. Buckshot Henderson, for all his swagger and bravado, had just succumbed to Grayâs relentless assault, leaving just the two of themâEllis and Grayâlocked in this climactic dance of wills.
Adamâs gaze fixes on Gray and he hears the stomping feet of the audience as they chant his name âEllis! Ellis!â in Adamâs return match to MVW. The ever-so-brief distraction allows Gray to surge forward and deck Ellis with a vicious right hook that sends tremors through his jaw. Adam stumbles, but Gray hoists him back to his feet. Their eyes met, twin storms of determination clashing without words.
Aaron Gray: Is that all you got, farm boy?
Adamâs response? His hand shoots out and grips Grayâs forehead with the ferocity of a man possessed.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Iron Claw!
Rick Hallâs voice: Thunderbolt, this was one of the last moves taught to him by Charlie Blackwell before they split.
The Iron Claw is applied with surgical precision. Grayâs knees buckle under the pressure; his mohawk now bowed in defeat.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Ellis releases the hold and Gray collapses to the mat with a resounding thud.
Rick Hallâs voice: Weâll find out how much that took out of Aaron Gray.
Gray scrambles up and the two lock up once more. Gray surprises Adam with an elbow to the small of his back. Pain explodes along Adamâs spine, and he hits the mat hard, his breath stolen by the impact.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Not much apparentlyâŚ
Adam pushes past the pain and rises to meet Gray again. Gray lunges, but Adam sidesteps him with the agility that belied his size.
*SNAP*
The sound of his foot connecting with Grayâs jaw echoes throughout the arena. The crowd erupts as Gray staggers, his mohawk now disheveled.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: âŚbut that did!
Without hesitation, Adam seizes the moment, rolling Gray into a Boston Crab-like submission hold. Grayâs face contorts in agony, his tough exterior crumbling as he slaps his hand against the mat. The bell rings, its clarity slicing through the tumult.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Thatâs it! Adam Ellis does it!
Adam releases the hold and rises to his full height, his victory resonating through the arena.
Suddenly, MVWâs backstage announcer Kellie Burkowski rushes into the ring, her microphone in hand.
Kellie Burkowski: Adam, welcome back to Missouri Valley Wrestling.
Adam nods.
Kellie Burkowski: Big win here tonight. How do you feel after that impressive win tonight and what are your thoughts going into 2024 regarding your-
Adamâs expression turns serious as he raises a hand to silence her.
Adam Ellis: Kellie, no offense. Iâve talked enough about my career. Iâm done talking. In 2024, Iâll let my actions in the ring do the talking.
And with that, Adam rolls out of the ring and heads up the ramp to the back.
Nick Stuart: All right, as reported earlier this week in PRIMEâs Winter Break News and Notes, Adam Ellis signed a part-time deal to return to Missouri Valley Wrestling while continuing his PRIME wrestling career. Ellis was in action over a week ago without Ginny Van Lear at ringside and hereâs how it went.
(VIDEO CLIP: January 9th-Missouri Valley Wrestlingâs St. Louis Supershow- St. Louis, Missouri)
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Buckshot Henderson taps out and it is down to Adam Ellis and the Menâs Heartland Champion Aaron Gray!
The blinding lights of the Chaifetz Arena in St. Louis cast a luminescent sheen over the sweat-slicked ring where Adam Ellis prowls with a quiet intensity. The roar of the crowd was a living thing, an electric current that surges through his veins as he faces off against Aaron Gray- a walking arsenal bedecked in military fatigues and a mohawk on top of his head that seemed to slice through the charged atmosphere.
âLong Haulâ Rick Hallâs voice: Randy Barrington has already been dispatched, a fading memory in the chaos of the four-way match. Buckshot Henderson, for all his swagger and bravado, had just succumbed to Grayâs relentless assault, leaving just the two of themâEllis and Grayâlocked in this climactic dance of wills.
Adamâs gaze fixes on Gray and he hears the stomping feet of the audience as they chant his name âEllis! Ellis!â in Adamâs return match to MVW. The ever-so-brief distraction allows Gray to surge forward and deck Ellis with a vicious right hook that sends tremors through his jaw. Adam stumbles, but Gray hoists him back to his feet. Their eyes met, twin storms of determination clashing without words.
Aaron Gray: Is that all you got, farm boy?
Adamâs response? His hand shoots out and grips Grayâs forehead with the ferocity of a man possessed.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Iron Claw!
Rick Hallâs voice: Thunderbolt, this was one of the last moves taught to him by Charlie Blackwell before they split.
The Iron Claw is applied with surgical precision. Grayâs knees buckle under the pressure; his mohawk now bowed in defeat.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Ellis releases the hold and Gray collapses to the mat with a resounding thud.
Rick Hallâs voice: Weâll find out how much that took out of Aaron Gray.
Gray scrambles up and the two lock up once more. Gray surprises Adam with an elbow to the small of his back. Pain explodes along Adamâs spine, and he hits the mat hard, his breath stolen by the impact.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Not much apparentlyâŚ
Adam pushes past the pain and rises to meet Gray again. Gray lunges, but Adam sidesteps him with the agility that belied his size.
*SNAP*
The sound of his foot connecting with Grayâs jaw echoes throughout the arena. The crowd erupts as Gray staggers, his mohawk now disheveled.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: âŚbut that did!
Without hesitation, Adam seizes the moment, rolling Gray into a Boston Crab-like submission hold. Grayâs face contorts in agony, his tough exterior crumbling as he slaps his hand against the mat. The bell rings, its clarity slicing through the tumult.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Thatâs it! Adam Ellis does it!
Adam releases the hold and rises to his full height, his victory resonating through the arena.
Suddenly, MVWâs backstage announcer Kellie Burkowski rushes into the ring, her microphone in hand.
Kellie Burkowski: Adam, welcome back to Missouri Valley Wrestling.
Adam nods.
Kellie Burkowski: Big win here tonight. How do you feel after that impressive win tonight and what are your thoughts going into 2024 regarding your-
Adamâs expression turns serious as he raises a hand to silence her.
Adam Ellis: Kellie, no offense. Iâve talked enough about my career. Iâm done talking. In 2024, Iâll let my actions in the ring do the talking.
And with that, Adam rolls out of the ring and heads up the ramp to the back.
Nick Stuart: All right, as reported earlier this week in PRIMEâs Winter Break News and Notes, Adam Ellis signed a part-time deal to return to Missouri Valley Wrestling while continuing his PRIME wrestling career. Ellis was in action over a week ago without Ginny Van Lear at ringside and hereâs how it went.
(VIDEO CLIP: January 9th-Missouri Valley Wrestlingâs St. Louis Supershow- St. Louis, Missouri)
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Buckshot Henderson taps out and it is down to Adam Ellis and the Menâs Heartland Champion Aaron Gray!
The blinding lights of the Chaifetz Arena in St. Louis cast a luminescent sheen over the sweat-slicked ring where Adam Ellis prowls with a quiet intensity. The roar of the crowd was a living thing, an electric current that surges through his veins as he faces off against Aaron Gray- a walking arsenal bedecked in military fatigues and a mohawk on top of his head that seemed to slice through the charged atmosphere.
âLong Haulâ Rick Hallâs voice: Randy Barrington has already been dispatched, a fading memory in the chaos of the four-way match. Buckshot Henderson, for all his swagger and bravado, had just succumbed to Grayâs relentless assault, leaving just the two of themâEllis and Grayâlocked in this climactic dance of wills.
Adamâs gaze fixes on Gray and he hears the stomping feet of the audience as they chant his name âEllis! Ellis!â in Adamâs return match to MVW. The ever-so-brief distraction allows Gray to surge forward and deck Ellis with a vicious right hook that sends tremors through his jaw. Adam stumbles, but Gray hoists him back to his feet. Their eyes met, twin storms of determination clashing without words.
Aaron Gray: Is that all you got, farm boy?
Adamâs response? His hand shoots out and grips Grayâs forehead with the ferocity of a man possessed.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Iron Claw!
Rick Hallâs voice: Thunderbolt, this was one of the last moves taught to him by Charlie Blackwell before they split.
The Iron Claw is applied with surgical precision. Grayâs knees buckle under the pressure; his mohawk now bowed in defeat.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Ellis releases the hold and Gray collapses to the mat with a resounding thud.
Rick Hallâs voice: Weâll find out how much that took out of Aaron Gray.
Gray scrambles up and the two lock up once more. Gray surprises Adam with an elbow to the small of his back. Pain explodes along Adamâs spine, and he hits the mat hard, his breath stolen by the impact.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Not much apparentlyâŚ
Adam pushes past the pain and rises to meet Gray again. Gray lunges, but Adam sidesteps him with the agility that belied his size.
*SNAP*
The sound of his foot connecting with Grayâs jaw echoes throughout the arena. The crowd erupts as Gray staggers, his mohawk now disheveled.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: âŚbut that did!
Without hesitation, Adam seizes the moment, rolling Gray into a Boston Crab-like submission hold. Grayâs face contorts in agony, his tough exterior crumbling as he slaps his hand against the mat. The bell rings, its clarity slicing through the tumult.
Thunderbolt Smithâs voice: Thatâs it! Adam Ellis does it!
Adam releases the hold and rises to his full height, his victory resonating through the arena.
Suddenly, MVWâs backstage announcer Kellie Burkowski rushes into the ring, her microphone in hand.
Kellie Burkowski: Adam, welcome back to Missouri Valley Wrestling.
Adam nods.
Kellie Burkowski: Big win here tonight. How do you feel after that impressive win tonight and what are your thoughts going into 2024 regarding your-
Adamâs expression turns serious as he raises a hand to silence her.
Adam Ellis: Kellie, no offense. Iâve talked enough about my career. Iâm done talking. In 2024, Iâll let my actions in the ring do the talking.
And with that, Adam rolls out of the ring and heads up the ramp to the back.
The camera pans through a fully lit corridor, buzzing with the palpable tension and excitement of ReVivalâs typical high-energy atmosphere. Vibrant posters promoting NHLâs Buffalo Sabres adorn the walls, as well as other events coming through in the approaching weeks and months. The ambient sound of a roaring crowd seeps through the walls, underscoring the anticipation backstage.
Suddenly, we see the always beautiful Angelica Brooks standing by, against a velvety backdrop. She stands with a microphone in hand.
Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen⌠Arthur Pleasant.
Pleasant slowly makes his way into the cameraâs view, already in his ring gear, ready for his match-up later on with âThe Legendâ Rob Williams. Acknowledging Angelicaâs introduction, Arthur grabs her hand and kisses the top of it like a true gentleman. She pulls back her hand, instinctively, clearly disgusted by whose lips that did the kissing.
Arthur Pleasant: Thank you for such a sweet introduction, Brooksie!
Angelica, looking supremely annoyed, sighs.
Angelica Brooks: Itâs Brooks, actually. Or Angelica. Or even Angie.
Pleasant snickers at her annoyance.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, my apologies, Brooksieâ I mean ANNNNNJ. Regardless, thanks for agreeing to this backstage interview. To be honest, Iâve been waiting for the right time to speak ever since Coral Avalon eliminated me from the Almasy. And right here, right now? Itâs the right time.
PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare pulls out a piece of notebook paper. Its frilly edge suggests it has been ripped from a notebook recently. Though we canât see what exactly is ON the piece of paper, we can make out the ink of some handwriting, some scratches, and a smiley face on the bottom right corner.
Angelica Brooks: Okay. Iâm probably going to be sorry I asked this but, what is this?!
Arthur Pleasant: Itâs the questions youâre going to ask me, Anj! Approved by Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan, of course. Considering the number of years youâve been doing your job, I wouldâve thought reading comprehension wouldâve been a given.
Angelica sneers at Arthur for the condescending answer. She looks down at the piece of paper, then looks back at Pleasant.
Angelica Brooks: Iâm not reading this. Get someone else to participate in your BS!!
Angelica hands Pleasant the microphone and piece of paper. Thereâs an audible !!POP!! coming from the audience who are watching the events transpire in real time from inside the KeyBank Arena.
Arthur Pleasant: (hand over mic) Just for that, I will never go on a fucking date with you! EVER!
Turning his attention back to the camera, Pleasant adjusts his imagin3ary tie and smiles.
Arthur Pleasant: Hello, my beautiful Arthurians and fellow comrades of the cause! Itâs been a little while, hasnât it PRIME? Indeed it has, friends. In fact, not since ReVival thirty-nine, on the first of December, Two-Thousand and Twenty-Three have I been featured, or even SEEN, anywhere here in PRIME.
He shakes his head in disgust. The kind of disgust one would have watching Rob Williams clipping his old man toe nails infected with Onychomycosis. Look it up. Itâs gross. Thatâs our Legend, everybody.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs almost two whooooole boring, empty fucking months without your favorite, friendly, neighborhood Provocateur gracing your television screens, smart phones, laptops, or whatever else you catch your wrasslinâ on! Fear not, though⌠for I am back. Thatâs right, Iâm back, and as Mr. Salvation Army will see later on this evening, Iâm better than ever, too.
Pausing, he looks at the piece of paper he tried to get Angelica to read from.
Arthur Pleasant: (muttering to self) Seriously, bitch?! THIS offended you?
Clearing his throat and focusing back on the camera, he continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But thatâs not why Iâm standing in front of you, Angelica!
He shifts from where he stands to where Angelica stood moments ago. Itâs here that he assumes the duties that Angelica just shirked.
Reading the paper, Arthur-Angelica speaks.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Arthur, the last time we saw you, you got your team disqualified by kicking Rocky de Leon square in the oiled yam bags. What was going through your mind at that moment and what are your plans for Rocky de Leon?
Arthur-Angelica quickly switches sides on the velvet back drop, going back to his normalâ in a matter of speakingâ self.
Arthur Pleasant: Rocky de Leon isnât in PRIME anymore. Least, thatâs what I was last told when I showed up to Colossus looking for him. But the fact is I kicked him in the sack so hard he had to go get implants. Luckily they had a bag of peas handy so the procedure went smoothly, Iâm told. Thatâs the rumor, anyway. Seems plausible to me. Truth is, I was very much looking forward to beating him down inside the ring, mono-y-mono, but things happen and he decided to take his leave.
He smirks. Arms folded, Pleasant scratches his beard.
Arthur Pleasant: Just like Morty, and just like Kohime. You know, given the number of opponents Iâve sent packing, I donât think Anna Daniels has much room to talk for the amount of competitors leaving PRIME. Maybe thereâs some chemistry there between us down the road! But hey, I digress. The answer to your question, Anj, is this: I have absolutely no plans for Rocky de Leon moving forward. The Pale Apollyon is ready for the next chapter.
Again, Pleasant switches spots with âAnjâ.
Anjelicarthur Brooksant: So, what does this mean, Arthur? What is your focus moving forward, then?
Arthur laughs, back to his normal spot.
Arthur Pleasant: Simple, really. I think itâs time for good ole Uncle Arthur to flex his ring genius and win some championship gold here in PRIME. My comrades deserve to have some more gold within the family, after all. Iâd be lying if I said I didnât have my eyes on that Intense Title. Barbed wire ropes match? Thatâs my fucking wheelhouse. Whether itâs Pax or Maxâ Iâd love to show those guys a thing or two about the intricacies of barbed wire and how beautiful it can be!
He thinks for a moment. Then, itâs like a lightbulb went off above his head.
Arthur Pleasant: Or maybe I go after the Alias Championship and everyone starts playing by my rules. Oooo. Imagine that, eh? All title defenses require me to place a shopping bag over someoneâs head and suffocate them until they go unconscious! Of course, I would love to hit Cecilbaby with another Calamity Pain, like I did once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, and take the Five-Star title. Then of course, I could take my neck back from Flambo!
He closed his eyes and shakes his head. Placing a hand up, he opens his eyes and continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But, I donât want to get ahead of myself here, Anj. I need to train hard if I want to get my hands on any championship belt! And thatâs why I want to announce that I will be training⌠at the KING gym!
Mephistopheles himself couldnât make a viewer shudder like Arthur Pleasant just did right there. A smirk stretches across his pale, evil face.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs right. David was so impressed with my transformative training regimen that I was given a lifetime membership! I mean, who cares the elliptical machine is broken and someone threw sopping wet urinal cakes all over their free weights bench. Who cares that Rose keeps her panties in the top drawer of her storage space and they smell like fresh blooming flowers. It might not be the cleanest establishment Iâve seen, but itâll serve its purpose in my transcendence throughout 2024!
Switching spots again, Arthur, err, Angelica, looks appalled.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Why, Arthur! How on earth would you know these things!
Arthur Pleasant: I had a key, of course!
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Lies!
Arthur Pleasant: Negative, Anj. In fact, once the good people at KING pull up their security footage, theyâll see I walked right into the place without smashing a window or door! Nothing but good intentions, see!
Arthurâs face turns serious as all blood and circulation seems to have left him ashen. The deadness behind his eyes is matched only by the soullessness in his voice.
He looks straight into the camera.
Arthur Pleasant: Dolores, David. I will honor her memory by bathing in not only your blood, but the blood of those you hold dear. You never shouldâve shown up here, my old friend. You and the rest of KING.
He pauses. Nostrils flaring. A beat, then Arthurâs nostrils flare.
Arthur Pleasant: And yet, you did. You all did. And that is something I must take care of.
Arthurâs face changes again. Itâs almost as if he woke up from some kind of trance.
A beat. Then a smile.
Arthur Pleasant: I look forward to training with KING! I know my best friend, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav, will be proud of me!
Tossing the single sheet of paper aside. Pleasant gives an almost cartoonish wink to the camera. Mouthing âBye bye!â and fluttering his fingers, he leaves the general vicinity before the camera switches to another area of the KeyBank Arena.
The camera pans through a fully lit corridor, buzzing with the palpable tension and excitement of ReVivalâs typical high-energy atmosphere. Vibrant posters promoting NHLâs Buffalo Sabres adorn the walls, as well as other events coming through in the approaching weeks and months. The ambient sound of a roaring crowd seeps through the walls, underscoring the anticipation backstage.
Suddenly, we see the always beautiful Angelica Brooks standing by, against a velvety backdrop. She stands with a microphone in hand.
Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen⌠Arthur Pleasant.
Pleasant slowly makes his way into the cameraâs view, already in his ring gear, ready for his match-up later on with âThe Legendâ Rob Williams. Acknowledging Angelicaâs introduction, Arthur grabs her hand and kisses the top of it like a true gentleman. She pulls back her hand, instinctively, clearly disgusted by whose lips that did the kissing.
Arthur Pleasant: Thank you for such a sweet introduction, Brooksie!
Angelica, looking supremely annoyed, sighs.
Angelica Brooks: Itâs Brooks, actually. Or Angelica. Or even Angie.
Pleasant snickers at her annoyance.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, my apologies, Brooksieâ I mean ANNNNNJ. Regardless, thanks for agreeing to this backstage interview. To be honest, Iâve been waiting for the right time to speak ever since Coral Avalon eliminated me from the Almasy. And right here, right now? Itâs the right time.
PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare pulls out a piece of notebook paper. Its frilly edge suggests it has been ripped from a notebook recently. Though we canât see what exactly is ON the piece of paper, we can make out the ink of some handwriting, some scratches, and a smiley face on the bottom right corner.
Angelica Brooks: Okay. Iâm probably going to be sorry I asked this but, what is this?!
Arthur Pleasant: Itâs the questions youâre going to ask me, Anj! Approved by Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan, of course. Considering the number of years youâve been doing your job, I wouldâve thought reading comprehension wouldâve been a given.
Angelica sneers at Arthur for the condescending answer. She looks down at the piece of paper, then looks back at Pleasant.
Angelica Brooks: Iâm not reading this. Get someone else to participate in your BS!!
Angelica hands Pleasant the microphone and piece of paper. Thereâs an audible !!POP!! coming from the audience who are watching the events transpire in real time from inside the KeyBank Arena.
Arthur Pleasant: (hand over mic) Just for that, I will never go on a fucking date with you! EVER!
Turning his attention back to the camera, Pleasant adjusts his imagin3ary tie and smiles.
Arthur Pleasant: Hello, my beautiful Arthurians and fellow comrades of the cause! Itâs been a little while, hasnât it PRIME? Indeed it has, friends. In fact, not since ReVival thirty-nine, on the first of December, Two-Thousand and Twenty-Three have I been featured, or even SEEN, anywhere here in PRIME.
He shakes his head in disgust. The kind of disgust one would have watching Rob Williams clipping his old man toe nails infected with Onychomycosis. Look it up. Itâs gross. Thatâs our Legend, everybody.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs almost two whooooole boring, empty fucking months without your favorite, friendly, neighborhood Provocateur gracing your television screens, smart phones, laptops, or whatever else you catch your wrasslinâ on! Fear not, though⌠for I am back. Thatâs right, Iâm back, and as Mr. Salvation Army will see later on this evening, Iâm better than ever, too.
Pausing, he looks at the piece of paper he tried to get Angelica to read from.
Arthur Pleasant: (muttering to self) Seriously, bitch?! THIS offended you?
Clearing his throat and focusing back on the camera, he continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But thatâs not why Iâm standing in front of you, Angelica!
He shifts from where he stands to where Angelica stood moments ago. Itâs here that he assumes the duties that Angelica just shirked.
Reading the paper, Arthur-Angelica speaks.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Arthur, the last time we saw you, you got your team disqualified by kicking Rocky de Leon square in the oiled yam bags. What was going through your mind at that moment and what are your plans for Rocky de Leon?
Arthur-Angelica quickly switches sides on the velvet back drop, going back to his normalâ in a matter of speakingâ self.
Arthur Pleasant: Rocky de Leon isnât in PRIME anymore. Least, thatâs what I was last told when I showed up to Colossus looking for him. But the fact is I kicked him in the sack so hard he had to go get implants. Luckily they had a bag of peas handy so the procedure went smoothly, Iâm told. Thatâs the rumor, anyway. Seems plausible to me. Truth is, I was very much looking forward to beating him down inside the ring, mono-y-mono, but things happen and he decided to take his leave.
He smirks. Arms folded, Pleasant scratches his beard.
Arthur Pleasant: Just like Morty, and just like Kohime. You know, given the number of opponents Iâve sent packing, I donât think Anna Daniels has much room to talk for the amount of competitors leaving PRIME. Maybe thereâs some chemistry there between us down the road! But hey, I digress. The answer to your question, Anj, is this: I have absolutely no plans for Rocky de Leon moving forward. The Pale Apollyon is ready for the next chapter.
Again, Pleasant switches spots with âAnjâ.
Anjelicarthur Brooksant: So, what does this mean, Arthur? What is your focus moving forward, then?
Arthur laughs, back to his normal spot.
Arthur Pleasant: Simple, really. I think itâs time for good ole Uncle Arthur to flex his ring genius and win some championship gold here in PRIME. My comrades deserve to have some more gold within the family, after all. Iâd be lying if I said I didnât have my eyes on that Intense Title. Barbed wire ropes match? Thatâs my fucking wheelhouse. Whether itâs Pax or Maxâ Iâd love to show those guys a thing or two about the intricacies of barbed wire and how beautiful it can be!
He thinks for a moment. Then, itâs like a lightbulb went off above his head.
Arthur Pleasant: Or maybe I go after the Alias Championship and everyone starts playing by my rules. Oooo. Imagine that, eh? All title defenses require me to place a shopping bag over someoneâs head and suffocate them until they go unconscious! Of course, I would love to hit Cecilbaby with another Calamity Pain, like I did once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, and take the Five-Star title. Then of course, I could take my neck back from Flambo!
He closed his eyes and shakes his head. Placing a hand up, he opens his eyes and continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But, I donât want to get ahead of myself here, Anj. I need to train hard if I want to get my hands on any championship belt! And thatâs why I want to announce that I will be training⌠at the KING gym!
Mephistopheles himself couldnât make a viewer shudder like Arthur Pleasant just did right there. A smirk stretches across his pale, evil face.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs right. David was so impressed with my transformative training regimen that I was given a lifetime membership! I mean, who cares the elliptical machine is broken and someone threw sopping wet urinal cakes all over their free weights bench. Who cares that Rose keeps her panties in the top drawer of her storage space and they smell like fresh blooming flowers. It might not be the cleanest establishment Iâve seen, but itâll serve its purpose in my transcendence throughout 2024!
Switching spots again, Arthur, err, Angelica, looks appalled.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Why, Arthur! How on earth would you know these things!
Arthur Pleasant: I had a key, of course!
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Lies!
Arthur Pleasant: Negative, Anj. In fact, once the good people at KING pull up their security footage, theyâll see I walked right into the place without smashing a window or door! Nothing but good intentions, see!
Arthurâs face turns serious as all blood and circulation seems to have left him ashen. The deadness behind his eyes is matched only by the soullessness in his voice.
He looks straight into the camera.
Arthur Pleasant: Dolores, David. I will honor her memory by bathing in not only your blood, but the blood of those you hold dear. You never shouldâve shown up here, my old friend. You and the rest of KING.
He pauses. Nostrils flaring. A beat, then Arthurâs nostrils flare.
Arthur Pleasant: And yet, you did. You all did. And that is something I must take care of.
Arthurâs face changes again. Itâs almost as if he woke up from some kind of trance.
A beat. Then a smile.
Arthur Pleasant: I look forward to training with KING! I know my best friend, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav, will be proud of me!
Tossing the single sheet of paper aside. Pleasant gives an almost cartoonish wink to the camera. Mouthing âBye bye!â and fluttering his fingers, he leaves the general vicinity before the camera switches to another area of the KeyBank Arena.
The camera pans through a fully lit corridor, buzzing with the palpable tension and excitement of ReVivalâs typical high-energy atmosphere. Vibrant posters promoting NHLâs Buffalo Sabres adorn the walls, as well as other events coming through in the approaching weeks and months. The ambient sound of a roaring crowd seeps through the walls, underscoring the anticipation backstage.
Suddenly, we see the always beautiful Angelica Brooks standing by, against a velvety backdrop. She stands with a microphone in hand.
Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen⌠Arthur Pleasant.
Pleasant slowly makes his way into the cameraâs view, already in his ring gear, ready for his match-up later on with âThe Legendâ Rob Williams. Acknowledging Angelicaâs introduction, Arthur grabs her hand and kisses the top of it like a true gentleman. She pulls back her hand, instinctively, clearly disgusted by whose lips that did the kissing.
Arthur Pleasant: Thank you for such a sweet introduction, Brooksie!
Angelica, looking supremely annoyed, sighs.
Angelica Brooks: Itâs Brooks, actually. Or Angelica. Or even Angie.
Pleasant snickers at her annoyance.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, my apologies, Brooksieâ I mean ANNNNNJ. Regardless, thanks for agreeing to this backstage interview. To be honest, Iâve been waiting for the right time to speak ever since Coral Avalon eliminated me from the Almasy. And right here, right now? Itâs the right time.
PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare pulls out a piece of notebook paper. Its frilly edge suggests it has been ripped from a notebook recently. Though we canât see what exactly is ON the piece of paper, we can make out the ink of some handwriting, some scratches, and a smiley face on the bottom right corner.
Angelica Brooks: Okay. Iâm probably going to be sorry I asked this but, what is this?!
Arthur Pleasant: Itâs the questions youâre going to ask me, Anj! Approved by Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan, of course. Considering the number of years youâve been doing your job, I wouldâve thought reading comprehension wouldâve been a given.
Angelica sneers at Arthur for the condescending answer. She looks down at the piece of paper, then looks back at Pleasant.
Angelica Brooks: Iâm not reading this. Get someone else to participate in your BS!!
Angelica hands Pleasant the microphone and piece of paper. Thereâs an audible !!POP!! coming from the audience who are watching the events transpire in real time from inside the KeyBank Arena.
Arthur Pleasant: (hand over mic) Just for that, I will never go on a fucking date with you! EVER!
Turning his attention back to the camera, Pleasant adjusts his imagin3ary tie and smiles.
Arthur Pleasant: Hello, my beautiful Arthurians and fellow comrades of the cause! Itâs been a little while, hasnât it PRIME? Indeed it has, friends. In fact, not since ReVival thirty-nine, on the first of December, Two-Thousand and Twenty-Three have I been featured, or even SEEN, anywhere here in PRIME.
He shakes his head in disgust. The kind of disgust one would have watching Rob Williams clipping his old man toe nails infected with Onychomycosis. Look it up. Itâs gross. Thatâs our Legend, everybody.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs almost two whooooole boring, empty fucking months without your favorite, friendly, neighborhood Provocateur gracing your television screens, smart phones, laptops, or whatever else you catch your wrasslinâ on! Fear not, though⌠for I am back. Thatâs right, Iâm back, and as Mr. Salvation Army will see later on this evening, Iâm better than ever, too.
Pausing, he looks at the piece of paper he tried to get Angelica to read from.
Arthur Pleasant: (muttering to self) Seriously, bitch?! THIS offended you?
Clearing his throat and focusing back on the camera, he continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But thatâs not why Iâm standing in front of you, Angelica!
He shifts from where he stands to where Angelica stood moments ago. Itâs here that he assumes the duties that Angelica just shirked.
Reading the paper, Arthur-Angelica speaks.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Arthur, the last time we saw you, you got your team disqualified by kicking Rocky de Leon square in the oiled yam bags. What was going through your mind at that moment and what are your plans for Rocky de Leon?
Arthur-Angelica quickly switches sides on the velvet back drop, going back to his normalâ in a matter of speakingâ self.
Arthur Pleasant: Rocky de Leon isnât in PRIME anymore. Least, thatâs what I was last told when I showed up to Colossus looking for him. But the fact is I kicked him in the sack so hard he had to go get implants. Luckily they had a bag of peas handy so the procedure went smoothly, Iâm told. Thatâs the rumor, anyway. Seems plausible to me. Truth is, I was very much looking forward to beating him down inside the ring, mono-y-mono, but things happen and he decided to take his leave.
He smirks. Arms folded, Pleasant scratches his beard.
Arthur Pleasant: Just like Morty, and just like Kohime. You know, given the number of opponents Iâve sent packing, I donât think Anna Daniels has much room to talk for the amount of competitors leaving PRIME. Maybe thereâs some chemistry there between us down the road! But hey, I digress. The answer to your question, Anj, is this: I have absolutely no plans for Rocky de Leon moving forward. The Pale Apollyon is ready for the next chapter.
Again, Pleasant switches spots with âAnjâ.
Anjelicarthur Brooksant: So, what does this mean, Arthur? What is your focus moving forward, then?
Arthur laughs, back to his normal spot.
Arthur Pleasant: Simple, really. I think itâs time for good ole Uncle Arthur to flex his ring genius and win some championship gold here in PRIME. My comrades deserve to have some more gold within the family, after all. Iâd be lying if I said I didnât have my eyes on that Intense Title. Barbed wire ropes match? Thatâs my fucking wheelhouse. Whether itâs Pax or Maxâ Iâd love to show those guys a thing or two about the intricacies of barbed wire and how beautiful it can be!
He thinks for a moment. Then, itâs like a lightbulb went off above his head.
Arthur Pleasant: Or maybe I go after the Alias Championship and everyone starts playing by my rules. Oooo. Imagine that, eh? All title defenses require me to place a shopping bag over someoneâs head and suffocate them until they go unconscious! Of course, I would love to hit Cecilbaby with another Calamity Pain, like I did once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, and take the Five-Star title. Then of course, I could take my neck back from Flambo!
He closed his eyes and shakes his head. Placing a hand up, he opens his eyes and continues.
Arthur Pleasant: But, I donât want to get ahead of myself here, Anj. I need to train hard if I want to get my hands on any championship belt! And thatâs why I want to announce that I will be training⌠at the KING gym!
Mephistopheles himself couldnât make a viewer shudder like Arthur Pleasant just did right there. A smirk stretches across his pale, evil face.
Arthur Pleasant: Thatâs right. David was so impressed with my transformative training regimen that I was given a lifetime membership! I mean, who cares the elliptical machine is broken and someone threw sopping wet urinal cakes all over their free weights bench. Who cares that Rose keeps her panties in the top drawer of her storage space and they smell like fresh blooming flowers. It might not be the cleanest establishment Iâve seen, but itâll serve its purpose in my transcendence throughout 2024!
Switching spots again, Arthur, err, Angelica, looks appalled.
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Why, Arthur! How on earth would you know these things!
Arthur Pleasant: I had a key, of course!
Angelicarthur Brooksant: Lies!
Arthur Pleasant: Negative, Anj. In fact, once the good people at KING pull up their security footage, theyâll see I walked right into the place without smashing a window or door! Nothing but good intentions, see!
Arthurâs face turns serious as all blood and circulation seems to have left him ashen. The deadness behind his eyes is matched only by the soullessness in his voice.
He looks straight into the camera.
Arthur Pleasant: Dolores, David. I will honor her memory by bathing in not only your blood, but the blood of those you hold dear. You never shouldâve shown up here, my old friend. You and the rest of KING.
He pauses. Nostrils flaring. A beat, then Arthurâs nostrils flare.
Arthur Pleasant: And yet, you did. You all did. And that is something I must take care of.
Arthurâs face changes again. Itâs almost as if he woke up from some kind of trance.
A beat. Then a smile.
Arthur Pleasant: I look forward to training with KING! I know my best friend, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav, will be proud of me!
Tossing the single sheet of paper aside. Pleasant gives an almost cartoonish wink to the camera. Mouthing âBye bye!â and fluttering his fingers, he leaves the general vicinity before the camera switches to another area of the KeyBank Arena.
The KeyBank drops into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.
âLEEEETâS GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLEâ
The bell dings as Volbeatâs âA Warriorâs callâ floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see. He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.
âFEEL THE FIRE, HEâS ENTERING THE RING
HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIINâ
Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.
âUNLEASHING HIS HELL
YOU WONâT EVEN HEAR THE BELLâ
He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.
âFEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!â
Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.
âLETâS GET READY TO RUUUUMBLEâ
Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Buffalo, New York, he weighs in at two hundred and thirty eight pounds.. CRAAAASH JAAAAAAACKSON!
The music begins to die out as Crash moves to his corner.
Almost as soon as the music ends that blessed of all themes begins to play marking the arrival of one Bobby Dean!
âYouâre the Bestâ by Joe Esposito rips over the KeyBank arena crowd as they come alive the eGG Bandit. By alive I mean they begin booing the Captain, though there are also a few people cheering. This noise increases a few notches as Bobby wanders out onto the stage like a proud hutt preparing to preside over the Boonta Eve Classic.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Houston, Texas, weighing in at three hundred and sixty nine pounds, BEEEEAUUUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEEEEAN!
The Captain is stunning in his bandit blue drip, that flashest of all Bandit robes glittering with the finest rhinestones. Bobby keeps a steady pace as he swaggers down to the ring, his hips swinging to either side as he carries his bulk comfortably to the ring.
Nick Stuart: This will be a battle of styles, wouldnât you say Richard?
Richard Parker: If you mean it will be a lean, quick, jumpy dumpy guy verses the Beautiful Adonis of McDonalds, yes, it will be a battle of styles.
He climbs the steps only to pause and head back down them. Crash looks confused as Bobby proceeds to swagger around the ring, his hands held up as he takes in the boos and muffled cheers.
After a full circuit Bobby starts to climb the steps again before pausing. He looks at Crash and back around at the crowd before he heads back down the steps for another walk around the ring. The cheers are replaced with muffled laughing, the booing itself gets louder.
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Bobby doing?
Richard Parker: He probably forgot to stretch before he came out here and he needs a little warm up.
On his third circuit Bobby once again climbs the ring steps. Elvis Nixon looks to be losing his patience as he demands that Dean enter the ring. The Captain stares at Elvis in confusion before pretending like he canât hear him. Crash begins to pace around the ring, his face flashing red with irritation at Bobbyâs pre-match antics.
Nick Stuart: Crash isnât in the mood for Bobbyâs games here tonight.
Richard Parker: If he doesnât like it, he should do something about it!
Dean holds his hands up toward Elvis and indicates he needs to take a quick break as his three trips around the ring had left him exhausted. Sitting down he pulls a bag of Haribo gummy bears out of his robe and begins snacking on them.
Nick Stuart: He needs a rest and a snack after his walk out? Come on, this has to be some kind of game.
Richard Parker: Or maybe he just warmed up a little too much? Listen, itâs a lot of weight to drag around the ring three times, Nick.
Nick Stuart: And I donât think gummy bears are a great pre-match snack either!
Richard Parker: Maybe not for you, Nick, but when youâre a physical specimen like Bobby Dean, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!
Crash tries to leave the ring but Elvis quickly stops him, trying to calm the Northern Light down. Bobby doesnât seem to be paying much attention as he gobbles down a handful. The camera is close enough to catch Dean telling himself to save some for after the match. He tucks the gummies back into his robe and stands up doing some âstretchesâ.
Richard Parker: What did I tell you, Nick, he needs to stretch!
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous! Referee Elvis Nixon needs to get Dean in the ring so we can start this match!
It looks like Bobby is about to enter the ring, heading up the steps one at a time.
The Captain stops, nods to himself and heads down the stairs again, ready to take another circuit around the ring!
Richard Parker: Another round, just a quick warm up, Nick, just to be ready for sure.
Nick Stuart: Enough is enough, somebody needs to do something!
Crash has had enough, quickly dodging around Elvis and sliding out of the ring behind an unaware Bobby. He smashes Dean from behind with a double ax handle knocking the Beautiful One to his knees as the crowd comes alive! Crash rips the blue robe off Bobby exposing his soft, blubbery flesh.
Nick Stuart: Crash on the offensive as heâs waited long enough for Beautiful Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Referee Elvis Nixon has lost control of this! He needs to get that maniac Crash back in the ring so we can start this match! Whoâs wasting time now, Stuart!?
Jackson kicks at the downed Dean savagely, the frustration caused by Deanâs antics turned into a blinding rage. This is fed by the crowdâs excitement as they watch him assault Bobby. Crash drags Dean up to his feet and rolls him into the ring before unleashing a zealous roar, his hands held high in the air as he channels the energy from the crowd.
Richard Parker: Look at this idiot, pandering to the crowd when he should be starting this match!
Nick Stuart: I think Bobby took enough time, Crash can enjoy a little love from the crowd, Richard.
Crash turns and rolls into the ring only to get caught by a sudden elbow drop from a waiting Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Thatâs what he gets for pandering!
Nick Stuart: At least we can finally get this match underway.
DING DING
Bobby immediately hooks the leg!
ONE!
Kick Out by Crash!
Nick Stuart: Bobby trying to steal a quick win but Crash gets his shoulder up at one.
Richard Parker: You canât blame a man for trying.
The Captain climbs back up to his feet, eager to keep up his advantage as he drags Crash back up to his feet. Unfortunately for Dean he is ill prepared for Crash as he slams his fist into Bobbyâs gut! This is followed by a series of strikes that breaks the Captainâs hold on Crash.
Shoving Dean away, Crash hits the ropes before smashing Bobby with a stiff lariat! Bobby gets staggered but he doesnât go down prompting Crash to hit the ropes once again!
Super Kick!
Nick Stuart: WIDE LEFT!
Richard Parker: Stupid kicks that are super! Caught Bobby right on the third or fourth chin!
Once again Dean weebles and he wobbles but he wonât go down! Crash channels the energy of the crowd as he lets out a tremendous warcry before hitting the ropes, flying back out at Bobby connecting with a Spinning Heel Kick!
Nick Stuart: New Yorkâs Finest landing a picture perfect spinning heel kick across Bobbyâs jaw!
This finally takes Bobby Dean off his feet, his body thundering down like a felled Baobab tree!
Crash points to the top turnbuckle as the fans climb to their feet! The Northern Light takes two big steps forward before launching himself, climbing the turnbuckle nimbly. Once crouched atop the turnbuckle Jackson repositions himself to look down at Bobby. He imitates lighting up a joint before smoking it.
Nick Stuart: 420 SPLASH incoming!
Crash Jackson takes flight into a tremendous Frog Splash!
Richard Parker: If he lands this he might get bounced all the way into the fifth row!
Bobby gets the knees up!
Crash clutches at his ribs as Bobby slowly rolls toward the ropes. Propping himself up, Bobby fishes an Uncrustable out of his tights. He tears it open with his teeth and greedily gobbles it down.
Nick Stuart: A great counter by Dean! And then he just stuffs his face with more food!
Richard Parker: A veteran move, a counter that required nearly no effort on behalf of the Captain of the eGG Bandits. Iâm not so sure about the gummy bears though..
Staggering up to his feet, Crash spots Bobby and charges forward again. Bobby doesnât bother to defend himself and instead looks like he basically lets Crash pull him up to his feet. The Northern Light hooks up Bobby and looks to be going for a suplex!
Nick Stuart: He is going for it! Heâs going to suplex Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: No way.. No WAY he pulls this off!
He tries to lift Dean but barely manages to get the big man a few inches off the guard. Bobby doesnât seem overly concerned as he patiently waits for his opening.
Crash plants his feet and makes another attempt to lift the Captain! With the fan encouragement, and much to Bobbyâs own surprise, Crash manages to get a few feet in the air! Flailing his feet in a panic Bobby manages to break Crashâs grip collapsing down on Jackson!
Nick Stuart: No! He almost had him but big Beautiful Bobby Dean was just too much!
Richard Parker: No one ever accused Crash of being bright.
The near four hundred pounder flattens Crash, driving the wind out of him. This is the opening that Bobby has been looking for, his Uncrustable powerup kicking into overdrive. Far faster than youâd expect from Bobby Dean, the doughy bandit is up on his feet with Crash!
Shoving Crashâs head into his tights, Bobby lifts his opponent up into a piledriver position..
THE DEANER WEINER!
Nick Stuart: The top of Crashâs head was just introduced to the ring with authority!
Richard Parker: Yeah, that wasnât the only thing Crashâs head was getting to know while he was down thereâŚ
Bobby rolls Crash over and puts the full of his girthy girth down on his opponentâs upper body and face!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, BEAUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEAAAAAAAN!
Inside the ring Bobby Dean celebrates as âYouâre the Bestâ comes blasting back over the KeyBank Arena. The crowd boos the eGG Bandit while he enjoys some more post match Haribo Gummy Bears. He sure is glad he saved some for this victory celebration!
Nick Stuart: Are we looking at a streak for Bobby Dean!?
Richard Parker: I canât believe it.. But I think it might be.
Crash is slowly rolled out of the ring while being checked on by medical staff. Max Kael appears from the back with Violent Purple at his side. The two of them check over Crash and help escort him to the back.
Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentleman, weâve still got tons of action including our Intense Title Main Event! Stick around for more after this commercial break!
The KeyBank drops into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.
âLEEEETâS GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLEâ
The bell dings as Volbeatâs âA Warriorâs callâ floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see. He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.
âFEEL THE FIRE, HEâS ENTERING THE RING
HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIINâ
Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.
âUNLEASHING HIS HELL
YOU WONâT EVEN HEAR THE BELLâ
He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.
âFEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!â
Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.
âLETâS GET READY TO RUUUUMBLEâ
Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Buffalo, New York, he weighs in at two hundred and thirty eight pounds.. CRAAAASH JAAAAAAACKSON!
The music begins to die out as Crash moves to his corner.
Almost as soon as the music ends that blessed of all themes begins to play marking the arrival of one Bobby Dean!
âYouâre the Bestâ by Joe Esposito rips over the KeyBank arena crowd as they come alive the eGG Bandit. By alive I mean they begin booing the Captain, though there are also a few people cheering. This noise increases a few notches as Bobby wanders out onto the stage like a proud hutt preparing to preside over the Boonta Eve Classic.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Houston, Texas, weighing in at three hundred and sixty nine pounds, BEEEEAUUUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEEEEAN!
The Captain is stunning in his bandit blue drip, that flashest of all Bandit robes glittering with the finest rhinestones. Bobby keeps a steady pace as he swaggers down to the ring, his hips swinging to either side as he carries his bulk comfortably to the ring.
Nick Stuart: This will be a battle of styles, wouldnât you say Richard?
Richard Parker: If you mean it will be a lean, quick, jumpy dumpy guy verses the Beautiful Adonis of McDonalds, yes, it will be a battle of styles.
He climbs the steps only to pause and head back down them. Crash looks confused as Bobby proceeds to swagger around the ring, his hands held up as he takes in the boos and muffled cheers.
After a full circuit Bobby starts to climb the steps again before pausing. He looks at Crash and back around at the crowd before he heads back down the steps for another walk around the ring. The cheers are replaced with muffled laughing, the booing itself gets louder.
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Bobby doing?
Richard Parker: He probably forgot to stretch before he came out here and he needs a little warm up.
On his third circuit Bobby once again climbs the ring steps. Elvis Nixon looks to be losing his patience as he demands that Dean enter the ring. The Captain stares at Elvis in confusion before pretending like he canât hear him. Crash begins to pace around the ring, his face flashing red with irritation at Bobbyâs pre-match antics.
Nick Stuart: Crash isnât in the mood for Bobbyâs games here tonight.
Richard Parker: If he doesnât like it, he should do something about it!
Dean holds his hands up toward Elvis and indicates he needs to take a quick break as his three trips around the ring had left him exhausted. Sitting down he pulls a bag of Haribo gummy bears out of his robe and begins snacking on them.
Nick Stuart: He needs a rest and a snack after his walk out? Come on, this has to be some kind of game.
Richard Parker: Or maybe he just warmed up a little too much? Listen, itâs a lot of weight to drag around the ring three times, Nick.
Nick Stuart: And I donât think gummy bears are a great pre-match snack either!
Richard Parker: Maybe not for you, Nick, but when youâre a physical specimen like Bobby Dean, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!
Crash tries to leave the ring but Elvis quickly stops him, trying to calm the Northern Light down. Bobby doesnât seem to be paying much attention as he gobbles down a handful. The camera is close enough to catch Dean telling himself to save some for after the match. He tucks the gummies back into his robe and stands up doing some âstretchesâ.
Richard Parker: What did I tell you, Nick, he needs to stretch!
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous! Referee Elvis Nixon needs to get Dean in the ring so we can start this match!
It looks like Bobby is about to enter the ring, heading up the steps one at a time.
The Captain stops, nods to himself and heads down the stairs again, ready to take another circuit around the ring!
Richard Parker: Another round, just a quick warm up, Nick, just to be ready for sure.
Nick Stuart: Enough is enough, somebody needs to do something!
Crash has had enough, quickly dodging around Elvis and sliding out of the ring behind an unaware Bobby. He smashes Dean from behind with a double ax handle knocking the Beautiful One to his knees as the crowd comes alive! Crash rips the blue robe off Bobby exposing his soft, blubbery flesh.
Nick Stuart: Crash on the offensive as heâs waited long enough for Beautiful Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Referee Elvis Nixon has lost control of this! He needs to get that maniac Crash back in the ring so we can start this match! Whoâs wasting time now, Stuart!?
Jackson kicks at the downed Dean savagely, the frustration caused by Deanâs antics turned into a blinding rage. This is fed by the crowdâs excitement as they watch him assault Bobby. Crash drags Dean up to his feet and rolls him into the ring before unleashing a zealous roar, his hands held high in the air as he channels the energy from the crowd.
Richard Parker: Look at this idiot, pandering to the crowd when he should be starting this match!
Nick Stuart: I think Bobby took enough time, Crash can enjoy a little love from the crowd, Richard.
Crash turns and rolls into the ring only to get caught by a sudden elbow drop from a waiting Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Thatâs what he gets for pandering!
Nick Stuart: At least we can finally get this match underway.
DING DING
Bobby immediately hooks the leg!
ONE!
Kick Out by Crash!
Nick Stuart: Bobby trying to steal a quick win but Crash gets his shoulder up at one.
Richard Parker: You canât blame a man for trying.
The Captain climbs back up to his feet, eager to keep up his advantage as he drags Crash back up to his feet. Unfortunately for Dean he is ill prepared for Crash as he slams his fist into Bobbyâs gut! This is followed by a series of strikes that breaks the Captainâs hold on Crash.
Shoving Dean away, Crash hits the ropes before smashing Bobby with a stiff lariat! Bobby gets staggered but he doesnât go down prompting Crash to hit the ropes once again!
Super Kick!
Nick Stuart: WIDE LEFT!
Richard Parker: Stupid kicks that are super! Caught Bobby right on the third or fourth chin!
Once again Dean weebles and he wobbles but he wonât go down! Crash channels the energy of the crowd as he lets out a tremendous warcry before hitting the ropes, flying back out at Bobby connecting with a Spinning Heel Kick!
Nick Stuart: New Yorkâs Finest landing a picture perfect spinning heel kick across Bobbyâs jaw!
This finally takes Bobby Dean off his feet, his body thundering down like a felled Baobab tree!
Crash points to the top turnbuckle as the fans climb to their feet! The Northern Light takes two big steps forward before launching himself, climbing the turnbuckle nimbly. Once crouched atop the turnbuckle Jackson repositions himself to look down at Bobby. He imitates lighting up a joint before smoking it.
Nick Stuart: 420 SPLASH incoming!
Crash Jackson takes flight into a tremendous Frog Splash!
Richard Parker: If he lands this he might get bounced all the way into the fifth row!
Bobby gets the knees up!
Crash clutches at his ribs as Bobby slowly rolls toward the ropes. Propping himself up, Bobby fishes an Uncrustable out of his tights. He tears it open with his teeth and greedily gobbles it down.
Nick Stuart: A great counter by Dean! And then he just stuffs his face with more food!
Richard Parker: A veteran move, a counter that required nearly no effort on behalf of the Captain of the eGG Bandits. Iâm not so sure about the gummy bears though..
Staggering up to his feet, Crash spots Bobby and charges forward again. Bobby doesnât bother to defend himself and instead looks like he basically lets Crash pull him up to his feet. The Northern Light hooks up Bobby and looks to be going for a suplex!
Nick Stuart: He is going for it! Heâs going to suplex Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: No way.. No WAY he pulls this off!
He tries to lift Dean but barely manages to get the big man a few inches off the guard. Bobby doesnât seem overly concerned as he patiently waits for his opening.
Crash plants his feet and makes another attempt to lift the Captain! With the fan encouragement, and much to Bobbyâs own surprise, Crash manages to get a few feet in the air! Flailing his feet in a panic Bobby manages to break Crashâs grip collapsing down on Jackson!
Nick Stuart: No! He almost had him but big Beautiful Bobby Dean was just too much!
Richard Parker: No one ever accused Crash of being bright.
The near four hundred pounder flattens Crash, driving the wind out of him. This is the opening that Bobby has been looking for, his Uncrustable powerup kicking into overdrive. Far faster than youâd expect from Bobby Dean, the doughy bandit is up on his feet with Crash!
Shoving Crashâs head into his tights, Bobby lifts his opponent up into a piledriver position..
THE DEANER WEINER!
Nick Stuart: The top of Crashâs head was just introduced to the ring with authority!
Richard Parker: Yeah, that wasnât the only thing Crashâs head was getting to know while he was down thereâŚ
Bobby rolls Crash over and puts the full of his girthy girth down on his opponentâs upper body and face!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, BEAUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEAAAAAAAN!
Inside the ring Bobby Dean celebrates as âYouâre the Bestâ comes blasting back over the KeyBank Arena. The crowd boos the eGG Bandit while he enjoys some more post match Haribo Gummy Bears. He sure is glad he saved some for this victory celebration!
Nick Stuart: Are we looking at a streak for Bobby Dean!?
Richard Parker: I canât believe it.. But I think it might be.
Crash is slowly rolled out of the ring while being checked on by medical staff. Max Kael appears from the back with Violent Purple at his side. The two of them check over Crash and help escort him to the back.
Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentleman, weâve still got tons of action including our Intense Title Main Event! Stick around for more after this commercial break!
The KeyBank drops into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.
âLEEEETâS GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLEâ
The bell dings as Volbeatâs âA Warriorâs callâ floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see. He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.
âFEEL THE FIRE, HEâS ENTERING THE RING
HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIINâ
Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.
âUNLEASHING HIS HELL
YOU WONâT EVEN HEAR THE BELLâ
He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.
âFEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!â
Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.
âLETâS GET READY TO RUUUUMBLEâ
Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.
âFIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!â
Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Buffalo, New York, he weighs in at two hundred and thirty eight pounds.. CRAAAASH JAAAAAAACKSON!
The music begins to die out as Crash moves to his corner.
Almost as soon as the music ends that blessed of all themes begins to play marking the arrival of one Bobby Dean!
âYouâre the Bestâ by Joe Esposito rips over the KeyBank arena crowd as they come alive the eGG Bandit. By alive I mean they begin booing the Captain, though there are also a few people cheering. This noise increases a few notches as Bobby wanders out onto the stage like a proud hutt preparing to preside over the Boonta Eve Classic.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Houston, Texas, weighing in at three hundred and sixty nine pounds, BEEEEAUUUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEEEEAN!
The Captain is stunning in his bandit blue drip, that flashest of all Bandit robes glittering with the finest rhinestones. Bobby keeps a steady pace as he swaggers down to the ring, his hips swinging to either side as he carries his bulk comfortably to the ring.
Nick Stuart: This will be a battle of styles, wouldnât you say Richard?
Richard Parker: If you mean it will be a lean, quick, jumpy dumpy guy verses the Beautiful Adonis of McDonalds, yes, it will be a battle of styles.
He climbs the steps only to pause and head back down them. Crash looks confused as Bobby proceeds to swagger around the ring, his hands held up as he takes in the boos and muffled cheers.
After a full circuit Bobby starts to climb the steps again before pausing. He looks at Crash and back around at the crowd before he heads back down the steps for another walk around the ring. The cheers are replaced with muffled laughing, the booing itself gets louder.
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Bobby doing?
Richard Parker: He probably forgot to stretch before he came out here and he needs a little warm up.
On his third circuit Bobby once again climbs the ring steps. Elvis Nixon looks to be losing his patience as he demands that Dean enter the ring. The Captain stares at Elvis in confusion before pretending like he canât hear him. Crash begins to pace around the ring, his face flashing red with irritation at Bobbyâs pre-match antics.
Nick Stuart: Crash isnât in the mood for Bobbyâs games here tonight.
Richard Parker: If he doesnât like it, he should do something about it!
Dean holds his hands up toward Elvis and indicates he needs to take a quick break as his three trips around the ring had left him exhausted. Sitting down he pulls a bag of Haribo gummy bears out of his robe and begins snacking on them.
Nick Stuart: He needs a rest and a snack after his walk out? Come on, this has to be some kind of game.
Richard Parker: Or maybe he just warmed up a little too much? Listen, itâs a lot of weight to drag around the ring three times, Nick.
Nick Stuart: And I donât think gummy bears are a great pre-match snack either!
Richard Parker: Maybe not for you, Nick, but when youâre a physical specimen like Bobby Dean, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!
Crash tries to leave the ring but Elvis quickly stops him, trying to calm the Northern Light down. Bobby doesnât seem to be paying much attention as he gobbles down a handful. The camera is close enough to catch Dean telling himself to save some for after the match. He tucks the gummies back into his robe and stands up doing some âstretchesâ.
Richard Parker: What did I tell you, Nick, he needs to stretch!
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous! Referee Elvis Nixon needs to get Dean in the ring so we can start this match!
It looks like Bobby is about to enter the ring, heading up the steps one at a time.
The Captain stops, nods to himself and heads down the stairs again, ready to take another circuit around the ring!
Richard Parker: Another round, just a quick warm up, Nick, just to be ready for sure.
Nick Stuart: Enough is enough, somebody needs to do something!
Crash has had enough, quickly dodging around Elvis and sliding out of the ring behind an unaware Bobby. He smashes Dean from behind with a double ax handle knocking the Beautiful One to his knees as the crowd comes alive! Crash rips the blue robe off Bobby exposing his soft, blubbery flesh.
Nick Stuart: Crash on the offensive as heâs waited long enough for Beautiful Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Referee Elvis Nixon has lost control of this! He needs to get that maniac Crash back in the ring so we can start this match! Whoâs wasting time now, Stuart!?
Jackson kicks at the downed Dean savagely, the frustration caused by Deanâs antics turned into a blinding rage. This is fed by the crowdâs excitement as they watch him assault Bobby. Crash drags Dean up to his feet and rolls him into the ring before unleashing a zealous roar, his hands held high in the air as he channels the energy from the crowd.
Richard Parker: Look at this idiot, pandering to the crowd when he should be starting this match!
Nick Stuart: I think Bobby took enough time, Crash can enjoy a little love from the crowd, Richard.
Crash turns and rolls into the ring only to get caught by a sudden elbow drop from a waiting Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: Thatâs what he gets for pandering!
Nick Stuart: At least we can finally get this match underway.
DING DING
Bobby immediately hooks the leg!
ONE!
Kick Out by Crash!
Nick Stuart: Bobby trying to steal a quick win but Crash gets his shoulder up at one.
Richard Parker: You canât blame a man for trying.
The Captain climbs back up to his feet, eager to keep up his advantage as he drags Crash back up to his feet. Unfortunately for Dean he is ill prepared for Crash as he slams his fist into Bobbyâs gut! This is followed by a series of strikes that breaks the Captainâs hold on Crash.
Shoving Dean away, Crash hits the ropes before smashing Bobby with a stiff lariat! Bobby gets staggered but he doesnât go down prompting Crash to hit the ropes once again!
Super Kick!
Nick Stuart: WIDE LEFT!
Richard Parker: Stupid kicks that are super! Caught Bobby right on the third or fourth chin!
Once again Dean weebles and he wobbles but he wonât go down! Crash channels the energy of the crowd as he lets out a tremendous warcry before hitting the ropes, flying back out at Bobby connecting with a Spinning Heel Kick!
Nick Stuart: New Yorkâs Finest landing a picture perfect spinning heel kick across Bobbyâs jaw!
This finally takes Bobby Dean off his feet, his body thundering down like a felled Baobab tree!
Crash points to the top turnbuckle as the fans climb to their feet! The Northern Light takes two big steps forward before launching himself, climbing the turnbuckle nimbly. Once crouched atop the turnbuckle Jackson repositions himself to look down at Bobby. He imitates lighting up a joint before smoking it.
Nick Stuart: 420 SPLASH incoming!
Crash Jackson takes flight into a tremendous Frog Splash!
Richard Parker: If he lands this he might get bounced all the way into the fifth row!
Bobby gets the knees up!
Crash clutches at his ribs as Bobby slowly rolls toward the ropes. Propping himself up, Bobby fishes an Uncrustable out of his tights. He tears it open with his teeth and greedily gobbles it down.
Nick Stuart: A great counter by Dean! And then he just stuffs his face with more food!
Richard Parker: A veteran move, a counter that required nearly no effort on behalf of the Captain of the eGG Bandits. Iâm not so sure about the gummy bears though..
Staggering up to his feet, Crash spots Bobby and charges forward again. Bobby doesnât bother to defend himself and instead looks like he basically lets Crash pull him up to his feet. The Northern Light hooks up Bobby and looks to be going for a suplex!
Nick Stuart: He is going for it! Heâs going to suplex Bobby Dean!
Richard Parker: No way.. No WAY he pulls this off!
He tries to lift Dean but barely manages to get the big man a few inches off the guard. Bobby doesnât seem overly concerned as he patiently waits for his opening.
Crash plants his feet and makes another attempt to lift the Captain! With the fan encouragement, and much to Bobbyâs own surprise, Crash manages to get a few feet in the air! Flailing his feet in a panic Bobby manages to break Crashâs grip collapsing down on Jackson!
Nick Stuart: No! He almost had him but big Beautiful Bobby Dean was just too much!
Richard Parker: No one ever accused Crash of being bright.
The near four hundred pounder flattens Crash, driving the wind out of him. This is the opening that Bobby has been looking for, his Uncrustable powerup kicking into overdrive. Far faster than youâd expect from Bobby Dean, the doughy bandit is up on his feet with Crash!
Shoving Crashâs head into his tights, Bobby lifts his opponent up into a piledriver position..
THE DEANER WEINER!
Nick Stuart: The top of Crashâs head was just introduced to the ring with authority!
Richard Parker: Yeah, that wasnât the only thing Crashâs head was getting to know while he was down thereâŚ
Bobby rolls Crash over and puts the full of his girthy girth down on his opponentâs upper body and face!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, BEAUTIFUL BOOOOOOBBY DEEEEAAAAAAAN!
Inside the ring Bobby Dean celebrates as âYouâre the Bestâ comes blasting back over the KeyBank Arena. The crowd boos the eGG Bandit while he enjoys some more post match Haribo Gummy Bears. He sure is glad he saved some for this victory celebration!
Nick Stuart: Are we looking at a streak for Bobby Dean!?
Richard Parker: I canât believe it.. But I think it might be.
Crash is slowly rolled out of the ring while being checked on by medical staff. Max Kael appears from the back with Violent Purple at his side. The two of them check over Crash and help escort him to the back.
Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentleman, weâve still got tons of action including our Intense Title Main Event! Stick around for more after this commercial break!
There are clocks.
Oh, we already did that earlier tonight. Never mind. Forget the clocks. Clocks are so several segments ago.
We see Coral Avalon in his blue waistcoat, browsing a bookshelf. In particular, heâs staring at the contents of a book labeled âPuppet Intercourse and Me: An Unauthorized T. Melton Biographyâ in sheer disgust, wondering why such a thing would even exist.
Coral Avalon: âŚWhy the hell is this even heâ
He looks to his side and quickly throws the book off-camera. You can hear the sound of glass breaking, bowling pins getting knocked over, and the yell of a startled cat off-screen, and we wonât be explaining how any of those items got there in the first place.
Coral Avalon: Oh, hey!
He adjusts himself to be standing before the camera. Nervously, he straightens his tie and clears his throat.
Coral Avalon: As some of you might know by now, I, your âFifteen Minutes of Painâ Alias champion, have been named as one of the captains for the upcoming War Games match at Culture Shock. Naturally, I had the unenviable task of deciding who I would take with me into battle.
He shrugs his shoulders, as he nervously smiles for the camera.
Coral Avalon: Very, very unenviable.
He walks over to five displays, each covered in black covers.
Coral Avalon: So, letâs just get this out of the way and Iâll talk about why I ended up choosing the men involved in this match.
He pulled off the first cover.
It reveals the back of a very familiar head, but his face is visible due to a mirror heâs looking at. Well, most of his face. Some of it is covered in his T-shades.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, this just isnât an eGG Bandit party without Cancer Jiles involved, so heâs on the team. I know he probably wanted to take a vacation or something, but when I told him that this was going to be on Night Two, he was on board.
He smiles nervously.
Coral Avalon: I think.
He moves to the next display.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, Iâm not going to take someone like Ivan Stanislav on my team because thatâd mean I have to deal with Alexei, so⌠I needed an equalizer. A man who makes a show out of destroying everything in front of him. So I hear the words and terms like âHall of Famerâ and âlast Universal Champion of the ReVolutionâ and âseven foot tall man called the Murder Showâ and I think to myself⌠boy, thatâd be a great addition to the team.
He rips the cover off the second display, and it shows an ominous picture of none other than Hessian. Coral smiles at the sight of it.
Coral Avalon: Getting that Parts Unknown representation out there. Love to see it.
He next moved to the next display.
Coral Avalon: So, next, letâs talk about the newest member of the eGG Bandits. Heâs another PRIME Hall of Famer, so we have two of those now. Heâs also a former two-time 5-Star, Intense, and two-time Alias champion, as well. You all know him, some of you might adore himâŚ
The third display? Coverless. Naked, for all the world to see. It shows a picture of Tony Gamble in a state of being unalived after Brandon Youngblood got through juggle comboing him at Colossus Night Two. Specifically, itâs from the press conference.
Coral Avalon: Uh, hopefully heâs not like this at War GamesâŚ
With a nervous smile, he moves on to the next name.
Coral Avalon: This next individual⌠heâs a bit different from how I remembered him. I remembered him as this gloomy jerk, dressing in black and hanging out with the wrong crowd â if he hung out at all. As one did back in the fWo, to be honest. They had riots back then, it was a different time. But I still remember watching this man work in the ring, and I couldnât help myself but adding him to the team. And Iâd like for him to bring His World and His Life to our opponents in War Games.
Thatâs not what thatâs called, but nevertheless, Coral revealed an image of Don Winters behind the fourth cover. He is in the middle of giving a sermon to his flock. A crude mustache and beard has also been drawn on this image.
Coral gives a disapproving glance off-camera once he sees it.
Coral Avalon: âŚGuys, come on.
Coral shakes his head, clearly disappointed at his film crew. Which, to be fair, is just Lunchbox Larxene and Cardboard Dan Ryan. Not that the audience would know this.
Coral moves to the last of the pictures.
Coral Avalon: Last but not least, fashionably late, saving the best for last, all of that jazz. I admit, I really thought about this one, and what the implications might be in having to deal with him. Do I really want to invite such a volatile variable to this team? Heâs so⌠well, I can generously say that he is full of surprises. A real diamond in the rough. Or maybe a rhinestone in the rough? Rough either way.
He smiles.
Coral Avalon: And I canât promise to him that Iâll be able to keep Ami from messing with him.
He reveals the last pictures.
Itâs a picture of a passed out Daytona Diamonds, clearly the only time the picture-taker could safely take his picture. Coral sees this picture and shakes his head.
Coral Avalon: Yeah, okay, that tracks.
He turns to the camera.
Coral Avalon: So that, ladies and gentlemen, is the team I will hereby be calling Team Avalon: Myself, natch. Cancer Jiles. Tony Gamble. Hessian. Don Winters. Daytona Diamonds. Once we sort a couple of things out, our teamwork will be unstoppable!
He hears something from off-camera, though the microphone doesnât quite catch all of it.
Coral Avalon: âŚâŚOkay, I know I was a bit out of sorts the last few months and I hadnât been paying that much attention to the broader parts of PRIME, but⌠what?
More off-screen babble.
Coral Avalon: You mean Winters and Diamonds despise each other? Jiles went on a three hour tirade about Hessian for some reason and you all nervously tried to appease him? Tony might still be dead?
Some confirmation. Coral has the look of a man who already regrets most of his life decisions.
Coral Avalon: Well, uh⌠Iâm sure⌠Iâm sure itâll be fine.
It will not be fine, but ReVival moves on before Avalon ever figures that one out.
There are clocks.
Oh, we already did that earlier tonight. Never mind. Forget the clocks. Clocks are so several segments ago.
We see Coral Avalon in his blue waistcoat, browsing a bookshelf. In particular, heâs staring at the contents of a book labeled âPuppet Intercourse and Me: An Unauthorized T. Melton Biographyâ in sheer disgust, wondering why such a thing would even exist.
Coral Avalon: âŚWhy the hell is this even heâ
He looks to his side and quickly throws the book off-camera. You can hear the sound of glass breaking, bowling pins getting knocked over, and the yell of a startled cat off-screen, and we wonât be explaining how any of those items got there in the first place.
Coral Avalon: Oh, hey!
He adjusts himself to be standing before the camera. Nervously, he straightens his tie and clears his throat.
Coral Avalon: As some of you might know by now, I, your âFifteen Minutes of Painâ Alias champion, have been named as one of the captains for the upcoming War Games match at Culture Shock. Naturally, I had the unenviable task of deciding who I would take with me into battle.
He shrugs his shoulders, as he nervously smiles for the camera.
Coral Avalon: Very, very unenviable.
He walks over to five displays, each covered in black covers.
Coral Avalon: So, letâs just get this out of the way and Iâll talk about why I ended up choosing the men involved in this match.
He pulled off the first cover.
It reveals the back of a very familiar head, but his face is visible due to a mirror heâs looking at. Well, most of his face. Some of it is covered in his T-shades.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, this just isnât an eGG Bandit party without Cancer Jiles involved, so heâs on the team. I know he probably wanted to take a vacation or something, but when I told him that this was going to be on Night Two, he was on board.
He smiles nervously.
Coral Avalon: I think.
He moves to the next display.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, Iâm not going to take someone like Ivan Stanislav on my team because thatâd mean I have to deal with Alexei, so⌠I needed an equalizer. A man who makes a show out of destroying everything in front of him. So I hear the words and terms like âHall of Famerâ and âlast Universal Champion of the ReVolutionâ and âseven foot tall man called the Murder Showâ and I think to myself⌠boy, thatâd be a great addition to the team.
He rips the cover off the second display, and it shows an ominous picture of none other than Hessian. Coral smiles at the sight of it.
Coral Avalon: Getting that Parts Unknown representation out there. Love to see it.
He next moved to the next display.
Coral Avalon: So, next, letâs talk about the newest member of the eGG Bandits. Heâs another PRIME Hall of Famer, so we have two of those now. Heâs also a former two-time 5-Star, Intense, and two-time Alias champion, as well. You all know him, some of you might adore himâŚ
The third display? Coverless. Naked, for all the world to see. It shows a picture of Tony Gamble in a state of being unalived after Brandon Youngblood got through juggle comboing him at Colossus Night Two. Specifically, itâs from the press conference.
Coral Avalon: Uh, hopefully heâs not like this at War GamesâŚ
With a nervous smile, he moves on to the next name.
Coral Avalon: This next individual⌠heâs a bit different from how I remembered him. I remembered him as this gloomy jerk, dressing in black and hanging out with the wrong crowd â if he hung out at all. As one did back in the fWo, to be honest. They had riots back then, it was a different time. But I still remember watching this man work in the ring, and I couldnât help myself but adding him to the team. And Iâd like for him to bring His World and His Life to our opponents in War Games.
Thatâs not what thatâs called, but nevertheless, Coral revealed an image of Don Winters behind the fourth cover. He is in the middle of giving a sermon to his flock. A crude mustache and beard has also been drawn on this image.
Coral gives a disapproving glance off-camera once he sees it.
Coral Avalon: âŚGuys, come on.
Coral shakes his head, clearly disappointed at his film crew. Which, to be fair, is just Lunchbox Larxene and Cardboard Dan Ryan. Not that the audience would know this.
Coral moves to the last of the pictures.
Coral Avalon: Last but not least, fashionably late, saving the best for last, all of that jazz. I admit, I really thought about this one, and what the implications might be in having to deal with him. Do I really want to invite such a volatile variable to this team? Heâs so⌠well, I can generously say that he is full of surprises. A real diamond in the rough. Or maybe a rhinestone in the rough? Rough either way.
He smiles.
Coral Avalon: And I canât promise to him that Iâll be able to keep Ami from messing with him.
He reveals the last pictures.
Itâs a picture of a passed out Daytona Diamonds, clearly the only time the picture-taker could safely take his picture. Coral sees this picture and shakes his head.
Coral Avalon: Yeah, okay, that tracks.
He turns to the camera.
Coral Avalon: So that, ladies and gentlemen, is the team I will hereby be calling Team Avalon: Myself, natch. Cancer Jiles. Tony Gamble. Hessian. Don Winters. Daytona Diamonds. Once we sort a couple of things out, our teamwork will be unstoppable!
He hears something from off-camera, though the microphone doesnât quite catch all of it.
Coral Avalon: âŚâŚOkay, I know I was a bit out of sorts the last few months and I hadnât been paying that much attention to the broader parts of PRIME, but⌠what?
More off-screen babble.
Coral Avalon: You mean Winters and Diamonds despise each other? Jiles went on a three hour tirade about Hessian for some reason and you all nervously tried to appease him? Tony might still be dead?
Some confirmation. Coral has the look of a man who already regrets most of his life decisions.
Coral Avalon: Well, uh⌠Iâm sure⌠Iâm sure itâll be fine.
It will not be fine, but ReVival moves on before Avalon ever figures that one out.
There are clocks.
Oh, we already did that earlier tonight. Never mind. Forget the clocks. Clocks are so several segments ago.
We see Coral Avalon in his blue waistcoat, browsing a bookshelf. In particular, heâs staring at the contents of a book labeled âPuppet Intercourse and Me: An Unauthorized T. Melton Biographyâ in sheer disgust, wondering why such a thing would even exist.
Coral Avalon: âŚWhy the hell is this even heâ
He looks to his side and quickly throws the book off-camera. You can hear the sound of glass breaking, bowling pins getting knocked over, and the yell of a startled cat off-screen, and we wonât be explaining how any of those items got there in the first place.
Coral Avalon: Oh, hey!
He adjusts himself to be standing before the camera. Nervously, he straightens his tie and clears his throat.
Coral Avalon: As some of you might know by now, I, your âFifteen Minutes of Painâ Alias champion, have been named as one of the captains for the upcoming War Games match at Culture Shock. Naturally, I had the unenviable task of deciding who I would take with me into battle.
He shrugs his shoulders, as he nervously smiles for the camera.
Coral Avalon: Very, very unenviable.
He walks over to five displays, each covered in black covers.
Coral Avalon: So, letâs just get this out of the way and Iâll talk about why I ended up choosing the men involved in this match.
He pulled off the first cover.
It reveals the back of a very familiar head, but his face is visible due to a mirror heâs looking at. Well, most of his face. Some of it is covered in his T-shades.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, this just isnât an eGG Bandit party without Cancer Jiles involved, so heâs on the team. I know he probably wanted to take a vacation or something, but when I told him that this was going to be on Night Two, he was on board.
He smiles nervously.
Coral Avalon: I think.
He moves to the next display.
Coral Avalon: Obviously, Iâm not going to take someone like Ivan Stanislav on my team because thatâd mean I have to deal with Alexei, so⌠I needed an equalizer. A man who makes a show out of destroying everything in front of him. So I hear the words and terms like âHall of Famerâ and âlast Universal Champion of the ReVolutionâ and âseven foot tall man called the Murder Showâ and I think to myself⌠boy, thatâd be a great addition to the team.
He rips the cover off the second display, and it shows an ominous picture of none other than Hessian. Coral smiles at the sight of it.
Coral Avalon: Getting that Parts Unknown representation out there. Love to see it.
He next moved to the next display.
Coral Avalon: So, next, letâs talk about the newest member of the eGG Bandits. Heâs another PRIME Hall of Famer, so we have two of those now. Heâs also a former two-time 5-Star, Intense, and two-time Alias champion, as well. You all know him, some of you might adore himâŚ
The third display? Coverless. Naked, for all the world to see. It shows a picture of Tony Gamble in a state of being unalived after Brandon Youngblood got through juggle comboing him at Colossus Night Two. Specifically, itâs from the press conference.
Coral Avalon: Uh, hopefully heâs not like this at War GamesâŚ
With a nervous smile, he moves on to the next name.
Coral Avalon: This next individual⌠heâs a bit different from how I remembered him. I remembered him as this gloomy jerk, dressing in black and hanging out with the wrong crowd â if he hung out at all. As one did back in the fWo, to be honest. They had riots back then, it was a different time. But I still remember watching this man work in the ring, and I couldnât help myself but adding him to the team. And Iâd like for him to bring His World and His Life to our opponents in War Games.
Thatâs not what thatâs called, but nevertheless, Coral revealed an image of Don Winters behind the fourth cover. He is in the middle of giving a sermon to his flock. A crude mustache and beard has also been drawn on this image.
Coral gives a disapproving glance off-camera once he sees it.
Coral Avalon: âŚGuys, come on.
Coral shakes his head, clearly disappointed at his film crew. Which, to be fair, is just Lunchbox Larxene and Cardboard Dan Ryan. Not that the audience would know this.
Coral moves to the last of the pictures.
Coral Avalon: Last but not least, fashionably late, saving the best for last, all of that jazz. I admit, I really thought about this one, and what the implications might be in having to deal with him. Do I really want to invite such a volatile variable to this team? Heâs so⌠well, I can generously say that he is full of surprises. A real diamond in the rough. Or maybe a rhinestone in the rough? Rough either way.
He smiles.
Coral Avalon: And I canât promise to him that Iâll be able to keep Ami from messing with him.
He reveals the last pictures.
Itâs a picture of a passed out Daytona Diamonds, clearly the only time the picture-taker could safely take his picture. Coral sees this picture and shakes his head.
Coral Avalon: Yeah, okay, that tracks.
He turns to the camera.
Coral Avalon: So that, ladies and gentlemen, is the team I will hereby be calling Team Avalon: Myself, natch. Cancer Jiles. Tony Gamble. Hessian. Don Winters. Daytona Diamonds. Once we sort a couple of things out, our teamwork will be unstoppable!
He hears something from off-camera, though the microphone doesnât quite catch all of it.
Coral Avalon: âŚâŚOkay, I know I was a bit out of sorts the last few months and I hadnât been paying that much attention to the broader parts of PRIME, but⌠what?
More off-screen babble.
Coral Avalon: You mean Winters and Diamonds despise each other? Jiles went on a three hour tirade about Hessian for some reason and you all nervously tried to appease him? Tony might still be dead?
Some confirmation. Coral has the look of a man who already regrets most of his life decisions.
Coral Avalon: Well, uh⌠Iâm sure⌠Iâm sure itâll be fine.
It will not be fine, but ReVival moves on before Avalon ever figures that one out.
As we return from commercial, the KeyBank Arena is swathed in crimson. Spotlights that have been tinged yellow swirl around the arena as the crowd roars negatively, many attendees standing and offering the international sign of disapproval: the dreaded thumbs down.
Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ReVival 41 and weâre preparing fâ
An explosion rocks the entryway as huge plumes of smoke rise from the ramp and the Soviet National Anthem explodes through the arena. Despite the displeasure from the fans, the energy in the arena only grows as they know, for sure, just who is on their way to the ring. Indeed, Alexei Ruslan emerges first with a broad smile as he waves condescendingly at the crowd.
Richard Parker: We havenât heard much from Starsky Proper-chic Stanislav since Colossus, and I have got to say Iâm very interested to learn whatâs on his mind!
Nick Stuart: That makes one of us!
Richard Parker: Exactly! âŚ. âŚHey wait a minuteâŚ
While our intrepid broadcasters bicker, The Red Army continues to file out from the backstage area. After Ruslan comes Cuban referee-turned-Red Army interviewer Speedy Riggs, resplendent in shorts and a red tropical shirt with gold hammers and sickles (pre-order yours at the PRIMEporium), followed by The Masters of the Moscowverse Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz, then PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare Arthur Pleasant, and finally, head and shoulders above every other member, The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav.
Stanislav stomps purposefully behind the rest of the throng, his ham-sized hands balled up into fists while he grinds his jaw.
Nick Stuart: Heâs looking a little lighter without the Universal Title over his shoulderâŚ
Richard Parker: Letâs not make him angry, Nick, okay?
Nick Stuart: Iâm fairly certain thatâs his default mood, Richard.
As the members of The Red Army file into the ring, Stanislav steps up onto the apron with one motion and then steps over the top rope. Ruslan pulls a microphone out of a pocket in his coat and calls out to the fans, and we use that term loosely.
Alexei Ruslan: You can all stop your cheering now, people of Buffalo, we understand how much you love us all!!
Their booâing only grows, as does Ruslanâs smile. He motions to the assembled group in the ring, and it does appear to be a veritable army.
Stanislav moves forward and snatches the microphone from his smaller comrade, pushing past Ruslanâs taunting exercise. The Russian Bear waits for a moment, listening to the crowd while he shifts his eyes left and then right, before his booming voice blasts through the soundsystem and into our ears.
Ivan Stanislav: A grave injustice was done to PRIME at Colossus. It was, in word, desperation. You know it! I know it! The world knows it! History has shown that when Ivan Stanislav holds title, it is too difficult to take it from him as any true competitor should.
The Russian Bear motions widely towards the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: In PCW, when myself and Alexei were World Champions, we lost title not by being pinned. Not by submitting. But by third person in three way match giving in and losing! Just like then, as it is now, there are few things as unjust as the fruits of your hard work being stripped from you by some cowardly third party!
Stanislav spits on the mat.
Ivan Stanislav: In OSW, same chicanery existed to strip me of my title. Of OUR hard work!!! And each of you, you pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant sycophants who cheer the pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant dogs who believe it was a just outcome at Colossus belittle yourselves with your justifications!
Ivan strides to one side of the ring and motions to his assembled Army.
Ivan Stanislav: Do you know that I cannot blame Lindsay Troy for this. She was not in ring. She did not make it happen. Despite her attempts to appear all-powerful, yes, she has limits. Yes, the actions at Colossus did make her appear impotent. Misguided judgment was awarded to FLAMBERGE and Universal Title was STOLEN from meâŚ
Stanislav stomps his massive boot on the canvas, which flexes beneath all those assembled.
Ivan Stanislav: âŚand now we have little Julien as Universal Champion. How coincidental, PRIME! Currently, my record has TWO losses to it, and both of them have been tainted!
Stanislav lifts two fingers into the air.
Ivan Stanislav: It is well documented that Hayes Hanlon failed to pin me at UltraViolence 2022, and that my pinning attempts were counted slowly!
Speedy Riggs claps his hands and nods emphatically.
Ivan Stanislav: And then I was neither pinned or submitted at Colossus 2023! No, the match, it just⌠ended! The only consistent factor was that the official in question, one who could never measure up to my greatness, screwed me out of my hard work both times!! Like a thief in the night, he fled to the shadows, fearful of the just and swift retribution that would befall him!
Ivan shakes his head.
Ivan Stanislav: Fortunately for all of you, I do not hold a grudge. I move on from things. I let the past remain in the pastâŚ
Nick Stuart: Is this guy for real? He literally just complained about something that happened a year and a half ago! Heâs still fighting for a government that went belly up thirty years ago!
Ivan Stanislav: I brought prestige to Universal Championship. I made it mean something. I brought dignity to PRIME when all past holders, the Youngbloods, the Hanlons, the Rezins, the Atkins⌠could not. And what has Julien done since becoming Universal Champion? Since becoming representative of PRIME, an organization which, yes, I hold quite dear to my heart?
Stanislav stops for a moment and listens to the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: Absolutely nothing!! The young boy finds the responsibility is too much for his little mind. Why, we still need to wait for his little French testicles to drop before even becoming a man, let alone representative of an organization!!
Ivan shakes his head while Ruslan and the rest of Ivanâs comrades laugh uproariously. Yet Ivanâs frown curls into a crooked, unsettling smile.
Ivan Stanislav: He has his own tasks ahead of him and he is lucky they do not involve me. So be it. I once more find myself in unique position to have a little fun. To settle some scores. There are so many gnats in PRIME who think, because The Bear was busy dealing with Universal Title, because he was in tournaments, because he was busy dominating elsewhere, that their jabs and barbs would go unnoticed.
Ivan stands resolute in the center of the ring, flanked by his comrades.
Ivan Stanislav: They do not. And I want each and every person in PRIME to know that they are on notice from here on out. BrandonYoungblood likes to fashion himself as measuring stick of PRIME. That -he- will be âwaitingâ for those who rise to his level. But Brandon, my dear shattered opponent, who I left bleeding and broken at UltraViolence, we all see through your charade. Our clear vision pierces the shroud of your insecurities. You are no longer this barometer in PRIME. No. It is Ivan Stanislav! A proud Russian! And I have it on good authority. No. On most utmost authority that I can assure each and every one of you that The Russian Bear, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav and The Red Army will NEVER leave PRIME. Take comfort in that knowledge, for if you do not, then tremble in fear.
Ivan bellows.
Ivan Stanislav: Yet take heart, dear people of PRIME, for despite outrage and injustices, despite roiling frustration and anger, despite all of things that I feel inside my great heart, rest assured that nothing on Earth could possibly cause The Russian Bear to grow any more angry and frustrated than I am right now!
DIRECTLY after Ivan finishes his thoughts-
FLASH. The crimson red lights change color.
To pink.
Some would even say itâs PRETTYŠ.
The PA cracks on, immediately playing out the chorus of âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith.
I DONâT WANNA CLOSE MY EYES
I DONâT WANNA FALL ASLEEP
âCAUSE IâD MISS YOU, BABY
AND I DONâT WANNA MISS A THING
The crowd in Buffalo goes ballistic with a sense of anticipation⌠not because they particularly like whoâs going to be walking out. More along the lines of the rather interesting events potentially playing out in front of them. The Red Army, The Russian Bear, the group left disgruntled and clawing at a sense of urgency to recapture the top of the mountain, about to meet face-to-face withâŚ
???: ITâS YOâ BOY, TRISTY-CRISPY!
His voice bellows over the theme song as mini little adorable PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons fall from the rafters and a dancing crew of young boys and girls holding hands with one another storm out. The males, dressed just like Jonathan-Christopher Hall during the Almasy Tournament Finals, with skimpy PRETTY PINKŠ board shorts and their hair overly combed to one side of their heads. Meanwhile the females are dressed in a typical Vickie Hall onesie and fashionable PRETTY PINKŠ bear slippers. The dancers stroll out, a couple at a time, hand-in-hand, eyes locked on each other. Some of them giggle, some of them want to kiss but know it isnât necessary right now.
Needless to say as the camera cuts to the men inside the ring⌠and nobody looks particularly thrilled.
The dancers appear, two-by-two. Itâs like a little clown car back there unloading so many of these kids.
Richard Parker: Love. Can you feel it, Nick? CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT?
Nick Stuart: Youâre using the wrong song lyrics.
And then, DJ Tristy-Crispy himself pops out from the final dancing couple, who have now lined the entire stage from left to right and all the way down the rampway to the very front of the ring apron.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Brap, brap, brap, itâs YOâ boy!
But one accidental look towards the center of the ring, seeing a fuming Ivan Stanislav standing there, and the self-proclaimed DJ suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Uhhh, uhhhâŚ.
Ivan doesnât look away. His eyes are nuclear.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: (mumbling under his breath, although the mic pics up a little) Yeah, screw this.
Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy drops the microphone and sprints to the back, past the row of dancers as the Hallâs theme music still plays and PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons continue to fall from the sky. One even lands directly, almost perfectly on top of Ivan Stanislavâs nose. He crosses his eyes as he stares at the invading, insulting, garish petal that lands on his prominent proboscis. He does not brush it off, but his face begins to blend in with the rest of the pink lighting as his blood boils.
Even though TCG has peaced out⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall alongside his adoring, supportive and incredible Amazing Life Partner, Vickie Hall, have only just arrived!
The crowd roars with boos, cheers and everything in-between. Likely some cheers directed towards Jonathan-Christopher, as his newfound attitude and sense of effort is slowly starting to win a couple PRIME fans over. Then again, with that confident and certain look upon her face, Vickie Hall makes it incredibly easy for the fans to jeer as loudly as possible.
Vickie and Jonathan-Christopher mimic the dancers around them, as they stop at the top of the rampway and join in on the fun.
Nick Stuart: I think weâre going to witness a murder here, Rich.
Richard Parker: What do you mean? Itâs wonderful dancing!
Nick Stuart: Interrupting Ivan Stanislav. When have you seen communists accepting of such behaviour?
Richard Parker: Beats me, theyâll get over it.
Arm linked in arm, Jonathan-Christopher and Vickie slowly waltz their way down the ramp, as if preparing to say their vows. By the time they are halfway down, Jonathan-Christopher clearly notices Ivan Stanislav and company. Heâs not exactly Tristan-Crispin bail-the-hell-outta-here but heâs not okay with inching closer and closer, either. Nevertheless, Vickie doesnât give a fuck. Sheâs off in her own world, absolutely oblivious and if she knew everyone inside the ring was ready to pounce on her, she probably wouldnât care. Itâs a majestic dream come true, to walk down the aisle with her man, the âAlmasy Tournament Champion!!!11111â
Finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, Jonathan-Christopher unlinks his arms and scurries over to the apron. He hops on, albeit extremely tentatively when he realizes how close Ivan Stanislav is. Hall takes a DEEEEEEP gulp before he pulls open the middle and bottom rope. Vickie walks, a dainty walk, up the steps and across the apron. She slips inside the squared circle and Jonathan-Christopher reluctantly follows.
All eyes are on them.
Ivan.
Alexei.
Kenny and Randall.
Speedy and Arthur.
They are surrounded.
And those eyes⌠oh, those eyes. None of them look happy.
Except Vickie.
Jonathan-Christopher looks like heâs going to piss himself. Meanwhile, the Woman of Wonder wonders where another microphone is.
With the lights still PRETTY PINKŠ across the entire arena, Vickie remembers she tucked away her own branded mic in her little ensemble pocket. She retrieves it, giggles as if to say âoh, silly meâ and the Hallâs theme comes to a close.
Leaving the LOVE duo continuing to stand there, surrounded by six of PRIMEâs most ruthless figures.
The dancers remain on the outside, up and down the rampway but theyâve stopped dancing, too. Even they are concerned.
Ivan Stanislav: (off-mic) What is meaning of this, Vickie?
Vickie simply bats her eyes and tilts her head back.
Vickie Hall: Oh, Ivan, oh! Itâs so nice to FORMALLY introduce ourselves, isnât it?
Nick Stuart: Is she forgetting Jonathan-Christopher and Ivan wrestled a match on ReVival last year?
Richard Parker: Probably.
Vickie takes a tiny little skip away from Jonathan-Christopher and towards Ivan Stanislav.
Vickie Hall: I wanted to get in on the party, you know? Ivan, Ivan, Ivan, I am going to be blunt with you, I think youâre just adorable!
Nick Stuart: I donât know everything but Iâm pretty sure thatâs definitely NOT the way to win Stanislav over.
Richard Parker: You sure?
The Russian Bear doesnât look impressed, despite Vickieâs attempt at impressing him.
Vickie Hall: (talking with a Russian accent) When you won Universal Championship CHANGE was in the air! (/Russian) I felt it the night Jonathan-Christopher and I walked into ReVival and saw your posters everywhere. It was like wow, Ivan, wow, Iâm really feeling you!
She adds a sidebar.
Vickie Hall: Digging that vibe!
At this point, The Red Army doesnât know what to do with any of these. Pleasant is mildly hunched over, as if ready to pounce at a momentâs notice. Meanwhile Kenny and Randall whack each other on the shoulders, trying to comprehend whatâs unfolding before their eyes.
Vickie Hall: And then you lost, Ivan. L-O-S-T. It was all so unfair!
Vickie tilts her head to add another sidebar.
Vickie Hall: I felt a recent, awful, devastating loss as well. I didnât win Manager of the Year! Some guy named Alexis Russellan won. Donât even know who he is or who the heck he manages! Can you believe that? Iâd have almost accepted Mr. Bubbles over someone I donât know. YUCK!
Nick Stuart: Um, VickieâŚ
Richard Parker: Hush, Nick! Let the woman speak!
Vickie slowly strolls around the ring, standing in front of the other Red Army members one at a time. Yes, she even stands in front of Alexei Ruslan but doesnât seem to put two and two togetherâŚ
Vickie Hall: They say a war is coming, Ivan. War. Yes, yeah, like war. We know the history of the Russian people when it comes to warâŚ
Nick Stuart: Does she? Vickie doesnât strike me as someone caught up on her history, let alone read. She clearly read ALEXEI RUSLANâs name wrong on the Manager of the Year image.
As Vickie passes by each member, sheâs about to arrive in front of The Russian Bear himself. Once she gets there, she stops, tips upright onto the highest point of her tippy toes and raises her head towards the giant.
Vickie Hall: I say make love, not war. But after these recent events, ones that have hurt both you and I⌠and a tiny limp dick man holding your Universal Championship⌠wellâŚ
She raises those awfully bushy brown eyebrows.
Vickie Hall: I am willing to change my views.
The Woman of Wonder rocks back onto the soles of her feet. She marches towards her Amazing Life Partner and takes his arm.
Vickie Hall: The love of my life, Jonathan-Christopher Hall won the Almasy Tournament! Gosh golly, they all said he couldnât but I never wavered! Our love shined through the darkest of days!
The crowd boos heavily at the thought of Vickie having a serious role to play here.
Vickie Hall: We talked about it. Last night during pillow time, Jonathan-Christopher and I discussed. Now that weâve FINISHED OUR STORY, IvanâŚ
Nick Stuart: How have they finished their story when he hasnât won the title-
Nick, however, is cut off by Vickieâs continual rant.
Vickie Hall: Weâre willing to help you finish⌠yours.
Nick Stuart: Who is she kidding!?
Richard Parker: Stop adding comments, Nick!
Vickie Hall: Look no further than Jonathan-Christopher, the man who has broken out of his shell and will recapture the Universal Championship to the GOOD SIDE of the world, away from the Glue and silliness those men over there color this historic company with.
Vickie nods. She loves what sheâs dishing out.
Vickie Hall: And then, dearest Ivan⌠AND THEN⌠there is an aforementioned war.
She raises her PRETTY little right pinky finger in the air.
Vickie Hall: I declare we MAKE WAR, NOT LOVE and I say we team together! The Red Army would look awfully GUD in shades of PRETTY PINKŠ, if I do say so myself. My man is nothing to sneer at! Heâs come a long, long way since losing to you at ReVival 30.
Richard Parker: See!? She does remember!
Nick Stuart: Ugh!
Vickie Hall: That was like seventeen ReVivals ago, Ivan. Also, I donât hold grudges, either.
This entire time, The Russian Bear merely stands there, arms crossed⌠hearing Vickie out.
Vickie Hall: We can be your allies, Ivan, Jonathan-Christopher and I can. I am a manager you do not want to mess with. I helped mold this wonderful, timid, premature little flower into a merciless, relentless, motha-fucking-killa (with serious bad-ass head tilting) who went through the gauntlet of wrestlers only YOU Ivan, YOU, could have also been able to accomplish.
Vickie shakes her head.
Vickie Hall: But you were not in the tournament, Ivan. My Amazing Life Partner was. He is the FIRST BLACK MARK on an otherwise out of this world career in Cecilworth Farthington! He is the REALITY CHECK Kerry Colorama required after stepping away from DEFIANCE! He tossed, tits and booted Ray Ray La Bomba back to wherever that moron came from! And he did it⌠Ivan, HE DID ITâŚ
Vickie takes a bow.
Vickie Hall: With my love and support.
The boos are MASSIVELY rolling by now. However, Jonathan-Christopher knows what Vickie says to be true. He claps her on and she blushes.
Vickie Hall: SO, Mr. Red Army Man, I do not need an answer from you tonight. Actually, I do not need an answer from you AT ALL.
She smirks. She knows.
Vickie Hall: Because we are going to be working togetherâŚ
That grin, itâs so wide. Itâs almost bigger than her entire face.
Vickie Hall: Whether you like it or not.
Vickie drops the mic, literally. Itâs like she always wanted to do that.
âŚBut then she picks it back up to add a final thought.
Vickie Hall: (totally with a different pace and tone than before, much less serious) Seriously, I love what youâve done; Iâm such a huge fan. FLAMBO is a bum, you had it right and Lindsay Troy is off her rocker!
Mic drop again.
Pause.
Silence.
The Red Army looks around and awaits their leader to speak.
She stands her ground. And even though Vickie talked her ALPâs game up and up and up, Jonathan-Christopher most certainly is trying to make himself seem very small, as if Ivan Stanislav is going to forget heâs even there.
The crowd hushes just slightly, waiting in anticipation for what Stanislav will say. He frowns deeply and stares coldly down at Vickie Hall.
Ivan Stanislav: It is not âMister,â Vickie Hall. But Starshy Praporshchik StanislavâŚ
It would take a little work, but one could hear the slight swell of the crowd. Were there some⌠cheers?
And on the other hand, Vickie is trying to mouth the words, except it looks more like sheâs saying âStarsky Propropstick Stanislovâ.
Ivan Stanislav: And then you (motions to Vickie) and him (motions to JCH) and whatever those are (motions to the boys and girls, arm in arm on the entryway and along the ramp) come down during my time and interrupt me with pink and ribbons and little boy whose voice sounds like he has been strangled halfway to death?! (motions back towards where TCG has fled).
The Russian Bearâs shoulders tense and his off hand clenches to the point of his knuckles turning white. His thick, incredibly powerful bicep and forearm bulges as he restrains every ounce of energy that could dash Vickie Hall into a PRETTY PINKŠ stain on the mat.
Nick Stuart: For once⌠I think I might want Ivan Stanislav to go all Russian Bear in the ring!
Ivan turns his head slowly and looks at his various assembled comrades. They are all poised to spring at a momentâs notice.
Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army would gladly go to war with anyone bold enough to do such a thing, and offer their pretty pink hand in friendship!
The crowd begins to boo as Ivan Stanislav slowly grins, as does Alexei Ruslan and, with the rest of The Red Army, they follow their lead and do the same.
Vickie Hall is sporting a terrific smile herself but Jonathan-Christopher, however, looks shook and shocked as fuck.
Vickie lowers her base, picks up the microphone she initially dropped and then stands upright again, while not taking her eyes off Ivan for a split second.
Vickie Hall: It is decided.
Nick Stuart: Dear god, no.
Vickie Hall: PRETTY PINKŠ and Red do go together. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Ivan, oh, IvannnnnâŚ
A massive, mischievous, Mr. Grinch-like smirk perks upon her face, as she speaks in a factual tenor.
Vickie Hall: You were never my enemy to begin with.
The Russian Bear grins and lets out a sudden, throaty chuckle, reveling in the disgust of the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: I knew, Vickie Hall, after your comrades cut up Jared Sykes with nail and crowbar, that you all knew concept of tough, enduring love! I have been very proud of Ivan-Christopher for his victory at Almasy. It has been tremendous transformation, all due to your great love and affection! You have my full support to go and win Universal Title. Bring honor and dignity to PRIME. Restore prestige that was stolen from me. Finish my story, dear Vickie Hall, and deliver justice where it is deserved. And I have wanted, dear Vickie, to ask you something since I saw Jared lying in pool of his own blood, but I have been hesitant to ask.
Ivan actually shuffles his feet slightly.
Ivan Stanislav: I have wanted to give you a hug ever since. May I?
Vickie juggles with glee.
Vickie Hall: Of course you cannnnn silly!
While Jonathan-Christopher shakes with anxiety.
Vickie walks over to Ivan and wraps her arms one-sixth of the way around him, since she is so tiny. The Russian Bear reaches over with one giant paw and clamps his hand around the entirety of JCHâs left shoulder, and drags him over and nearly envelopes him in a massive side hug, with both of the Halls on either side of him. He lets out a bellowing âDYAAHAAHAA!!â as the crowd grows apoplectic, and The Red Army takes a moment to recalibrate, but they cheer all the same.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to be sick.
Richard Parker: Suit yourself!
âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith resurfaces, as Vickie and Ivan talk off mic for a brief moment and the collective parties slowly begin to make their way backstage.
Nick Stuart: When we look back, this might be one of the darkest days in the history of PRIME.
Richard Parker: How can it be dark when RED and PRETTY PINKŠ are vibrant colors?
Nick Stuart: I⌠I⌠can we go to commercial, please?
Instead, we zoom in on Nick.
As we return from commercial, the KeyBank Arena is swathed in crimson. Spotlights that have been tinged yellow swirl around the arena as the crowd roars negatively, many attendees standing and offering the international sign of disapproval: the dreaded thumbs down.
Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ReVival 41 and weâre preparing fâ
An explosion rocks the entryway as huge plumes of smoke rise from the ramp and the Soviet National Anthem explodes through the arena. Despite the displeasure from the fans, the energy in the arena only grows as they know, for sure, just who is on their way to the ring. Indeed, Alexei Ruslan emerges first with a broad smile as he waves condescendingly at the crowd.
Richard Parker: We havenât heard much from Starsky Proper-chic Stanislav since Colossus, and I have got to say Iâm very interested to learn whatâs on his mind!
Nick Stuart: That makes one of us!
Richard Parker: Exactly! âŚ. âŚHey wait a minuteâŚ
While our intrepid broadcasters bicker, The Red Army continues to file out from the backstage area. After Ruslan comes Cuban referee-turned-Red Army interviewer Speedy Riggs, resplendent in shorts and a red tropical shirt with gold hammers and sickles (pre-order yours at the PRIMEporium), followed by The Masters of the Moscowverse Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz, then PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare Arthur Pleasant, and finally, head and shoulders above every other member, The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav.
Stanislav stomps purposefully behind the rest of the throng, his ham-sized hands balled up into fists while he grinds his jaw.
Nick Stuart: Heâs looking a little lighter without the Universal Title over his shoulderâŚ
Richard Parker: Letâs not make him angry, Nick, okay?
Nick Stuart: Iâm fairly certain thatâs his default mood, Richard.
As the members of The Red Army file into the ring, Stanislav steps up onto the apron with one motion and then steps over the top rope. Ruslan pulls a microphone out of a pocket in his coat and calls out to the fans, and we use that term loosely.
Alexei Ruslan: You can all stop your cheering now, people of Buffalo, we understand how much you love us all!!
Their booâing only grows, as does Ruslanâs smile. He motions to the assembled group in the ring, and it does appear to be a veritable army.
Stanislav moves forward and snatches the microphone from his smaller comrade, pushing past Ruslanâs taunting exercise. The Russian Bear waits for a moment, listening to the crowd while he shifts his eyes left and then right, before his booming voice blasts through the soundsystem and into our ears.
Ivan Stanislav: A grave injustice was done to PRIME at Colossus. It was, in word, desperation. You know it! I know it! The world knows it! History has shown that when Ivan Stanislav holds title, it is too difficult to take it from him as any true competitor should.
The Russian Bear motions widely towards the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: In PCW, when myself and Alexei were World Champions, we lost title not by being pinned. Not by submitting. But by third person in three way match giving in and losing! Just like then, as it is now, there are few things as unjust as the fruits of your hard work being stripped from you by some cowardly third party!
Stanislav spits on the mat.
Ivan Stanislav: In OSW, same chicanery existed to strip me of my title. Of OUR hard work!!! And each of you, you pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant sycophants who cheer the pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant dogs who believe it was a just outcome at Colossus belittle yourselves with your justifications!
Ivan strides to one side of the ring and motions to his assembled Army.
Ivan Stanislav: Do you know that I cannot blame Lindsay Troy for this. She was not in ring. She did not make it happen. Despite her attempts to appear all-powerful, yes, she has limits. Yes, the actions at Colossus did make her appear impotent. Misguided judgment was awarded to FLAMBERGE and Universal Title was STOLEN from meâŚ
Stanislav stomps his massive boot on the canvas, which flexes beneath all those assembled.
Ivan Stanislav: âŚand now we have little Julien as Universal Champion. How coincidental, PRIME! Currently, my record has TWO losses to it, and both of them have been tainted!
Stanislav lifts two fingers into the air.
Ivan Stanislav: It is well documented that Hayes Hanlon failed to pin me at UltraViolence 2022, and that my pinning attempts were counted slowly!
Speedy Riggs claps his hands and nods emphatically.
Ivan Stanislav: And then I was neither pinned or submitted at Colossus 2023! No, the match, it just⌠ended! The only consistent factor was that the official in question, one who could never measure up to my greatness, screwed me out of my hard work both times!! Like a thief in the night, he fled to the shadows, fearful of the just and swift retribution that would befall him!
Ivan shakes his head.
Ivan Stanislav: Fortunately for all of you, I do not hold a grudge. I move on from things. I let the past remain in the pastâŚ
Nick Stuart: Is this guy for real? He literally just complained about something that happened a year and a half ago! Heâs still fighting for a government that went belly up thirty years ago!
Ivan Stanislav: I brought prestige to Universal Championship. I made it mean something. I brought dignity to PRIME when all past holders, the Youngbloods, the Hanlons, the Rezins, the Atkins⌠could not. And what has Julien done since becoming Universal Champion? Since becoming representative of PRIME, an organization which, yes, I hold quite dear to my heart?
Stanislav stops for a moment and listens to the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: Absolutely nothing!! The young boy finds the responsibility is too much for his little mind. Why, we still need to wait for his little French testicles to drop before even becoming a man, let alone representative of an organization!!
Ivan shakes his head while Ruslan and the rest of Ivanâs comrades laugh uproariously. Yet Ivanâs frown curls into a crooked, unsettling smile.
Ivan Stanislav: He has his own tasks ahead of him and he is lucky they do not involve me. So be it. I once more find myself in unique position to have a little fun. To settle some scores. There are so many gnats in PRIME who think, because The Bear was busy dealing with Universal Title, because he was in tournaments, because he was busy dominating elsewhere, that their jabs and barbs would go unnoticed.
Ivan stands resolute in the center of the ring, flanked by his comrades.
Ivan Stanislav: They do not. And I want each and every person in PRIME to know that they are on notice from here on out. BrandonYoungblood likes to fashion himself as measuring stick of PRIME. That -he- will be âwaitingâ for those who rise to his level. But Brandon, my dear shattered opponent, who I left bleeding and broken at UltraViolence, we all see through your charade. Our clear vision pierces the shroud of your insecurities. You are no longer this barometer in PRIME. No. It is Ivan Stanislav! A proud Russian! And I have it on good authority. No. On most utmost authority that I can assure each and every one of you that The Russian Bear, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav and The Red Army will NEVER leave PRIME. Take comfort in that knowledge, for if you do not, then tremble in fear.
Ivan bellows.
Ivan Stanislav: Yet take heart, dear people of PRIME, for despite outrage and injustices, despite roiling frustration and anger, despite all of things that I feel inside my great heart, rest assured that nothing on Earth could possibly cause The Russian Bear to grow any more angry and frustrated than I am right now!
DIRECTLY after Ivan finishes his thoughts-
FLASH. The crimson red lights change color.
To pink.
Some would even say itâs PRETTYŠ.
The PA cracks on, immediately playing out the chorus of âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith.
I DONâT WANNA CLOSE MY EYES
I DONâT WANNA FALL ASLEEP
âCAUSE IâD MISS YOU, BABY
AND I DONâT WANNA MISS A THING
The crowd in Buffalo goes ballistic with a sense of anticipation⌠not because they particularly like whoâs going to be walking out. More along the lines of the rather interesting events potentially playing out in front of them. The Red Army, The Russian Bear, the group left disgruntled and clawing at a sense of urgency to recapture the top of the mountain, about to meet face-to-face withâŚ
???: ITâS YOâ BOY, TRISTY-CRISPY!
His voice bellows over the theme song as mini little adorable PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons fall from the rafters and a dancing crew of young boys and girls holding hands with one another storm out. The males, dressed just like Jonathan-Christopher Hall during the Almasy Tournament Finals, with skimpy PRETTY PINKŠ board shorts and their hair overly combed to one side of their heads. Meanwhile the females are dressed in a typical Vickie Hall onesie and fashionable PRETTY PINKŠ bear slippers. The dancers stroll out, a couple at a time, hand-in-hand, eyes locked on each other. Some of them giggle, some of them want to kiss but know it isnât necessary right now.
Needless to say as the camera cuts to the men inside the ring⌠and nobody looks particularly thrilled.
The dancers appear, two-by-two. Itâs like a little clown car back there unloading so many of these kids.
Richard Parker: Love. Can you feel it, Nick? CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT?
Nick Stuart: Youâre using the wrong song lyrics.
And then, DJ Tristy-Crispy himself pops out from the final dancing couple, who have now lined the entire stage from left to right and all the way down the rampway to the very front of the ring apron.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Brap, brap, brap, itâs YOâ boy!
But one accidental look towards the center of the ring, seeing a fuming Ivan Stanislav standing there, and the self-proclaimed DJ suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Uhhh, uhhhâŚ.
Ivan doesnât look away. His eyes are nuclear.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: (mumbling under his breath, although the mic pics up a little) Yeah, screw this.
Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy drops the microphone and sprints to the back, past the row of dancers as the Hallâs theme music still plays and PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons continue to fall from the sky. One even lands directly, almost perfectly on top of Ivan Stanislavâs nose. He crosses his eyes as he stares at the invading, insulting, garish petal that lands on his prominent proboscis. He does not brush it off, but his face begins to blend in with the rest of the pink lighting as his blood boils.
Even though TCG has peaced out⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall alongside his adoring, supportive and incredible Amazing Life Partner, Vickie Hall, have only just arrived!
The crowd roars with boos, cheers and everything in-between. Likely some cheers directed towards Jonathan-Christopher, as his newfound attitude and sense of effort is slowly starting to win a couple PRIME fans over. Then again, with that confident and certain look upon her face, Vickie Hall makes it incredibly easy for the fans to jeer as loudly as possible.
Vickie and Jonathan-Christopher mimic the dancers around them, as they stop at the top of the rampway and join in on the fun.
Nick Stuart: I think weâre going to witness a murder here, Rich.
Richard Parker: What do you mean? Itâs wonderful dancing!
Nick Stuart: Interrupting Ivan Stanislav. When have you seen communists accepting of such behaviour?
Richard Parker: Beats me, theyâll get over it.
Arm linked in arm, Jonathan-Christopher and Vickie slowly waltz their way down the ramp, as if preparing to say their vows. By the time they are halfway down, Jonathan-Christopher clearly notices Ivan Stanislav and company. Heâs not exactly Tristan-Crispin bail-the-hell-outta-here but heâs not okay with inching closer and closer, either. Nevertheless, Vickie doesnât give a fuck. Sheâs off in her own world, absolutely oblivious and if she knew everyone inside the ring was ready to pounce on her, she probably wouldnât care. Itâs a majestic dream come true, to walk down the aisle with her man, the âAlmasy Tournament Champion!!!11111â
Finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, Jonathan-Christopher unlinks his arms and scurries over to the apron. He hops on, albeit extremely tentatively when he realizes how close Ivan Stanislav is. Hall takes a DEEEEEEP gulp before he pulls open the middle and bottom rope. Vickie walks, a dainty walk, up the steps and across the apron. She slips inside the squared circle and Jonathan-Christopher reluctantly follows.
All eyes are on them.
Ivan.
Alexei.
Kenny and Randall.
Speedy and Arthur.
They are surrounded.
And those eyes⌠oh, those eyes. None of them look happy.
Except Vickie.
Jonathan-Christopher looks like heâs going to piss himself. Meanwhile, the Woman of Wonder wonders where another microphone is.
With the lights still PRETTY PINKŠ across the entire arena, Vickie remembers she tucked away her own branded mic in her little ensemble pocket. She retrieves it, giggles as if to say âoh, silly meâ and the Hallâs theme comes to a close.
Leaving the LOVE duo continuing to stand there, surrounded by six of PRIMEâs most ruthless figures.
The dancers remain on the outside, up and down the rampway but theyâve stopped dancing, too. Even they are concerned.
Ivan Stanislav: (off-mic) What is meaning of this, Vickie?
Vickie simply bats her eyes and tilts her head back.
Vickie Hall: Oh, Ivan, oh! Itâs so nice to FORMALLY introduce ourselves, isnât it?
Nick Stuart: Is she forgetting Jonathan-Christopher and Ivan wrestled a match on ReVival last year?
Richard Parker: Probably.
Vickie takes a tiny little skip away from Jonathan-Christopher and towards Ivan Stanislav.
Vickie Hall: I wanted to get in on the party, you know? Ivan, Ivan, Ivan, I am going to be blunt with you, I think youâre just adorable!
Nick Stuart: I donât know everything but Iâm pretty sure thatâs definitely NOT the way to win Stanislav over.
Richard Parker: You sure?
The Russian Bear doesnât look impressed, despite Vickieâs attempt at impressing him.
Vickie Hall: (talking with a Russian accent) When you won Universal Championship CHANGE was in the air! (/Russian) I felt it the night Jonathan-Christopher and I walked into ReVival and saw your posters everywhere. It was like wow, Ivan, wow, Iâm really feeling you!
She adds a sidebar.
Vickie Hall: Digging that vibe!
At this point, The Red Army doesnât know what to do with any of these. Pleasant is mildly hunched over, as if ready to pounce at a momentâs notice. Meanwhile Kenny and Randall whack each other on the shoulders, trying to comprehend whatâs unfolding before their eyes.
Vickie Hall: And then you lost, Ivan. L-O-S-T. It was all so unfair!
Vickie tilts her head to add another sidebar.
Vickie Hall: I felt a recent, awful, devastating loss as well. I didnât win Manager of the Year! Some guy named Alexis Russellan won. Donât even know who he is or who the heck he manages! Can you believe that? Iâd have almost accepted Mr. Bubbles over someone I donât know. YUCK!
Nick Stuart: Um, VickieâŚ
Richard Parker: Hush, Nick! Let the woman speak!
Vickie slowly strolls around the ring, standing in front of the other Red Army members one at a time. Yes, she even stands in front of Alexei Ruslan but doesnât seem to put two and two togetherâŚ
Vickie Hall: They say a war is coming, Ivan. War. Yes, yeah, like war. We know the history of the Russian people when it comes to warâŚ
Nick Stuart: Does she? Vickie doesnât strike me as someone caught up on her history, let alone read. She clearly read ALEXEI RUSLANâs name wrong on the Manager of the Year image.
As Vickie passes by each member, sheâs about to arrive in front of The Russian Bear himself. Once she gets there, she stops, tips upright onto the highest point of her tippy toes and raises her head towards the giant.
Vickie Hall: I say make love, not war. But after these recent events, ones that have hurt both you and I⌠and a tiny limp dick man holding your Universal Championship⌠wellâŚ
She raises those awfully bushy brown eyebrows.
Vickie Hall: I am willing to change my views.
The Woman of Wonder rocks back onto the soles of her feet. She marches towards her Amazing Life Partner and takes his arm.
Vickie Hall: The love of my life, Jonathan-Christopher Hall won the Almasy Tournament! Gosh golly, they all said he couldnât but I never wavered! Our love shined through the darkest of days!
The crowd boos heavily at the thought of Vickie having a serious role to play here.
Vickie Hall: We talked about it. Last night during pillow time, Jonathan-Christopher and I discussed. Now that weâve FINISHED OUR STORY, IvanâŚ
Nick Stuart: How have they finished their story when he hasnât won the title-
Nick, however, is cut off by Vickieâs continual rant.
Vickie Hall: Weâre willing to help you finish⌠yours.
Nick Stuart: Who is she kidding!?
Richard Parker: Stop adding comments, Nick!
Vickie Hall: Look no further than Jonathan-Christopher, the man who has broken out of his shell and will recapture the Universal Championship to the GOOD SIDE of the world, away from the Glue and silliness those men over there color this historic company with.
Vickie nods. She loves what sheâs dishing out.
Vickie Hall: And then, dearest Ivan⌠AND THEN⌠there is an aforementioned war.
She raises her PRETTY little right pinky finger in the air.
Vickie Hall: I declare we MAKE WAR, NOT LOVE and I say we team together! The Red Army would look awfully GUD in shades of PRETTY PINKŠ, if I do say so myself. My man is nothing to sneer at! Heâs come a long, long way since losing to you at ReVival 30.
Richard Parker: See!? She does remember!
Nick Stuart: Ugh!
Vickie Hall: That was like seventeen ReVivals ago, Ivan. Also, I donât hold grudges, either.
This entire time, The Russian Bear merely stands there, arms crossed⌠hearing Vickie out.
Vickie Hall: We can be your allies, Ivan, Jonathan-Christopher and I can. I am a manager you do not want to mess with. I helped mold this wonderful, timid, premature little flower into a merciless, relentless, motha-fucking-killa (with serious bad-ass head tilting) who went through the gauntlet of wrestlers only YOU Ivan, YOU, could have also been able to accomplish.
Vickie shakes her head.
Vickie Hall: But you were not in the tournament, Ivan. My Amazing Life Partner was. He is the FIRST BLACK MARK on an otherwise out of this world career in Cecilworth Farthington! He is the REALITY CHECK Kerry Colorama required after stepping away from DEFIANCE! He tossed, tits and booted Ray Ray La Bomba back to wherever that moron came from! And he did it⌠Ivan, HE DID ITâŚ
Vickie takes a bow.
Vickie Hall: With my love and support.
The boos are MASSIVELY rolling by now. However, Jonathan-Christopher knows what Vickie says to be true. He claps her on and she blushes.
Vickie Hall: SO, Mr. Red Army Man, I do not need an answer from you tonight. Actually, I do not need an answer from you AT ALL.
She smirks. She knows.
Vickie Hall: Because we are going to be working togetherâŚ
That grin, itâs so wide. Itâs almost bigger than her entire face.
Vickie Hall: Whether you like it or not.
Vickie drops the mic, literally. Itâs like she always wanted to do that.
âŚBut then she picks it back up to add a final thought.
Vickie Hall: (totally with a different pace and tone than before, much less serious) Seriously, I love what youâve done; Iâm such a huge fan. FLAMBO is a bum, you had it right and Lindsay Troy is off her rocker!
Mic drop again.
Pause.
Silence.
The Red Army looks around and awaits their leader to speak.
She stands her ground. And even though Vickie talked her ALPâs game up and up and up, Jonathan-Christopher most certainly is trying to make himself seem very small, as if Ivan Stanislav is going to forget heâs even there.
The crowd hushes just slightly, waiting in anticipation for what Stanislav will say. He frowns deeply and stares coldly down at Vickie Hall.
Ivan Stanislav: It is not âMister,â Vickie Hall. But Starshy Praporshchik StanislavâŚ
It would take a little work, but one could hear the slight swell of the crowd. Were there some⌠cheers?
And on the other hand, Vickie is trying to mouth the words, except it looks more like sheâs saying âStarsky Propropstick Stanislovâ.
Ivan Stanislav: And then you (motions to Vickie) and him (motions to JCH) and whatever those are (motions to the boys and girls, arm in arm on the entryway and along the ramp) come down during my time and interrupt me with pink and ribbons and little boy whose voice sounds like he has been strangled halfway to death?! (motions back towards where TCG has fled).
The Russian Bearâs shoulders tense and his off hand clenches to the point of his knuckles turning white. His thick, incredibly powerful bicep and forearm bulges as he restrains every ounce of energy that could dash Vickie Hall into a PRETTY PINKŠ stain on the mat.
Nick Stuart: For once⌠I think I might want Ivan Stanislav to go all Russian Bear in the ring!
Ivan turns his head slowly and looks at his various assembled comrades. They are all poised to spring at a momentâs notice.
Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army would gladly go to war with anyone bold enough to do such a thing, and offer their pretty pink hand in friendship!
The crowd begins to boo as Ivan Stanislav slowly grins, as does Alexei Ruslan and, with the rest of The Red Army, they follow their lead and do the same.
Vickie Hall is sporting a terrific smile herself but Jonathan-Christopher, however, looks shook and shocked as fuck.
Vickie lowers her base, picks up the microphone she initially dropped and then stands upright again, while not taking her eyes off Ivan for a split second.
Vickie Hall: It is decided.
Nick Stuart: Dear god, no.
Vickie Hall: PRETTY PINKŠ and Red do go together. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Ivan, oh, IvannnnnâŚ
A massive, mischievous, Mr. Grinch-like smirk perks upon her face, as she speaks in a factual tenor.
Vickie Hall: You were never my enemy to begin with.
The Russian Bear grins and lets out a sudden, throaty chuckle, reveling in the disgust of the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: I knew, Vickie Hall, after your comrades cut up Jared Sykes with nail and crowbar, that you all knew concept of tough, enduring love! I have been very proud of Ivan-Christopher for his victory at Almasy. It has been tremendous transformation, all due to your great love and affection! You have my full support to go and win Universal Title. Bring honor and dignity to PRIME. Restore prestige that was stolen from me. Finish my story, dear Vickie Hall, and deliver justice where it is deserved. And I have wanted, dear Vickie, to ask you something since I saw Jared lying in pool of his own blood, but I have been hesitant to ask.
Ivan actually shuffles his feet slightly.
Ivan Stanislav: I have wanted to give you a hug ever since. May I?
Vickie juggles with glee.
Vickie Hall: Of course you cannnnn silly!
While Jonathan-Christopher shakes with anxiety.
Vickie walks over to Ivan and wraps her arms one-sixth of the way around him, since she is so tiny. The Russian Bear reaches over with one giant paw and clamps his hand around the entirety of JCHâs left shoulder, and drags him over and nearly envelopes him in a massive side hug, with both of the Halls on either side of him. He lets out a bellowing âDYAAHAAHAA!!â as the crowd grows apoplectic, and The Red Army takes a moment to recalibrate, but they cheer all the same.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to be sick.
Richard Parker: Suit yourself!
âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith resurfaces, as Vickie and Ivan talk off mic for a brief moment and the collective parties slowly begin to make their way backstage.
Nick Stuart: When we look back, this might be one of the darkest days in the history of PRIME.
Richard Parker: How can it be dark when RED and PRETTY PINKŠ are vibrant colors?
Nick Stuart: I⌠I⌠can we go to commercial, please?
Instead, we zoom in on Nick.
As we return from commercial, the KeyBank Arena is swathed in crimson. Spotlights that have been tinged yellow swirl around the arena as the crowd roars negatively, many attendees standing and offering the international sign of disapproval: the dreaded thumbs down.
Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ReVival 41 and weâre preparing fâ
An explosion rocks the entryway as huge plumes of smoke rise from the ramp and the Soviet National Anthem explodes through the arena. Despite the displeasure from the fans, the energy in the arena only grows as they know, for sure, just who is on their way to the ring. Indeed, Alexei Ruslan emerges first with a broad smile as he waves condescendingly at the crowd.
Richard Parker: We havenât heard much from Starsky Proper-chic Stanislav since Colossus, and I have got to say Iâm very interested to learn whatâs on his mind!
Nick Stuart: That makes one of us!
Richard Parker: Exactly! âŚ. âŚHey wait a minuteâŚ
While our intrepid broadcasters bicker, The Red Army continues to file out from the backstage area. After Ruslan comes Cuban referee-turned-Red Army interviewer Speedy Riggs, resplendent in shorts and a red tropical shirt with gold hammers and sickles (pre-order yours at the PRIMEporium), followed by The Masters of the Moscowverse Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz, then PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare Arthur Pleasant, and finally, head and shoulders above every other member, The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav.
Stanislav stomps purposefully behind the rest of the throng, his ham-sized hands balled up into fists while he grinds his jaw.
Nick Stuart: Heâs looking a little lighter without the Universal Title over his shoulderâŚ
Richard Parker: Letâs not make him angry, Nick, okay?
Nick Stuart: Iâm fairly certain thatâs his default mood, Richard.
As the members of The Red Army file into the ring, Stanislav steps up onto the apron with one motion and then steps over the top rope. Ruslan pulls a microphone out of a pocket in his coat and calls out to the fans, and we use that term loosely.
Alexei Ruslan: You can all stop your cheering now, people of Buffalo, we understand how much you love us all!!
Their booâing only grows, as does Ruslanâs smile. He motions to the assembled group in the ring, and it does appear to be a veritable army.
Stanislav moves forward and snatches the microphone from his smaller comrade, pushing past Ruslanâs taunting exercise. The Russian Bear waits for a moment, listening to the crowd while he shifts his eyes left and then right, before his booming voice blasts through the soundsystem and into our ears.
Ivan Stanislav: A grave injustice was done to PRIME at Colossus. It was, in word, desperation. You know it! I know it! The world knows it! History has shown that when Ivan Stanislav holds title, it is too difficult to take it from him as any true competitor should.
The Russian Bear motions widely towards the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: In PCW, when myself and Alexei were World Champions, we lost title not by being pinned. Not by submitting. But by third person in three way match giving in and losing! Just like then, as it is now, there are few things as unjust as the fruits of your hard work being stripped from you by some cowardly third party!
Stanislav spits on the mat.
Ivan Stanislav: In OSW, same chicanery existed to strip me of my title. Of OUR hard work!!! And each of you, you pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant sycophants who cheer the pathetic, cowardly, and insignificant dogs who believe it was a just outcome at Colossus belittle yourselves with your justifications!
Ivan strides to one side of the ring and motions to his assembled Army.
Ivan Stanislav: Do you know that I cannot blame Lindsay Troy for this. She was not in ring. She did not make it happen. Despite her attempts to appear all-powerful, yes, she has limits. Yes, the actions at Colossus did make her appear impotent. Misguided judgment was awarded to FLAMBERGE and Universal Title was STOLEN from meâŚ
Stanislav stomps his massive boot on the canvas, which flexes beneath all those assembled.
Ivan Stanislav: âŚand now we have little Julien as Universal Champion. How coincidental, PRIME! Currently, my record has TWO losses to it, and both of them have been tainted!
Stanislav lifts two fingers into the air.
Ivan Stanislav: It is well documented that Hayes Hanlon failed to pin me at UltraViolence 2022, and that my pinning attempts were counted slowly!
Speedy Riggs claps his hands and nods emphatically.
Ivan Stanislav: And then I was neither pinned or submitted at Colossus 2023! No, the match, it just⌠ended! The only consistent factor was that the official in question, one who could never measure up to my greatness, screwed me out of my hard work both times!! Like a thief in the night, he fled to the shadows, fearful of the just and swift retribution that would befall him!
Ivan shakes his head.
Ivan Stanislav: Fortunately for all of you, I do not hold a grudge. I move on from things. I let the past remain in the pastâŚ
Nick Stuart: Is this guy for real? He literally just complained about something that happened a year and a half ago! Heâs still fighting for a government that went belly up thirty years ago!
Ivan Stanislav: I brought prestige to Universal Championship. I made it mean something. I brought dignity to PRIME when all past holders, the Youngbloods, the Hanlons, the Rezins, the Atkins⌠could not. And what has Julien done since becoming Universal Champion? Since becoming representative of PRIME, an organization which, yes, I hold quite dear to my heart?
Stanislav stops for a moment and listens to the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: Absolutely nothing!! The young boy finds the responsibility is too much for his little mind. Why, we still need to wait for his little French testicles to drop before even becoming a man, let alone representative of an organization!!
Ivan shakes his head while Ruslan and the rest of Ivanâs comrades laugh uproariously. Yet Ivanâs frown curls into a crooked, unsettling smile.
Ivan Stanislav: He has his own tasks ahead of him and he is lucky they do not involve me. So be it. I once more find myself in unique position to have a little fun. To settle some scores. There are so many gnats in PRIME who think, because The Bear was busy dealing with Universal Title, because he was in tournaments, because he was busy dominating elsewhere, that their jabs and barbs would go unnoticed.
Ivan stands resolute in the center of the ring, flanked by his comrades.
Ivan Stanislav: They do not. And I want each and every person in PRIME to know that they are on notice from here on out. BrandonYoungblood likes to fashion himself as measuring stick of PRIME. That -he- will be âwaitingâ for those who rise to his level. But Brandon, my dear shattered opponent, who I left bleeding and broken at UltraViolence, we all see through your charade. Our clear vision pierces the shroud of your insecurities. You are no longer this barometer in PRIME. No. It is Ivan Stanislav! A proud Russian! And I have it on good authority. No. On most utmost authority that I can assure each and every one of you that The Russian Bear, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav and The Red Army will NEVER leave PRIME. Take comfort in that knowledge, for if you do not, then tremble in fear.
Ivan bellows.
Ivan Stanislav: Yet take heart, dear people of PRIME, for despite outrage and injustices, despite roiling frustration and anger, despite all of things that I feel inside my great heart, rest assured that nothing on Earth could possibly cause The Russian Bear to grow any more angry and frustrated than I am right now!
DIRECTLY after Ivan finishes his thoughts-
FLASH. The crimson red lights change color.
To pink.
Some would even say itâs PRETTYŠ.
The PA cracks on, immediately playing out the chorus of âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith.
I DONâT WANNA CLOSE MY EYES
I DONâT WANNA FALL ASLEEP
âCAUSE IâD MISS YOU, BABY
AND I DONâT WANNA MISS A THING
The crowd in Buffalo goes ballistic with a sense of anticipation⌠not because they particularly like whoâs going to be walking out. More along the lines of the rather interesting events potentially playing out in front of them. The Red Army, The Russian Bear, the group left disgruntled and clawing at a sense of urgency to recapture the top of the mountain, about to meet face-to-face withâŚ
???: ITâS YOâ BOY, TRISTY-CRISPY!
His voice bellows over the theme song as mini little adorable PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons fall from the rafters and a dancing crew of young boys and girls holding hands with one another storm out. The males, dressed just like Jonathan-Christopher Hall during the Almasy Tournament Finals, with skimpy PRETTY PINKŠ board shorts and their hair overly combed to one side of their heads. Meanwhile the females are dressed in a typical Vickie Hall onesie and fashionable PRETTY PINKŠ bear slippers. The dancers stroll out, a couple at a time, hand-in-hand, eyes locked on each other. Some of them giggle, some of them want to kiss but know it isnât necessary right now.
Needless to say as the camera cuts to the men inside the ring⌠and nobody looks particularly thrilled.
The dancers appear, two-by-two. Itâs like a little clown car back there unloading so many of these kids.
Richard Parker: Love. Can you feel it, Nick? CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT?
Nick Stuart: Youâre using the wrong song lyrics.
And then, DJ Tristy-Crispy himself pops out from the final dancing couple, who have now lined the entire stage from left to right and all the way down the rampway to the very front of the ring apron.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Brap, brap, brap, itâs YOâ boy!
But one accidental look towards the center of the ring, seeing a fuming Ivan Stanislav standing there, and the self-proclaimed DJ suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: Uhhh, uhhhâŚ.
Ivan doesnât look away. His eyes are nuclear.
DJ Tristy-Crispy: (mumbling under his breath, although the mic pics up a little) Yeah, screw this.
Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy drops the microphone and sprints to the back, past the row of dancers as the Hallâs theme music still plays and PRETTY PINKŠ flower petal ribbons continue to fall from the sky. One even lands directly, almost perfectly on top of Ivan Stanislavâs nose. He crosses his eyes as he stares at the invading, insulting, garish petal that lands on his prominent proboscis. He does not brush it off, but his face begins to blend in with the rest of the pink lighting as his blood boils.
Even though TCG has peaced out⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall alongside his adoring, supportive and incredible Amazing Life Partner, Vickie Hall, have only just arrived!
The crowd roars with boos, cheers and everything in-between. Likely some cheers directed towards Jonathan-Christopher, as his newfound attitude and sense of effort is slowly starting to win a couple PRIME fans over. Then again, with that confident and certain look upon her face, Vickie Hall makes it incredibly easy for the fans to jeer as loudly as possible.
Vickie and Jonathan-Christopher mimic the dancers around them, as they stop at the top of the rampway and join in on the fun.
Nick Stuart: I think weâre going to witness a murder here, Rich.
Richard Parker: What do you mean? Itâs wonderful dancing!
Nick Stuart: Interrupting Ivan Stanislav. When have you seen communists accepting of such behaviour?
Richard Parker: Beats me, theyâll get over it.
Arm linked in arm, Jonathan-Christopher and Vickie slowly waltz their way down the ramp, as if preparing to say their vows. By the time they are halfway down, Jonathan-Christopher clearly notices Ivan Stanislav and company. Heâs not exactly Tristan-Crispin bail-the-hell-outta-here but heâs not okay with inching closer and closer, either. Nevertheless, Vickie doesnât give a fuck. Sheâs off in her own world, absolutely oblivious and if she knew everyone inside the ring was ready to pounce on her, she probably wouldnât care. Itâs a majestic dream come true, to walk down the aisle with her man, the âAlmasy Tournament Champion!!!11111â
Finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, Jonathan-Christopher unlinks his arms and scurries over to the apron. He hops on, albeit extremely tentatively when he realizes how close Ivan Stanislav is. Hall takes a DEEEEEEP gulp before he pulls open the middle and bottom rope. Vickie walks, a dainty walk, up the steps and across the apron. She slips inside the squared circle and Jonathan-Christopher reluctantly follows.
All eyes are on them.
Ivan.
Alexei.
Kenny and Randall.
Speedy and Arthur.
They are surrounded.
And those eyes⌠oh, those eyes. None of them look happy.
Except Vickie.
Jonathan-Christopher looks like heâs going to piss himself. Meanwhile, the Woman of Wonder wonders where another microphone is.
With the lights still PRETTY PINKŠ across the entire arena, Vickie remembers she tucked away her own branded mic in her little ensemble pocket. She retrieves it, giggles as if to say âoh, silly meâ and the Hallâs theme comes to a close.
Leaving the LOVE duo continuing to stand there, surrounded by six of PRIMEâs most ruthless figures.
The dancers remain on the outside, up and down the rampway but theyâve stopped dancing, too. Even they are concerned.
Ivan Stanislav: (off-mic) What is meaning of this, Vickie?
Vickie simply bats her eyes and tilts her head back.
Vickie Hall: Oh, Ivan, oh! Itâs so nice to FORMALLY introduce ourselves, isnât it?
Nick Stuart: Is she forgetting Jonathan-Christopher and Ivan wrestled a match on ReVival last year?
Richard Parker: Probably.
Vickie takes a tiny little skip away from Jonathan-Christopher and towards Ivan Stanislav.
Vickie Hall: I wanted to get in on the party, you know? Ivan, Ivan, Ivan, I am going to be blunt with you, I think youâre just adorable!
Nick Stuart: I donât know everything but Iâm pretty sure thatâs definitely NOT the way to win Stanislav over.
Richard Parker: You sure?
The Russian Bear doesnât look impressed, despite Vickieâs attempt at impressing him.
Vickie Hall: (talking with a Russian accent) When you won Universal Championship CHANGE was in the air! (/Russian) I felt it the night Jonathan-Christopher and I walked into ReVival and saw your posters everywhere. It was like wow, Ivan, wow, Iâm really feeling you!
She adds a sidebar.
Vickie Hall: Digging that vibe!
At this point, The Red Army doesnât know what to do with any of these. Pleasant is mildly hunched over, as if ready to pounce at a momentâs notice. Meanwhile Kenny and Randall whack each other on the shoulders, trying to comprehend whatâs unfolding before their eyes.
Vickie Hall: And then you lost, Ivan. L-O-S-T. It was all so unfair!
Vickie tilts her head to add another sidebar.
Vickie Hall: I felt a recent, awful, devastating loss as well. I didnât win Manager of the Year! Some guy named Alexis Russellan won. Donât even know who he is or who the heck he manages! Can you believe that? Iâd have almost accepted Mr. Bubbles over someone I donât know. YUCK!
Nick Stuart: Um, VickieâŚ
Richard Parker: Hush, Nick! Let the woman speak!
Vickie slowly strolls around the ring, standing in front of the other Red Army members one at a time. Yes, she even stands in front of Alexei Ruslan but doesnât seem to put two and two togetherâŚ
Vickie Hall: They say a war is coming, Ivan. War. Yes, yeah, like war. We know the history of the Russian people when it comes to warâŚ
Nick Stuart: Does she? Vickie doesnât strike me as someone caught up on her history, let alone read. She clearly read ALEXEI RUSLANâs name wrong on the Manager of the Year image.
As Vickie passes by each member, sheâs about to arrive in front of The Russian Bear himself. Once she gets there, she stops, tips upright onto the highest point of her tippy toes and raises her head towards the giant.
Vickie Hall: I say make love, not war. But after these recent events, ones that have hurt both you and I⌠and a tiny limp dick man holding your Universal Championship⌠wellâŚ
She raises those awfully bushy brown eyebrows.
Vickie Hall: I am willing to change my views.
The Woman of Wonder rocks back onto the soles of her feet. She marches towards her Amazing Life Partner and takes his arm.
Vickie Hall: The love of my life, Jonathan-Christopher Hall won the Almasy Tournament! Gosh golly, they all said he couldnât but I never wavered! Our love shined through the darkest of days!
The crowd boos heavily at the thought of Vickie having a serious role to play here.
Vickie Hall: We talked about it. Last night during pillow time, Jonathan-Christopher and I discussed. Now that weâve FINISHED OUR STORY, IvanâŚ
Nick Stuart: How have they finished their story when he hasnât won the title-
Nick, however, is cut off by Vickieâs continual rant.
Vickie Hall: Weâre willing to help you finish⌠yours.
Nick Stuart: Who is she kidding!?
Richard Parker: Stop adding comments, Nick!
Vickie Hall: Look no further than Jonathan-Christopher, the man who has broken out of his shell and will recapture the Universal Championship to the GOOD SIDE of the world, away from the Glue and silliness those men over there color this historic company with.
Vickie nods. She loves what sheâs dishing out.
Vickie Hall: And then, dearest Ivan⌠AND THEN⌠there is an aforementioned war.
She raises her PRETTY little right pinky finger in the air.
Vickie Hall: I declare we MAKE WAR, NOT LOVE and I say we team together! The Red Army would look awfully GUD in shades of PRETTY PINKŠ, if I do say so myself. My man is nothing to sneer at! Heâs come a long, long way since losing to you at ReVival 30.
Richard Parker: See!? She does remember!
Nick Stuart: Ugh!
Vickie Hall: That was like seventeen ReVivals ago, Ivan. Also, I donât hold grudges, either.
This entire time, The Russian Bear merely stands there, arms crossed⌠hearing Vickie out.
Vickie Hall: We can be your allies, Ivan, Jonathan-Christopher and I can. I am a manager you do not want to mess with. I helped mold this wonderful, timid, premature little flower into a merciless, relentless, motha-fucking-killa (with serious bad-ass head tilting) who went through the gauntlet of wrestlers only YOU Ivan, YOU, could have also been able to accomplish.
Vickie shakes her head.
Vickie Hall: But you were not in the tournament, Ivan. My Amazing Life Partner was. He is the FIRST BLACK MARK on an otherwise out of this world career in Cecilworth Farthington! He is the REALITY CHECK Kerry Colorama required after stepping away from DEFIANCE! He tossed, tits and booted Ray Ray La Bomba back to wherever that moron came from! And he did it⌠Ivan, HE DID ITâŚ
Vickie takes a bow.
Vickie Hall: With my love and support.
The boos are MASSIVELY rolling by now. However, Jonathan-Christopher knows what Vickie says to be true. He claps her on and she blushes.
Vickie Hall: SO, Mr. Red Army Man, I do not need an answer from you tonight. Actually, I do not need an answer from you AT ALL.
She smirks. She knows.
Vickie Hall: Because we are going to be working togetherâŚ
That grin, itâs so wide. Itâs almost bigger than her entire face.
Vickie Hall: Whether you like it or not.
Vickie drops the mic, literally. Itâs like she always wanted to do that.
âŚBut then she picks it back up to add a final thought.
Vickie Hall: (totally with a different pace and tone than before, much less serious) Seriously, I love what youâve done; Iâm such a huge fan. FLAMBO is a bum, you had it right and Lindsay Troy is off her rocker!
Mic drop again.
Pause.
Silence.
The Red Army looks around and awaits their leader to speak.
She stands her ground. And even though Vickie talked her ALPâs game up and up and up, Jonathan-Christopher most certainly is trying to make himself seem very small, as if Ivan Stanislav is going to forget heâs even there.
The crowd hushes just slightly, waiting in anticipation for what Stanislav will say. He frowns deeply and stares coldly down at Vickie Hall.
Ivan Stanislav: It is not âMister,â Vickie Hall. But Starshy Praporshchik StanislavâŚ
It would take a little work, but one could hear the slight swell of the crowd. Were there some⌠cheers?
And on the other hand, Vickie is trying to mouth the words, except it looks more like sheâs saying âStarsky Propropstick Stanislovâ.
Ivan Stanislav: And then you (motions to Vickie) and him (motions to JCH) and whatever those are (motions to the boys and girls, arm in arm on the entryway and along the ramp) come down during my time and interrupt me with pink and ribbons and little boy whose voice sounds like he has been strangled halfway to death?! (motions back towards where TCG has fled).
The Russian Bearâs shoulders tense and his off hand clenches to the point of his knuckles turning white. His thick, incredibly powerful bicep and forearm bulges as he restrains every ounce of energy that could dash Vickie Hall into a PRETTY PINKŠ stain on the mat.
Nick Stuart: For once⌠I think I might want Ivan Stanislav to go all Russian Bear in the ring!
Ivan turns his head slowly and looks at his various assembled comrades. They are all poised to spring at a momentâs notice.
Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army would gladly go to war with anyone bold enough to do such a thing, and offer their pretty pink hand in friendship!
The crowd begins to boo as Ivan Stanislav slowly grins, as does Alexei Ruslan and, with the rest of The Red Army, they follow their lead and do the same.
Vickie Hall is sporting a terrific smile herself but Jonathan-Christopher, however, looks shook and shocked as fuck.
Vickie lowers her base, picks up the microphone she initially dropped and then stands upright again, while not taking her eyes off Ivan for a split second.
Vickie Hall: It is decided.
Nick Stuart: Dear god, no.
Vickie Hall: PRETTY PINKŠ and Red do go together. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Ivan, oh, IvannnnnâŚ
A massive, mischievous, Mr. Grinch-like smirk perks upon her face, as she speaks in a factual tenor.
Vickie Hall: You were never my enemy to begin with.
The Russian Bear grins and lets out a sudden, throaty chuckle, reveling in the disgust of the crowd.
Ivan Stanislav: I knew, Vickie Hall, after your comrades cut up Jared Sykes with nail and crowbar, that you all knew concept of tough, enduring love! I have been very proud of Ivan-Christopher for his victory at Almasy. It has been tremendous transformation, all due to your great love and affection! You have my full support to go and win Universal Title. Bring honor and dignity to PRIME. Restore prestige that was stolen from me. Finish my story, dear Vickie Hall, and deliver justice where it is deserved. And I have wanted, dear Vickie, to ask you something since I saw Jared lying in pool of his own blood, but I have been hesitant to ask.
Ivan actually shuffles his feet slightly.
Ivan Stanislav: I have wanted to give you a hug ever since. May I?
Vickie juggles with glee.
Vickie Hall: Of course you cannnnn silly!
While Jonathan-Christopher shakes with anxiety.
Vickie walks over to Ivan and wraps her arms one-sixth of the way around him, since she is so tiny. The Russian Bear reaches over with one giant paw and clamps his hand around the entirety of JCHâs left shoulder, and drags him over and nearly envelopes him in a massive side hug, with both of the Halls on either side of him. He lets out a bellowing âDYAAHAAHAA!!â as the crowd grows apoplectic, and The Red Army takes a moment to recalibrate, but they cheer all the same.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to be sick.
Richard Parker: Suit yourself!
âI Donât Want to Miss a Thingâ by Aerosmith resurfaces, as Vickie and Ivan talk off mic for a brief moment and the collective parties slowly begin to make their way backstage.
Nick Stuart: When we look back, this might be one of the darkest days in the history of PRIME.
Richard Parker: How can it be dark when RED and PRETTY PINKŠ are vibrant colors?
Nick Stuart: I⌠I⌠can we go to commercial, please?
Instead, we zoom in on Nick.
Nick Stuart: Oh, thatâs right. No, we canât go to commercial. Yet. Coming up next weâve got a special treat for you folks! As you may know, our own Nate Coltonâ
Richard Parker: âis a dork. Everyone knows that, Nick.
Nick Stuart: âhas spent the last few weeks on tour with Bang! Pro Wrestling in Japan, alongside his brother Benjamin, sister Jennifer, and cousin Dennis. The tour finally wrapped up yesterday, and while Nate wasnât able to get back to the States in time for the show, he was able to pass along some documentation of the tour, which our production team has put together into something pretty special. Letâs take a look!
The feed transitions to cellphone video, taken in an airport. The face of Nate Colton fills the screen, quickly surrounded by the other Coltons.
Nate Colton: Whatâs uuuuuuuuuuuup! Just got off the planeâthe Coltons have arrived in Tokyo!
Benny Colton: WOOOOOO!
Jenny makes a peace sign and a kissy face; Denny waves from the background.
Nate Colton: I am so hyped for this, yâall donât even know. And the best part is I get to do it with the people I love.
Benny Colton: Phrasing, bro.
The Next Diamond scowls at his brother.
Nate Colton: I get to go on a wrestling tour with the people I loveâŚand this dipshit.
Nate shoves Benny backward, where he collides into Dennis. Dennis puts his tag team partner in a headlock.
Denny Colton: International noogies!
Benny Colton: Aahhhh!
Music fades in as the scene fades out, and since itâs all about one PRIME star and his family, we might as well use his theme song. Eagles, âTryinâ.â
Letâs get to the action.
January 4, Tokyo. Nate Colton leads his family down the entrance ramp, each of them in ring gear and satin jackets that match except for the color. The Next Diamond holds his hands in the air, amping up the crowd even farther. All four of them look like theyâre about to jump out of their skin with excitement.
Iâm just arriving in the city and thereâs music on my mind
Lookinâ for my destination and my home is far behind
Next, some action shots from their match at Clash of Aces. The Coltons hit not just stereo, but quadraphonic lariats on their opponents, sending them all tumbling out of the ring. Later, Benny and Denny plant Chiyo Hasegawa with a double gutbuster, then hold him in place while Jenny charges in with a knee strike. Finally, Nate Colton plants âREDâ Ryota Saijo with his signature Colton Clutch Suplex to score the win.
âCause itâs a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
Iâm gonna make it with my friends
And Iâm tryinâ
The music fades out so we can hear the next part of the videoâa brief clip of the Coltons, along with many other wrestling stars, digging into a pancake breakfast. The Coltons are there, along with Ian and Connor Nackedy, RIA, Kohime Moriâwhose seat is next to Nateâsâand of course, Lindsay Troy, Clay Byrd, and Henry Keyes. Today you can sit with them, but of course they are at the head of the table.
Many laughs are shared along with the hearty breakfast. Troy takes great pride in showing off the Flynn Cup, Ria shoves Kohimeâs chair closer to Nateâs at every opportunity, and Bennyâs eyes practically form hearts as he stares at Henry Keyes.
Benny Colton: You think if I write his name on the menu I can get him, covered in syrup?
Denny Colton: Wouldnât risk it, cousin.
As the music comes back, we get more in-ring action.
It took me sometime to see it, now Iâm looking through this world
And itâs gonna take some time before I get back, help me girl
Jennifer locks the Colton Clutch 2 on Wally Wallace, forcing him to tap out with his free arm. Benny Colton sails across the ring as he takes his first flight on Air Anubis. Still better than flying Spirit.
Two people in fedoras and trench coats sit on a park bench in Tokyo. Not sure what thatâs about. One of them kinda looks likeâŚnah.
âCause you can make it if you try
Youâve gotta lay it on the line
And everything will be fine
If you try
Nate attempts to apply the Colton Clutch on a bicycle; when he pulls on one handlebar, the other hits him in the neck. Benny and Denny plant Tani Albright with their signature Colton Crash en route to another successful title defense.
A series of quick sightseeing photos: Mount Fuji, the KunĹzan TĹshĹ-gĹŤ. The family enjoys some yakitori skewers from a street vendor. Benjamin and Dennis laughing at each other on a train. A bar in Yokohama, where Jenny Colton has an arm thrown over RIAâs shoulder. They scream while they raise bottles.
RIA: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
Jenny Colton: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
The other patrons are nowhere near as enthused; obviously they werenât part of that class.
Sittinâ smokinâ just a-thinkinâ is an easy thing to do
We gotta keep on trying for the feelinâ to come through
Jenny trades elbow strikes with Riko Tsukino, and while the Iron Idol gets the better of the exchange, Jenny doesnât back down an inch. With the last of his strength, Nate gets Clay Byrd over with the Colton Clutch SuplexâŚbut throws him so hard that Byrd is able to roll backward to his feet, bounce off the ropes, and level Colton with a lariat that puts both men out of the match. Benny Colton steps right up to Powerslam Anubis and holds the SHOOT Project Tag Team Title in his face, as if the God of Judgment hadnât just handed him his assâand a lossâa few days earlier.
And itâs a lonely way to live
You gotta take it, you gotta give
If you mistake it, just try again
And Iâm trying, yeah
All the Coltons model their newly-purchased kimonos. Jennyâs is white with purple flowers; Bennyâs is red with gold dragons. Dennisâ is a plain green, while Nateâs is white and covered with blue cranes.
Nate Colton: Okay, you guys were right about these things. This feels fantastic.
Benny Colton: I know, right? I may never wear pants again.
Denny Colton: I donât think thatâs because of the kimono, Ben.
Ah-ha-ha, weâve got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Rapid fire scenes of Jenniferâs journey; bitter losses to Lord Kurosame-sama, âDiamondâ Daisuke Hashiwara, and âIron Idolâ Riko Tsukino. She is outclassed by some opponents, outsmarted by others, but she brings the same fire to the ring every time. This develops into big moments in some of the tag matches, and finally a hard-fought win over Gavin Yum.
Benjamin and Dennis fight their way through the Bang! Pro Wrestling tag team divisionâDESTROY IT ALL, Black & Albright, the Fabulous Hentai Brothers. On the final show of the tour, their series-ender with the Crownless Kingdom solves nothing, but proves that neither team is ready to accept second place.
The interior of a hotel room, where Nate is fast asleep. The lads creep up on him while Jenny, holding the phone, giggles.
Benny holds a finger up to his lips, then turns back toward his prey. He and Denny hold up what appear to be spray cans.
Benny Colton: WHIPPED CREAM WAR!!!
They spray whipped cream right in Nateâs face, just as he wakes up.
Nate Colton: whazzafuuâŚAAAAAAHHH!!
Benny Colton: Run! RUN!
The others scatter, just as the eldest Colton sits up and wipes the sugary mess from his face.
Nate Colton: You are all SO dead!
Woah Iâm tryinâ
woah Iâm tryinâ
(Got to keep on tryinâ) woah!
(Got to keep on tryinâ)
Nate Colton faces some of the best Bang! has to offer. Three of the legendary Four Aces, picking up wins over each. âBig Ironâ Gorou Ichiwara and Powerslam Anubis, though only in tag team action. The war with Clay Byrd.
Then, the final match of the tour. He stands across the ring from Claire Merci, one of the most feared performers in the company. Though the night ends in defeat for him, he proves to his opponent, and everyone watching, that this is where he belongs.
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah
Ah
The music and the picture fade, replaced by Nate on his cellphone again. Itâs now evening in Tokyo, and the Next Diamond sports several bandages that werenât there on the start of this trip. Judging by the smile on his face, they donât seem to bother him.
Nate Colton: Hey all. Itâs just about time to come home, so I wanna say that this was even better than I imagined. The sights, the crowds, the fightsâŚitâs just been incredible.
Benny Colton: And so were we, baby! BOOM!
Denny Colton: SHOOT Project! Weâll be back soon, and you better be ready!
Jennyâwho handles the filming âcause the boys donât know how to use filtersâturns the camera on herself.
Jenny Colton: Tori McGill! Your ass AND that belt are mine!
The view switches back to Nate, who slings a backpack over his shoulder.
Nate Colton: Damn right, fam. And PRIME? Thanks for watching, and Iâll see you all real soon. Canât wait to show you all what I learned over here. Now if youâll excuse us, weâve got a very important dinner to get to.
âAbout damn time, Coltons!â
The camera turns to show Claire Merci standing in front of a restaurant door. Sheâs flanked by the rest of the Crownless Kingdom, as well as Kohime Mori, RIA, Jared Sykes, Justine Calvin, and a few other Bang! Pro Wrestling stalwarts.
Curious thingâŚwhile none of the Coltons are wearing their signature jackets, some of the other wrestlers wear ones that are very similar. Claire Merci, Clay Byrd, Powerslam Anubis and Ignacio el Jaguar all have them. Different colors, but each sporting the same advertisement.
âDenki Machi Steak House.â
Claire Merci: Started to think you were going to miss it.
Nate Colton: Not for all the world, Merci.
He smiles one more time for the camera, then walks away. Only now do we see that one of the pouches of his backpack is open, and the face of an adorable pink pig is poking out of itâŚ
We then cut to the backstage area.
Nick Stuart: Oh, thatâs right. No, we canât go to commercial. Yet. Coming up next weâve got a special treat for you folks! As you may know, our own Nate Coltonâ
Richard Parker: âis a dork. Everyone knows that, Nick.
Nick Stuart: âhas spent the last few weeks on tour with Bang! Pro Wrestling in Japan, alongside his brother Benjamin, sister Jennifer, and cousin Dennis. The tour finally wrapped up yesterday, and while Nate wasnât able to get back to the States in time for the show, he was able to pass along some documentation of the tour, which our production team has put together into something pretty special. Letâs take a look!
The feed transitions to cellphone video, taken in an airport. The face of Nate Colton fills the screen, quickly surrounded by the other Coltons.
Nate Colton: Whatâs uuuuuuuuuuuup! Just got off the planeâthe Coltons have arrived in Tokyo!
Benny Colton: WOOOOOO!
Jenny makes a peace sign and a kissy face; Denny waves from the background.
Nate Colton: I am so hyped for this, yâall donât even know. And the best part is I get to do it with the people I love.
Benny Colton: Phrasing, bro.
The Next Diamond scowls at his brother.
Nate Colton: I get to go on a wrestling tour with the people I loveâŚand this dipshit.
Nate shoves Benny backward, where he collides into Dennis. Dennis puts his tag team partner in a headlock.
Denny Colton: International noogies!
Benny Colton: Aahhhh!
Music fades in as the scene fades out, and since itâs all about one PRIME star and his family, we might as well use his theme song. Eagles, âTryinâ.â
Letâs get to the action.
January 4, Tokyo. Nate Colton leads his family down the entrance ramp, each of them in ring gear and satin jackets that match except for the color. The Next Diamond holds his hands in the air, amping up the crowd even farther. All four of them look like theyâre about to jump out of their skin with excitement.
Iâm just arriving in the city and thereâs music on my mind
Lookinâ for my destination and my home is far behind
Next, some action shots from their match at Clash of Aces. The Coltons hit not just stereo, but quadraphonic lariats on their opponents, sending them all tumbling out of the ring. Later, Benny and Denny plant Chiyo Hasegawa with a double gutbuster, then hold him in place while Jenny charges in with a knee strike. Finally, Nate Colton plants âREDâ Ryota Saijo with his signature Colton Clutch Suplex to score the win.
âCause itâs a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
Iâm gonna make it with my friends
And Iâm tryinâ
The music fades out so we can hear the next part of the videoâa brief clip of the Coltons, along with many other wrestling stars, digging into a pancake breakfast. The Coltons are there, along with Ian and Connor Nackedy, RIA, Kohime Moriâwhose seat is next to Nateâsâand of course, Lindsay Troy, Clay Byrd, and Henry Keyes. Today you can sit with them, but of course they are at the head of the table.
Many laughs are shared along with the hearty breakfast. Troy takes great pride in showing off the Flynn Cup, Ria shoves Kohimeâs chair closer to Nateâs at every opportunity, and Bennyâs eyes practically form hearts as he stares at Henry Keyes.
Benny Colton: You think if I write his name on the menu I can get him, covered in syrup?
Denny Colton: Wouldnât risk it, cousin.
As the music comes back, we get more in-ring action.
It took me sometime to see it, now Iâm looking through this world
And itâs gonna take some time before I get back, help me girl
Jennifer locks the Colton Clutch 2 on Wally Wallace, forcing him to tap out with his free arm. Benny Colton sails across the ring as he takes his first flight on Air Anubis. Still better than flying Spirit.
Two people in fedoras and trench coats sit on a park bench in Tokyo. Not sure what thatâs about. One of them kinda looks likeâŚnah.
âCause you can make it if you try
Youâve gotta lay it on the line
And everything will be fine
If you try
Nate attempts to apply the Colton Clutch on a bicycle; when he pulls on one handlebar, the other hits him in the neck. Benny and Denny plant Tani Albright with their signature Colton Crash en route to another successful title defense.
A series of quick sightseeing photos: Mount Fuji, the KunĹzan TĹshĹ-gĹŤ. The family enjoys some yakitori skewers from a street vendor. Benjamin and Dennis laughing at each other on a train. A bar in Yokohama, where Jenny Colton has an arm thrown over RIAâs shoulder. They scream while they raise bottles.
RIA: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
Jenny Colton: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
The other patrons are nowhere near as enthused; obviously they werenât part of that class.
Sittinâ smokinâ just a-thinkinâ is an easy thing to do
We gotta keep on trying for the feelinâ to come through
Jenny trades elbow strikes with Riko Tsukino, and while the Iron Idol gets the better of the exchange, Jenny doesnât back down an inch. With the last of his strength, Nate gets Clay Byrd over with the Colton Clutch SuplexâŚbut throws him so hard that Byrd is able to roll backward to his feet, bounce off the ropes, and level Colton with a lariat that puts both men out of the match. Benny Colton steps right up to Powerslam Anubis and holds the SHOOT Project Tag Team Title in his face, as if the God of Judgment hadnât just handed him his assâand a lossâa few days earlier.
And itâs a lonely way to live
You gotta take it, you gotta give
If you mistake it, just try again
And Iâm trying, yeah
All the Coltons model their newly-purchased kimonos. Jennyâs is white with purple flowers; Bennyâs is red with gold dragons. Dennisâ is a plain green, while Nateâs is white and covered with blue cranes.
Nate Colton: Okay, you guys were right about these things. This feels fantastic.
Benny Colton: I know, right? I may never wear pants again.
Denny Colton: I donât think thatâs because of the kimono, Ben.
Ah-ha-ha, weâve got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Rapid fire scenes of Jenniferâs journey; bitter losses to Lord Kurosame-sama, âDiamondâ Daisuke Hashiwara, and âIron Idolâ Riko Tsukino. She is outclassed by some opponents, outsmarted by others, but she brings the same fire to the ring every time. This develops into big moments in some of the tag matches, and finally a hard-fought win over Gavin Yum.
Benjamin and Dennis fight their way through the Bang! Pro Wrestling tag team divisionâDESTROY IT ALL, Black & Albright, the Fabulous Hentai Brothers. On the final show of the tour, their series-ender with the Crownless Kingdom solves nothing, but proves that neither team is ready to accept second place.
The interior of a hotel room, where Nate is fast asleep. The lads creep up on him while Jenny, holding the phone, giggles.
Benny holds a finger up to his lips, then turns back toward his prey. He and Denny hold up what appear to be spray cans.
Benny Colton: WHIPPED CREAM WAR!!!
They spray whipped cream right in Nateâs face, just as he wakes up.
Nate Colton: whazzafuuâŚAAAAAAHHH!!
Benny Colton: Run! RUN!
The others scatter, just as the eldest Colton sits up and wipes the sugary mess from his face.
Nate Colton: You are all SO dead!
Woah Iâm tryinâ
woah Iâm tryinâ
(Got to keep on tryinâ) woah!
(Got to keep on tryinâ)
Nate Colton faces some of the best Bang! has to offer. Three of the legendary Four Aces, picking up wins over each. âBig Ironâ Gorou Ichiwara and Powerslam Anubis, though only in tag team action. The war with Clay Byrd.
Then, the final match of the tour. He stands across the ring from Claire Merci, one of the most feared performers in the company. Though the night ends in defeat for him, he proves to his opponent, and everyone watching, that this is where he belongs.
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah
Ah
The music and the picture fade, replaced by Nate on his cellphone again. Itâs now evening in Tokyo, and the Next Diamond sports several bandages that werenât there on the start of this trip. Judging by the smile on his face, they donât seem to bother him.
Nate Colton: Hey all. Itâs just about time to come home, so I wanna say that this was even better than I imagined. The sights, the crowds, the fightsâŚitâs just been incredible.
Benny Colton: And so were we, baby! BOOM!
Denny Colton: SHOOT Project! Weâll be back soon, and you better be ready!
Jennyâwho handles the filming âcause the boys donât know how to use filtersâturns the camera on herself.
Jenny Colton: Tori McGill! Your ass AND that belt are mine!
The view switches back to Nate, who slings a backpack over his shoulder.
Nate Colton: Damn right, fam. And PRIME? Thanks for watching, and Iâll see you all real soon. Canât wait to show you all what I learned over here. Now if youâll excuse us, weâve got a very important dinner to get to.
âAbout damn time, Coltons!â
The camera turns to show Claire Merci standing in front of a restaurant door. Sheâs flanked by the rest of the Crownless Kingdom, as well as Kohime Mori, RIA, Jared Sykes, Justine Calvin, and a few other Bang! Pro Wrestling stalwarts.
Curious thingâŚwhile none of the Coltons are wearing their signature jackets, some of the other wrestlers wear ones that are very similar. Claire Merci, Clay Byrd, Powerslam Anubis and Ignacio el Jaguar all have them. Different colors, but each sporting the same advertisement.
âDenki Machi Steak House.â
Claire Merci: Started to think you were going to miss it.
Nate Colton: Not for all the world, Merci.
He smiles one more time for the camera, then walks away. Only now do we see that one of the pouches of his backpack is open, and the face of an adorable pink pig is poking out of itâŚ
We then cut to the backstage area.
Nick Stuart: Oh, thatâs right. No, we canât go to commercial. Yet. Coming up next weâve got a special treat for you folks! As you may know, our own Nate Coltonâ
Richard Parker: âis a dork. Everyone knows that, Nick.
Nick Stuart: âhas spent the last few weeks on tour with Bang! Pro Wrestling in Japan, alongside his brother Benjamin, sister Jennifer, and cousin Dennis. The tour finally wrapped up yesterday, and while Nate wasnât able to get back to the States in time for the show, he was able to pass along some documentation of the tour, which our production team has put together into something pretty special. Letâs take a look!
The feed transitions to cellphone video, taken in an airport. The face of Nate Colton fills the screen, quickly surrounded by the other Coltons.
Nate Colton: Whatâs uuuuuuuuuuuup! Just got off the planeâthe Coltons have arrived in Tokyo!
Benny Colton: WOOOOOO!
Jenny makes a peace sign and a kissy face; Denny waves from the background.
Nate Colton: I am so hyped for this, yâall donât even know. And the best part is I get to do it with the people I love.
Benny Colton: Phrasing, bro.
The Next Diamond scowls at his brother.
Nate Colton: I get to go on a wrestling tour with the people I loveâŚand this dipshit.
Nate shoves Benny backward, where he collides into Dennis. Dennis puts his tag team partner in a headlock.
Denny Colton: International noogies!
Benny Colton: Aahhhh!
Music fades in as the scene fades out, and since itâs all about one PRIME star and his family, we might as well use his theme song. Eagles, âTryinâ.â
Letâs get to the action.
January 4, Tokyo. Nate Colton leads his family down the entrance ramp, each of them in ring gear and satin jackets that match except for the color. The Next Diamond holds his hands in the air, amping up the crowd even farther. All four of them look like theyâre about to jump out of their skin with excitement.
Iâm just arriving in the city and thereâs music on my mind
Lookinâ for my destination and my home is far behind
Next, some action shots from their match at Clash of Aces. The Coltons hit not just stereo, but quadraphonic lariats on their opponents, sending them all tumbling out of the ring. Later, Benny and Denny plant Chiyo Hasegawa with a double gutbuster, then hold him in place while Jenny charges in with a knee strike. Finally, Nate Colton plants âREDâ Ryota Saijo with his signature Colton Clutch Suplex to score the win.
âCause itâs a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
Iâm gonna make it with my friends
And Iâm tryinâ
The music fades out so we can hear the next part of the videoâa brief clip of the Coltons, along with many other wrestling stars, digging into a pancake breakfast. The Coltons are there, along with Ian and Connor Nackedy, RIA, Kohime Moriâwhose seat is next to Nateâsâand of course, Lindsay Troy, Clay Byrd, and Henry Keyes. Today you can sit with them, but of course they are at the head of the table.
Many laughs are shared along with the hearty breakfast. Troy takes great pride in showing off the Flynn Cup, Ria shoves Kohimeâs chair closer to Nateâs at every opportunity, and Bennyâs eyes practically form hearts as he stares at Henry Keyes.
Benny Colton: You think if I write his name on the menu I can get him, covered in syrup?
Denny Colton: Wouldnât risk it, cousin.
As the music comes back, we get more in-ring action.
It took me sometime to see it, now Iâm looking through this world
And itâs gonna take some time before I get back, help me girl
Jennifer locks the Colton Clutch 2 on Wally Wallace, forcing him to tap out with his free arm. Benny Colton sails across the ring as he takes his first flight on Air Anubis. Still better than flying Spirit.
Two people in fedoras and trench coats sit on a park bench in Tokyo. Not sure what thatâs about. One of them kinda looks likeâŚnah.
âCause you can make it if you try
Youâve gotta lay it on the line
And everything will be fine
If you try
Nate attempts to apply the Colton Clutch on a bicycle; when he pulls on one handlebar, the other hits him in the neck. Benny and Denny plant Tani Albright with their signature Colton Crash en route to another successful title defense.
A series of quick sightseeing photos: Mount Fuji, the KunĹzan TĹshĹ-gĹŤ. The family enjoys some yakitori skewers from a street vendor. Benjamin and Dennis laughing at each other on a train. A bar in Yokohama, where Jenny Colton has an arm thrown over RIAâs shoulder. They scream while they raise bottles.
RIA: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
Jenny Colton: CLASS OF EIGHTY!
The other patrons are nowhere near as enthused; obviously they werenât part of that class.
Sittinâ smokinâ just a-thinkinâ is an easy thing to do
We gotta keep on trying for the feelinâ to come through
Jenny trades elbow strikes with Riko Tsukino, and while the Iron Idol gets the better of the exchange, Jenny doesnât back down an inch. With the last of his strength, Nate gets Clay Byrd over with the Colton Clutch SuplexâŚbut throws him so hard that Byrd is able to roll backward to his feet, bounce off the ropes, and level Colton with a lariat that puts both men out of the match. Benny Colton steps right up to Powerslam Anubis and holds the SHOOT Project Tag Team Title in his face, as if the God of Judgment hadnât just handed him his assâand a lossâa few days earlier.
And itâs a lonely way to live
You gotta take it, you gotta give
If you mistake it, just try again
And Iâm trying, yeah
All the Coltons model their newly-purchased kimonos. Jennyâs is white with purple flowers; Bennyâs is red with gold dragons. Dennisâ is a plain green, while Nateâs is white and covered with blue cranes.
Nate Colton: Okay, you guys were right about these things. This feels fantastic.
Benny Colton: I know, right? I may never wear pants again.
Denny Colton: I donât think thatâs because of the kimono, Ben.
Ah-ha-ha, weâve got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Ah-ha-ha, we got to keep on tryinâ
Rapid fire scenes of Jenniferâs journey; bitter losses to Lord Kurosame-sama, âDiamondâ Daisuke Hashiwara, and âIron Idolâ Riko Tsukino. She is outclassed by some opponents, outsmarted by others, but she brings the same fire to the ring every time. This develops into big moments in some of the tag matches, and finally a hard-fought win over Gavin Yum.
Benjamin and Dennis fight their way through the Bang! Pro Wrestling tag team divisionâDESTROY IT ALL, Black & Albright, the Fabulous Hentai Brothers. On the final show of the tour, their series-ender with the Crownless Kingdom solves nothing, but proves that neither team is ready to accept second place.
The interior of a hotel room, where Nate is fast asleep. The lads creep up on him while Jenny, holding the phone, giggles.
Benny holds a finger up to his lips, then turns back toward his prey. He and Denny hold up what appear to be spray cans.
Benny Colton: WHIPPED CREAM WAR!!!
They spray whipped cream right in Nateâs face, just as he wakes up.
Nate Colton: whazzafuuâŚAAAAAAHHH!!
Benny Colton: Run! RUN!
The others scatter, just as the eldest Colton sits up and wipes the sugary mess from his face.
Nate Colton: You are all SO dead!
Woah Iâm tryinâ
woah Iâm tryinâ
(Got to keep on tryinâ) woah!
(Got to keep on tryinâ)
Nate Colton faces some of the best Bang! has to offer. Three of the legendary Four Aces, picking up wins over each. âBig Ironâ Gorou Ichiwara and Powerslam Anubis, though only in tag team action. The war with Clay Byrd.
Then, the final match of the tour. He stands across the ring from Claire Merci, one of the most feared performers in the company. Though the night ends in defeat for him, he proves to his opponent, and everyone watching, that this is where he belongs.
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah
Ah
The music and the picture fade, replaced by Nate on his cellphone again. Itâs now evening in Tokyo, and the Next Diamond sports several bandages that werenât there on the start of this trip. Judging by the smile on his face, they donât seem to bother him.
Nate Colton: Hey all. Itâs just about time to come home, so I wanna say that this was even better than I imagined. The sights, the crowds, the fightsâŚitâs just been incredible.
Benny Colton: And so were we, baby! BOOM!
Denny Colton: SHOOT Project! Weâll be back soon, and you better be ready!
Jennyâwho handles the filming âcause the boys donât know how to use filtersâturns the camera on herself.
Jenny Colton: Tori McGill! Your ass AND that belt are mine!
The view switches back to Nate, who slings a backpack over his shoulder.
Nate Colton: Damn right, fam. And PRIME? Thanks for watching, and Iâll see you all real soon. Canât wait to show you all what I learned over here. Now if youâll excuse us, weâve got a very important dinner to get to.
âAbout damn time, Coltons!â
The camera turns to show Claire Merci standing in front of a restaurant door. Sheâs flanked by the rest of the Crownless Kingdom, as well as Kohime Mori, RIA, Jared Sykes, Justine Calvin, and a few other Bang! Pro Wrestling stalwarts.
Curious thingâŚwhile none of the Coltons are wearing their signature jackets, some of the other wrestlers wear ones that are very similar. Claire Merci, Clay Byrd, Powerslam Anubis and Ignacio el Jaguar all have them. Different colors, but each sporting the same advertisement.
âDenki Machi Steak House.â
Claire Merci: Started to think you were going to miss it.
Nate Colton: Not for all the world, Merci.
He smiles one more time for the camera, then walks away. Only now do we see that one of the pouches of his backpack is open, and the face of an adorable pink pig is poking out of itâŚ
We then cut to the backstage area.
I canât figure it out! There has to be a problem with his batteries or something!
Mr Bubbles stands stoically in front of the bench seat of the locker room, hands resting on his hips. He has yet to remove his ring gear. The shrill voice of Kennade Starr can be heard from behind him, but her diminutive stature is completely engulfed by the massive Mr. Bubbles. The camera pans around behind Bubbles to see Kennade furiously poking at his back.
K-Starr: There is either something wrong with him, or thereâs something wrong with my controller, Susie-Q. I just know it! My big night was ruined!
Susan sits, right leg draped over the left, in a folding chair near the bench. The looks up from her IPad and pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
Susan: I told you K, itâs only going to get harder from here. There are just some things that you are going to have to do for yourself. Did you really think that hiring this goon was going to work out for you?
Kennade, visibly frustrated, throws her controller against a row of lockers, shattering it into several pieces on the floor. At that, Mr. Bubbles begins to lurch forward, gathering up the pieces from the floor.
K-Starr: See!? I donât even have a controller anymore! Heâs just doing stuff on his own! How can I expect to win matches with this kind of feedback from the controller? Itâs just not fair!
Susan attempts to conceal her heavily irritated sigh.
Susan: You know, I hate to say this, because it is a very dangerous profession, but you could always train and get into the ring yourself instead of entrusting your win loss record to a goon.
K-Starr: Heâs no goon! Heâs my avatar of Justice! Heâs my main! And just because weâve had a few rough goes of it lately doesnât mean that Iâm just going to switch up my entire play-style. I just have to work harder I guess.
Susan: (muttering) Or work at allâŚ
Kennade gets down on the floor and begins inspecting the boots of Mr. Bubbles. Not satisfied, she rises to her feet and grabs him by the wrist, checking his hands. In a last ditch effort, she leaps atop the bench and begins tapping at his mask, putting her ear next to his head to hear the noise her rapping makes.
Susan: Let me see if I can put this into terms that I think you might get. You donât like losing right?
Kennade slowly shakes her head.
Susan: And when you start a new game or campaign, you canât go around one-shotting everything right?
Kennade laughs a little at the suggestion before shaking her head again.
Susan: Ok. So when you want to get better in game, you would want to âlevel upâ your character before progressing to the later parts of the campaign right?
Kennade sits down on the bench, a look of understanding beams across her face.
K-Starr: Ohhhh so thatâs what youâre saying. I need to take Mr. Bubbles on some side quests and level him up! Youâre so smart, Suzie. Thatâs why I keep you around. The real question isâŚwhere do I get side quests? Do I just look around the halls and wait for someone with an exclamation mark over her head?
The exasperated look returns to Susan. So closeâŚ
Susan: Or you could get him a coach and go to the gym to train as a professional wrestler. You know, not just rely on his brutish strength and actually teach him something?
Before Susan can say anymore, Kennade has already grabbed another controller from her CInnamoroll backpack. She hits a button on the top, and presses a safety-pin button on Mr. Bubbles shirt that says âSync.â She begins furiously rocking the joysticks on the controller as she pops up from the bench and makes for the door. Mr. Bubbles slowly follows behind her.
K-Starr: Come on, Bubbles! There has to be a Villager around her somewhere that needs to to get his cat out of a well or retrieve their ancient family sandwich recipe from a witch or something. Letâs make this losing streak a thing of the past!
The two of the leave the room while Susan follows behind them in a panic. She is shouting indiscernible objections at the two of them as they make their way down the hall. We cut to elsewhere.
I canât figure it out! There has to be a problem with his batteries or something!
Mr Bubbles stands stoically in front of the bench seat of the locker room, hands resting on his hips. He has yet to remove his ring gear. The shrill voice of Kennade Starr can be heard from behind him, but her diminutive stature is completely engulfed by the massive Mr. Bubbles. The camera pans around behind Bubbles to see Kennade furiously poking at his back.
K-Starr: There is either something wrong with him, or thereâs something wrong with my controller, Susie-Q. I just know it! My big night was ruined!
Susan sits, right leg draped over the left, in a folding chair near the bench. The looks up from her IPad and pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
Susan: I told you K, itâs only going to get harder from here. There are just some things that you are going to have to do for yourself. Did you really think that hiring this goon was going to work out for you?
Kennade, visibly frustrated, throws her controller against a row of lockers, shattering it into several pieces on the floor. At that, Mr. Bubbles begins to lurch forward, gathering up the pieces from the floor.
K-Starr: See!? I donât even have a controller anymore! Heâs just doing stuff on his own! How can I expect to win matches with this kind of feedback from the controller? Itâs just not fair!
Susan attempts to conceal her heavily irritated sigh.
Susan: You know, I hate to say this, because it is a very dangerous profession, but you could always train and get into the ring yourself instead of entrusting your win loss record to a goon.
K-Starr: Heâs no goon! Heâs my avatar of Justice! Heâs my main! And just because weâve had a few rough goes of it lately doesnât mean that Iâm just going to switch up my entire play-style. I just have to work harder I guess.
Susan: (muttering) Or work at allâŚ
Kennade gets down on the floor and begins inspecting the boots of Mr. Bubbles. Not satisfied, she rises to her feet and grabs him by the wrist, checking his hands. In a last ditch effort, she leaps atop the bench and begins tapping at his mask, putting her ear next to his head to hear the noise her rapping makes.
Susan: Let me see if I can put this into terms that I think you might get. You donât like losing right?
Kennade slowly shakes her head.
Susan: And when you start a new game or campaign, you canât go around one-shotting everything right?
Kennade laughs a little at the suggestion before shaking her head again.
Susan: Ok. So when you want to get better in game, you would want to âlevel upâ your character before progressing to the later parts of the campaign right?
Kennade sits down on the bench, a look of understanding beams across her face.
K-Starr: Ohhhh so thatâs what youâre saying. I need to take Mr. Bubbles on some side quests and level him up! Youâre so smart, Suzie. Thatâs why I keep you around. The real question isâŚwhere do I get side quests? Do I just look around the halls and wait for someone with an exclamation mark over her head?
The exasperated look returns to Susan. So closeâŚ
Susan: Or you could get him a coach and go to the gym to train as a professional wrestler. You know, not just rely on his brutish strength and actually teach him something?
Before Susan can say anymore, Kennade has already grabbed another controller from her CInnamoroll backpack. She hits a button on the top, and presses a safety-pin button on Mr. Bubbles shirt that says âSync.â She begins furiously rocking the joysticks on the controller as she pops up from the bench and makes for the door. Mr. Bubbles slowly follows behind her.
K-Starr: Come on, Bubbles! There has to be a Villager around her somewhere that needs to to get his cat out of a well or retrieve their ancient family sandwich recipe from a witch or something. Letâs make this losing streak a thing of the past!
The two of the leave the room while Susan follows behind them in a panic. She is shouting indiscernible objections at the two of them as they make their way down the hall. We cut to elsewhere.
I canât figure it out! There has to be a problem with his batteries or something!
Mr Bubbles stands stoically in front of the bench seat of the locker room, hands resting on his hips. He has yet to remove his ring gear. The shrill voice of Kennade Starr can be heard from behind him, but her diminutive stature is completely engulfed by the massive Mr. Bubbles. The camera pans around behind Bubbles to see Kennade furiously poking at his back.
K-Starr: There is either something wrong with him, or thereâs something wrong with my controller, Susie-Q. I just know it! My big night was ruined!
Susan sits, right leg draped over the left, in a folding chair near the bench. The looks up from her IPad and pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
Susan: I told you K, itâs only going to get harder from here. There are just some things that you are going to have to do for yourself. Did you really think that hiring this goon was going to work out for you?
Kennade, visibly frustrated, throws her controller against a row of lockers, shattering it into several pieces on the floor. At that, Mr. Bubbles begins to lurch forward, gathering up the pieces from the floor.
K-Starr: See!? I donât even have a controller anymore! Heâs just doing stuff on his own! How can I expect to win matches with this kind of feedback from the controller? Itâs just not fair!
Susan attempts to conceal her heavily irritated sigh.
Susan: You know, I hate to say this, because it is a very dangerous profession, but you could always train and get into the ring yourself instead of entrusting your win loss record to a goon.
K-Starr: Heâs no goon! Heâs my avatar of Justice! Heâs my main! And just because weâve had a few rough goes of it lately doesnât mean that Iâm just going to switch up my entire play-style. I just have to work harder I guess.
Susan: (muttering) Or work at allâŚ
Kennade gets down on the floor and begins inspecting the boots of Mr. Bubbles. Not satisfied, she rises to her feet and grabs him by the wrist, checking his hands. In a last ditch effort, she leaps atop the bench and begins tapping at his mask, putting her ear next to his head to hear the noise her rapping makes.
Susan: Let me see if I can put this into terms that I think you might get. You donât like losing right?
Kennade slowly shakes her head.
Susan: And when you start a new game or campaign, you canât go around one-shotting everything right?
Kennade laughs a little at the suggestion before shaking her head again.
Susan: Ok. So when you want to get better in game, you would want to âlevel upâ your character before progressing to the later parts of the campaign right?
Kennade sits down on the bench, a look of understanding beams across her face.
K-Starr: Ohhhh so thatâs what youâre saying. I need to take Mr. Bubbles on some side quests and level him up! Youâre so smart, Suzie. Thatâs why I keep you around. The real question isâŚwhere do I get side quests? Do I just look around the halls and wait for someone with an exclamation mark over her head?
The exasperated look returns to Susan. So closeâŚ
Susan: Or you could get him a coach and go to the gym to train as a professional wrestler. You know, not just rely on his brutish strength and actually teach him something?
Before Susan can say anymore, Kennade has already grabbed another controller from her CInnamoroll backpack. She hits a button on the top, and presses a safety-pin button on Mr. Bubbles shirt that says âSync.â She begins furiously rocking the joysticks on the controller as she pops up from the bench and makes for the door. Mr. Bubbles slowly follows behind her.
K-Starr: Come on, Bubbles! There has to be a Villager around her somewhere that needs to to get his cat out of a well or retrieve their ancient family sandwich recipe from a witch or something. Letâs make this losing streak a thing of the past!
The two of the leave the room while Susan follows behind them in a panic. She is shouting indiscernible objections at the two of them as they make their way down the hall. We cut to elsewhere.
âThe Soviet National Anthem (Trap Remix)â begins to play on the PA, which can only mean one thing.
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman steps out and is looking confident despite his setback along with his tag partner at Colossus.
Richard Parker: His tag partner has a name,and heâs out here with us this evening!
Itâs true! Randall Schwartz, the other Master of the Moscowverse, steps out from behind the curtain and trails his partner, doing his best to psych himself up for a big singles test, ever so slightly.
Vince Howard: This match is scheduled for ONE FALL! Approaching the ring, from Los Angeles, California, accompanied by his tag partner Randall Schwartz and representing the Red ArmyâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Vince Howard: He is one-half of the Masters of the Moscowverse⌠Kenny⌠FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN!!
As they get to the ringside area, Randall gives Kenny a pep talk before the competitor in the match slides into the ring. The arena lights go down as the trap remix of âThe Soviet National Anthemâ dies down. The room is dark for a few beats beforeâŚ
Spotlight.
âA Darkness in My Soulâ by Solid Space hits on the PA, and The Multitudes step out from the back into the circular glow. Anna Daniels, full fur coat over their ring gear, basks in the soft rumble of cheers swelling up for them from the Buffalo faithful.
Nick Stuart: Even though last year wasnât the best of rides for Anna Daniels, they still captured their first gold. This year, theyâll be looking for big things.
Richard Parker: But they have to fight the might of the Red Army first. Tough challenge.
Nick Stuart: Well, the Masters are devious and cunning, but for their sake, I bet theyâre glad itâs not Ivan theyâre staring down.
The spotlight follows Daniels as they stride to the ring.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Mount Perdition, representing the PRIMEporium, they are the Time Lord⌠Anna⌠DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANIEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLSSSSSS!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Daniels slides into the ring as the arena lights rise back up. Ashley Barlow checks both wrestlers for weapons, shockingly finding none on Freemanâs person. After sheâs satisfied, she calls for the bell.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: And weâre off!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât call this âoff,â but Iâm willing to see what brilliant strategy our Communist betters have in store for us.
Richard refers to the fact that Kenny Freeman has already bailed to the outside of the ring, much to the chagrin of both Anna Daniels and Ashley Barlow. With a sigh, the Multitudes drop to the canvas and roll out of the ring only to be greeted by Randall Schwartz, mutton chops and all, having hastily put on a pair of novelty glasses.
Randall Schwartz: You wouldnât hit a guy with glasses on, would you?
He obviously does not know Anna Daniels that well, as they cock back to hit him in the face, except the fist doesnât fly forward.
Nick Stuart: What strategy by the Masters here, although by the look on Ashleyâs face, it might not take much for Kenny to get disqualified here.
Richard Parker: Iâm just appalled that Anna Daniels would indeed hit a man with glasses on! How rude!
Yes, Kenny has grabbed their hand from behind after using the distraction to scamper around the ringside area. He wrenches the arm into a hammerlock andâŚ
CRACK
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman taking control of this match early on! Annaâs shoulder hit that ringpost flush!
Richard Parker: Indeed. Iâm glad Alexei has the Red Army on the same page, they need to make a big comeback in 2024.
Anna holds their shoulder as Kenny stands next to Randall and preens to the crowd momentarily before tossing the Multitudes back into the ring. With surprising tenacity and swiftness, Kenny leaps onto Annaâs back and pulls on the afflicted appendage with a simple but effective armbar. While Daniels looks more annoyed than in pain, they still cannot manage to wrest free. At least until Kenny, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Kenny doing?
Richard Parker: Heâs playing Annaâs arm like an upright viola! This is BRILLIANT!
Nick Stuart: I wouldnât call it that. I think Anna Daniels is just getting more and more peeved.
Richard Parker: Yeah, they strike me as someone uncivilized enough to prefer having air guitar played on their body and not a fine implement of Russian culture.
The audience in the front row will swear after the show that they in this moment could see steam shooting out of the ears of the Multitudes. They muster adrenalized hatred into energy enough to roll over, flinging K-Free head first tumbling onto the mat. Anna gets up with a look that would kill a small Victorian child plastered on her face, loading for the Interrobang, until, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz AGAIN getting involved in the match! Grabbing Annaâs foot! Heâs really risking a win for his partner here!
Richard Parker: Look, you said it yourself earlier, when he first got involved, it was brilliant strategy. And I think the Masters of the Moscowverse have earned more than a little leeway here because of how RUDE Anna Daniels has proven to be and because Colossus is still fresh in everyoneâs minds, andâŚ
Nick Stuart: interrupting Alright, alright, we get it, you wanna revive Pravda.
Anna turns around to hell and possibly spit venom, literal maybe? We here at the omniscient match narration guild arenât entirely sure how their physiognomy works even after two years in this company. And Kenny takes full advantage with the roll-upâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Anna kicks out with authority.
Barlow turns around to admonish Randall while Kenny stalks in trying to take advantage of a discombobulated Time Lord. He grabs them from behind while theyâre still shaking out the cobwebs and lands a picture-perfect back suplex.
Nick Stuart: Freeman has Daniels on the ropes a little bit here. Could a minor upset be in the works for the Master of the Moscowverse here?
Richard Parker: UPSET? You wrecker! You absolute wrecker!!
Kenny pops up and looks around the crowd with Randall on the outside hooting and hollering. He bounces off the ropes, and stops just short of the Multitudes before breaking into a Fortnite dance. The crowd groans in unison as he hits a silly looking dab before dropping the leg.
Nick Stuart: groaning Follow the Freeman, everyone.
Richard Parker: GLORIOUS! This should take care of that nuisance capitalist Time Lord once and for all and we can prove that communism is supreme.
Nick Stuart: Rich, didnât you buy every single piece of memorabilia from the last Solid Gold Rock ân Roll tour while screaming âI love capitalism?â
Richard Parker: No, I did not. That was my evil doppelganger, Pichard Rarker.
Kenny covers again.
ONE!
Anna kicks out with even more authority earlier this time, because their rage meter is amping up to levels not seen since the Paxton Ray Intense Title match. Both competitors rise to their feet, and even though Anna is holding the back of their head from the damage taken, itâs Kenny who is on the defensive. He puts his hand out.
Kenny Freeman: Hey, we started out on the wrong foot here, bygones be bygones? Please.
Anna lets out a primal scream before planting her foot square in the Masters of the Moscowverse logo front and center on his t-shirt. K-Free tumbles back and bounces off the ropes, but Daniels has a rude awakening for him as he careens forward.
Nick Stuart: SPIKE HURRICANRANA! I think that might have sent Freeman tumbling through the multiverse.
Richard Parker: Oh, haha, very funny. The Multiverse is so 2022. Weâre reviving communism now. And of course this capitalist WRECKER Anna Daniels cares not for the struggles of the proletariat.
Nick Stuart: Rich, Kennyâs been cheating and preening his ass off the entire match.
Richard Parker: Itâs only cheating if the capitalist pigs in charge decide to enforce the rules.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to make note of you calling Lindsay Troy a capitalist pig.
Richard Parker: gulps Câmon you wouldnât do that to your old buddy, old pal, wouldja?
Kenny looks dead on the canvas, but Anna is not really in the mood to let up. They bends down and rips Kennyâs arm close to her chest before playing air bass in perfect replication of Steve Harrisâ line behind the guitar solo on âNumber of the Beast.â Right as they flourish at the end, they move up and split Kennyâs middle and ring fingers wide, causing a blood-curdling scream from Freeman and a horrified gasp from the crowd.
Nick Stuart: This is why you donât piss Anna Daniels off.
Richard Parker: gulping again Duly noted.
As Freeman holds his hand yelping and yipping like a crying baby, Daniels rises to their feet, dusts their shoulders, and lands a massive boot to the side of the Masterâs head. Not content with the rash of CTE given to him, they pick the Red Armyâs most musically talented member up and whip him off the ropes.
Nick Stuart: BLUE TARDIS BOMB!
Richard Parker: Honestly, if this leads to all out war by Russia on the planet of Gallifrey, donât say I didnât tell you so.
Anna makes the coverâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Kenny kicks out.
They pick Freeman up again, looking to double up on the punishment. The first part of the combo hits, a running high knee just enough to make Kenny see stars but not enough to send him slumped to the canvas. The bicycle knee does that just fine. Then comes the running shooting star knees.
Retrograde Am-Knee-Sia. But Anna doesnât cover.
Nick Stuart: I think Anna is finally going to get that Interrobang! they wanted earlier in the match.
Richard Parker: Well you canât always get what you want, because guess whoâs on the apron to interrupt again.
Nick Stuart: Oh for the love of GodâŚ
Richard Parker: Hoyt.
Nick Stuart: ignoring Get Randall Schwartz outta here!
Yes, Randall is back on the apron appealing to Ashley Barlow and trying to get Annaâs attention. With annoyance draped over their face, The Multitudes head over to where Schwartz and Barlow are.
Nick Stuart: I have a bad feeling about this, but at this point, Iâm not entirely sure for whom.
Richard Parker: Itâs going to be for Daniels. Again, the Soviet planning here is exquisite.
Randallâs flailing arms and animated voice has no effect on either of the two women staring him down from inside of the ring. Finally, he just goes for it.
Randall Schwartz: Hey, over there, look!
Neither Barlow nor Daniels fall for his gambit. He waits on the apron nervously, sweat starting to drip from his forehead into his mutton chops. A weak smile forms on his face, and he does the only thing he can think to do in the moment.
What he was planning on doing all along if his gambit had worked, at least on the referee.
DOINK
Nick Stuart: Did Randall Schwartz just poke Anna Daniels in the eyes in FRONT of Ashley Barlow?
Richard Parker: Uh, it was a trick of the eye?
Nick Stuart: Yeah, I think you were wrong in your assessment here.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, as a result of a disqualification⌠ANNA DANIELS!!!!
The crowd is bewildered at the turn of events. Kenny Freeman has risen to his feet, but his attempt at a sneak attack is thwarted by a mere scowl from The Multitudes.
Nick Stuart: Well, that was something that actually happened. Anyway, letâs throw it backstage.
âThe Soviet National Anthem (Trap Remix)â begins to play on the PA, which can only mean one thing.
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman steps out and is looking confident despite his setback along with his tag partner at Colossus.
Richard Parker: His tag partner has a name,and heâs out here with us this evening!
Itâs true! Randall Schwartz, the other Master of the Moscowverse, steps out from behind the curtain and trails his partner, doing his best to psych himself up for a big singles test, ever so slightly.
Vince Howard: This match is scheduled for ONE FALL! Approaching the ring, from Los Angeles, California, accompanied by his tag partner Randall Schwartz and representing the Red ArmyâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Vince Howard: He is one-half of the Masters of the Moscowverse⌠Kenny⌠FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN!!
As they get to the ringside area, Randall gives Kenny a pep talk before the competitor in the match slides into the ring. The arena lights go down as the trap remix of âThe Soviet National Anthemâ dies down. The room is dark for a few beats beforeâŚ
Spotlight.
âA Darkness in My Soulâ by Solid Space hits on the PA, and The Multitudes step out from the back into the circular glow. Anna Daniels, full fur coat over their ring gear, basks in the soft rumble of cheers swelling up for them from the Buffalo faithful.
Nick Stuart: Even though last year wasnât the best of rides for Anna Daniels, they still captured their first gold. This year, theyâll be looking for big things.
Richard Parker: But they have to fight the might of the Red Army first. Tough challenge.
Nick Stuart: Well, the Masters are devious and cunning, but for their sake, I bet theyâre glad itâs not Ivan theyâre staring down.
The spotlight follows Daniels as they stride to the ring.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Mount Perdition, representing the PRIMEporium, they are the Time Lord⌠Anna⌠DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANIEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLSSSSSS!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Daniels slides into the ring as the arena lights rise back up. Ashley Barlow checks both wrestlers for weapons, shockingly finding none on Freemanâs person. After sheâs satisfied, she calls for the bell.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: And weâre off!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât call this âoff,â but Iâm willing to see what brilliant strategy our Communist betters have in store for us.
Richard refers to the fact that Kenny Freeman has already bailed to the outside of the ring, much to the chagrin of both Anna Daniels and Ashley Barlow. With a sigh, the Multitudes drop to the canvas and roll out of the ring only to be greeted by Randall Schwartz, mutton chops and all, having hastily put on a pair of novelty glasses.
Randall Schwartz: You wouldnât hit a guy with glasses on, would you?
He obviously does not know Anna Daniels that well, as they cock back to hit him in the face, except the fist doesnât fly forward.
Nick Stuart: What strategy by the Masters here, although by the look on Ashleyâs face, it might not take much for Kenny to get disqualified here.
Richard Parker: Iâm just appalled that Anna Daniels would indeed hit a man with glasses on! How rude!
Yes, Kenny has grabbed their hand from behind after using the distraction to scamper around the ringside area. He wrenches the arm into a hammerlock andâŚ
CRACK
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman taking control of this match early on! Annaâs shoulder hit that ringpost flush!
Richard Parker: Indeed. Iâm glad Alexei has the Red Army on the same page, they need to make a big comeback in 2024.
Anna holds their shoulder as Kenny stands next to Randall and preens to the crowd momentarily before tossing the Multitudes back into the ring. With surprising tenacity and swiftness, Kenny leaps onto Annaâs back and pulls on the afflicted appendage with a simple but effective armbar. While Daniels looks more annoyed than in pain, they still cannot manage to wrest free. At least until Kenny, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Kenny doing?
Richard Parker: Heâs playing Annaâs arm like an upright viola! This is BRILLIANT!
Nick Stuart: I wouldnât call it that. I think Anna Daniels is just getting more and more peeved.
Richard Parker: Yeah, they strike me as someone uncivilized enough to prefer having air guitar played on their body and not a fine implement of Russian culture.
The audience in the front row will swear after the show that they in this moment could see steam shooting out of the ears of the Multitudes. They muster adrenalized hatred into energy enough to roll over, flinging K-Free head first tumbling onto the mat. Anna gets up with a look that would kill a small Victorian child plastered on her face, loading for the Interrobang, until, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz AGAIN getting involved in the match! Grabbing Annaâs foot! Heâs really risking a win for his partner here!
Richard Parker: Look, you said it yourself earlier, when he first got involved, it was brilliant strategy. And I think the Masters of the Moscowverse have earned more than a little leeway here because of how RUDE Anna Daniels has proven to be and because Colossus is still fresh in everyoneâs minds, andâŚ
Nick Stuart: interrupting Alright, alright, we get it, you wanna revive Pravda.
Anna turns around to hell and possibly spit venom, literal maybe? We here at the omniscient match narration guild arenât entirely sure how their physiognomy works even after two years in this company. And Kenny takes full advantage with the roll-upâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Anna kicks out with authority.
Barlow turns around to admonish Randall while Kenny stalks in trying to take advantage of a discombobulated Time Lord. He grabs them from behind while theyâre still shaking out the cobwebs and lands a picture-perfect back suplex.
Nick Stuart: Freeman has Daniels on the ropes a little bit here. Could a minor upset be in the works for the Master of the Moscowverse here?
Richard Parker: UPSET? You wrecker! You absolute wrecker!!
Kenny pops up and looks around the crowd with Randall on the outside hooting and hollering. He bounces off the ropes, and stops just short of the Multitudes before breaking into a Fortnite dance. The crowd groans in unison as he hits a silly looking dab before dropping the leg.
Nick Stuart: groaning Follow the Freeman, everyone.
Richard Parker: GLORIOUS! This should take care of that nuisance capitalist Time Lord once and for all and we can prove that communism is supreme.
Nick Stuart: Rich, didnât you buy every single piece of memorabilia from the last Solid Gold Rock ân Roll tour while screaming âI love capitalism?â
Richard Parker: No, I did not. That was my evil doppelganger, Pichard Rarker.
Kenny covers again.
ONE!
Anna kicks out with even more authority earlier this time, because their rage meter is amping up to levels not seen since the Paxton Ray Intense Title match. Both competitors rise to their feet, and even though Anna is holding the back of their head from the damage taken, itâs Kenny who is on the defensive. He puts his hand out.
Kenny Freeman: Hey, we started out on the wrong foot here, bygones be bygones? Please.
Anna lets out a primal scream before planting her foot square in the Masters of the Moscowverse logo front and center on his t-shirt. K-Free tumbles back and bounces off the ropes, but Daniels has a rude awakening for him as he careens forward.
Nick Stuart: SPIKE HURRICANRANA! I think that might have sent Freeman tumbling through the multiverse.
Richard Parker: Oh, haha, very funny. The Multiverse is so 2022. Weâre reviving communism now. And of course this capitalist WRECKER Anna Daniels cares not for the struggles of the proletariat.
Nick Stuart: Rich, Kennyâs been cheating and preening his ass off the entire match.
Richard Parker: Itâs only cheating if the capitalist pigs in charge decide to enforce the rules.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to make note of you calling Lindsay Troy a capitalist pig.
Richard Parker: gulps Câmon you wouldnât do that to your old buddy, old pal, wouldja?
Kenny looks dead on the canvas, but Anna is not really in the mood to let up. They bends down and rips Kennyâs arm close to her chest before playing air bass in perfect replication of Steve Harrisâ line behind the guitar solo on âNumber of the Beast.â Right as they flourish at the end, they move up and split Kennyâs middle and ring fingers wide, causing a blood-curdling scream from Freeman and a horrified gasp from the crowd.
Nick Stuart: This is why you donât piss Anna Daniels off.
Richard Parker: gulping again Duly noted.
As Freeman holds his hand yelping and yipping like a crying baby, Daniels rises to their feet, dusts their shoulders, and lands a massive boot to the side of the Masterâs head. Not content with the rash of CTE given to him, they pick the Red Armyâs most musically talented member up and whip him off the ropes.
Nick Stuart: BLUE TARDIS BOMB!
Richard Parker: Honestly, if this leads to all out war by Russia on the planet of Gallifrey, donât say I didnât tell you so.
Anna makes the coverâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Kenny kicks out.
They pick Freeman up again, looking to double up on the punishment. The first part of the combo hits, a running high knee just enough to make Kenny see stars but not enough to send him slumped to the canvas. The bicycle knee does that just fine. Then comes the running shooting star knees.
Retrograde Am-Knee-Sia. But Anna doesnât cover.
Nick Stuart: I think Anna is finally going to get that Interrobang! they wanted earlier in the match.
Richard Parker: Well you canât always get what you want, because guess whoâs on the apron to interrupt again.
Nick Stuart: Oh for the love of GodâŚ
Richard Parker: Hoyt.
Nick Stuart: ignoring Get Randall Schwartz outta here!
Yes, Randall is back on the apron appealing to Ashley Barlow and trying to get Annaâs attention. With annoyance draped over their face, The Multitudes head over to where Schwartz and Barlow are.
Nick Stuart: I have a bad feeling about this, but at this point, Iâm not entirely sure for whom.
Richard Parker: Itâs going to be for Daniels. Again, the Soviet planning here is exquisite.
Randallâs flailing arms and animated voice has no effect on either of the two women staring him down from inside of the ring. Finally, he just goes for it.
Randall Schwartz: Hey, over there, look!
Neither Barlow nor Daniels fall for his gambit. He waits on the apron nervously, sweat starting to drip from his forehead into his mutton chops. A weak smile forms on his face, and he does the only thing he can think to do in the moment.
What he was planning on doing all along if his gambit had worked, at least on the referee.
DOINK
Nick Stuart: Did Randall Schwartz just poke Anna Daniels in the eyes in FRONT of Ashley Barlow?
Richard Parker: Uh, it was a trick of the eye?
Nick Stuart: Yeah, I think you were wrong in your assessment here.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, as a result of a disqualification⌠ANNA DANIELS!!!!
The crowd is bewildered at the turn of events. Kenny Freeman has risen to his feet, but his attempt at a sneak attack is thwarted by a mere scowl from The Multitudes.
Nick Stuart: Well, that was something that actually happened. Anyway, letâs throw it backstage.
âThe Soviet National Anthem (Trap Remix)â begins to play on the PA, which can only mean one thing.
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman steps out and is looking confident despite his setback along with his tag partner at Colossus.
Richard Parker: His tag partner has a name,and heâs out here with us this evening!
Itâs true! Randall Schwartz, the other Master of the Moscowverse, steps out from behind the curtain and trails his partner, doing his best to psych himself up for a big singles test, ever so slightly.
Vince Howard: This match is scheduled for ONE FALL! Approaching the ring, from Los Angeles, California, accompanied by his tag partner Randall Schwartz and representing the Red ArmyâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Vince Howard: He is one-half of the Masters of the Moscowverse⌠Kenny⌠FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN!!
As they get to the ringside area, Randall gives Kenny a pep talk before the competitor in the match slides into the ring. The arena lights go down as the trap remix of âThe Soviet National Anthemâ dies down. The room is dark for a few beats beforeâŚ
Spotlight.
âA Darkness in My Soulâ by Solid Space hits on the PA, and The Multitudes step out from the back into the circular glow. Anna Daniels, full fur coat over their ring gear, basks in the soft rumble of cheers swelling up for them from the Buffalo faithful.
Nick Stuart: Even though last year wasnât the best of rides for Anna Daniels, they still captured their first gold. This year, theyâll be looking for big things.
Richard Parker: But they have to fight the might of the Red Army first. Tough challenge.
Nick Stuart: Well, the Masters are devious and cunning, but for their sake, I bet theyâre glad itâs not Ivan theyâre staring down.
The spotlight follows Daniels as they stride to the ring.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Mount Perdition, representing the PRIMEporium, they are the Time Lord⌠Anna⌠DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANIEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLSSSSSS!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Daniels slides into the ring as the arena lights rise back up. Ashley Barlow checks both wrestlers for weapons, shockingly finding none on Freemanâs person. After sheâs satisfied, she calls for the bell.
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: And weâre off!
Richard Parker: I wouldnât call this âoff,â but Iâm willing to see what brilliant strategy our Communist betters have in store for us.
Richard refers to the fact that Kenny Freeman has already bailed to the outside of the ring, much to the chagrin of both Anna Daniels and Ashley Barlow. With a sigh, the Multitudes drop to the canvas and roll out of the ring only to be greeted by Randall Schwartz, mutton chops and all, having hastily put on a pair of novelty glasses.
Randall Schwartz: You wouldnât hit a guy with glasses on, would you?
He obviously does not know Anna Daniels that well, as they cock back to hit him in the face, except the fist doesnât fly forward.
Nick Stuart: What strategy by the Masters here, although by the look on Ashleyâs face, it might not take much for Kenny to get disqualified here.
Richard Parker: Iâm just appalled that Anna Daniels would indeed hit a man with glasses on! How rude!
Yes, Kenny has grabbed their hand from behind after using the distraction to scamper around the ringside area. He wrenches the arm into a hammerlock andâŚ
CRACK
Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman taking control of this match early on! Annaâs shoulder hit that ringpost flush!
Richard Parker: Indeed. Iâm glad Alexei has the Red Army on the same page, they need to make a big comeback in 2024.
Anna holds their shoulder as Kenny stands next to Randall and preens to the crowd momentarily before tossing the Multitudes back into the ring. With surprising tenacity and swiftness, Kenny leaps onto Annaâs back and pulls on the afflicted appendage with a simple but effective armbar. While Daniels looks more annoyed than in pain, they still cannot manage to wrest free. At least until Kenny, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Kenny doing?
Richard Parker: Heâs playing Annaâs arm like an upright viola! This is BRILLIANT!
Nick Stuart: I wouldnât call it that. I think Anna Daniels is just getting more and more peeved.
Richard Parker: Yeah, they strike me as someone uncivilized enough to prefer having air guitar played on their body and not a fine implement of Russian culture.
The audience in the front row will swear after the show that they in this moment could see steam shooting out of the ears of the Multitudes. They muster adrenalized hatred into energy enough to roll over, flinging K-Free head first tumbling onto the mat. Anna gets up with a look that would kill a small Victorian child plastered on her face, loading for the Interrobang, until, wellâŚ
Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz AGAIN getting involved in the match! Grabbing Annaâs foot! Heâs really risking a win for his partner here!
Richard Parker: Look, you said it yourself earlier, when he first got involved, it was brilliant strategy. And I think the Masters of the Moscowverse have earned more than a little leeway here because of how RUDE Anna Daniels has proven to be and because Colossus is still fresh in everyoneâs minds, andâŚ
Nick Stuart: interrupting Alright, alright, we get it, you wanna revive Pravda.
Anna turns around to hell and possibly spit venom, literal maybe? We here at the omniscient match narration guild arenât entirely sure how their physiognomy works even after two years in this company. And Kenny takes full advantage with the roll-upâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Anna kicks out with authority.
Barlow turns around to admonish Randall while Kenny stalks in trying to take advantage of a discombobulated Time Lord. He grabs them from behind while theyâre still shaking out the cobwebs and lands a picture-perfect back suplex.
Nick Stuart: Freeman has Daniels on the ropes a little bit here. Could a minor upset be in the works for the Master of the Moscowverse here?
Richard Parker: UPSET? You wrecker! You absolute wrecker!!
Kenny pops up and looks around the crowd with Randall on the outside hooting and hollering. He bounces off the ropes, and stops just short of the Multitudes before breaking into a Fortnite dance. The crowd groans in unison as he hits a silly looking dab before dropping the leg.
Nick Stuart: groaning Follow the Freeman, everyone.
Richard Parker: GLORIOUS! This should take care of that nuisance capitalist Time Lord once and for all and we can prove that communism is supreme.
Nick Stuart: Rich, didnât you buy every single piece of memorabilia from the last Solid Gold Rock ân Roll tour while screaming âI love capitalism?â
Richard Parker: No, I did not. That was my evil doppelganger, Pichard Rarker.
Kenny covers again.
ONE!
Anna kicks out with even more authority earlier this time, because their rage meter is amping up to levels not seen since the Paxton Ray Intense Title match. Both competitors rise to their feet, and even though Anna is holding the back of their head from the damage taken, itâs Kenny who is on the defensive. He puts his hand out.
Kenny Freeman: Hey, we started out on the wrong foot here, bygones be bygones? Please.
Anna lets out a primal scream before planting her foot square in the Masters of the Moscowverse logo front and center on his t-shirt. K-Free tumbles back and bounces off the ropes, but Daniels has a rude awakening for him as he careens forward.
Nick Stuart: SPIKE HURRICANRANA! I think that might have sent Freeman tumbling through the multiverse.
Richard Parker: Oh, haha, very funny. The Multiverse is so 2022. Weâre reviving communism now. And of course this capitalist WRECKER Anna Daniels cares not for the struggles of the proletariat.
Nick Stuart: Rich, Kennyâs been cheating and preening his ass off the entire match.
Richard Parker: Itâs only cheating if the capitalist pigs in charge decide to enforce the rules.
Nick Stuart: Iâm going to make note of you calling Lindsay Troy a capitalist pig.
Richard Parker: gulps Câmon you wouldnât do that to your old buddy, old pal, wouldja?
Kenny looks dead on the canvas, but Anna is not really in the mood to let up. They bends down and rips Kennyâs arm close to her chest before playing air bass in perfect replication of Steve Harrisâ line behind the guitar solo on âNumber of the Beast.â Right as they flourish at the end, they move up and split Kennyâs middle and ring fingers wide, causing a blood-curdling scream from Freeman and a horrified gasp from the crowd.
Nick Stuart: This is why you donât piss Anna Daniels off.
Richard Parker: gulping again Duly noted.
As Freeman holds his hand yelping and yipping like a crying baby, Daniels rises to their feet, dusts their shoulders, and lands a massive boot to the side of the Masterâs head. Not content with the rash of CTE given to him, they pick the Red Armyâs most musically talented member up and whip him off the ropes.
Nick Stuart: BLUE TARDIS BOMB!
Richard Parker: Honestly, if this leads to all out war by Russia on the planet of Gallifrey, donât say I didnât tell you so.
Anna makes the coverâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
Kenny kicks out.
They pick Freeman up again, looking to double up on the punishment. The first part of the combo hits, a running high knee just enough to make Kenny see stars but not enough to send him slumped to the canvas. The bicycle knee does that just fine. Then comes the running shooting star knees.
Retrograde Am-Knee-Sia. But Anna doesnât cover.
Nick Stuart: I think Anna is finally going to get that Interrobang! they wanted earlier in the match.
Richard Parker: Well you canât always get what you want, because guess whoâs on the apron to interrupt again.
Nick Stuart: Oh for the love of GodâŚ
Richard Parker: Hoyt.
Nick Stuart: ignoring Get Randall Schwartz outta here!
Yes, Randall is back on the apron appealing to Ashley Barlow and trying to get Annaâs attention. With annoyance draped over their face, The Multitudes head over to where Schwartz and Barlow are.
Nick Stuart: I have a bad feeling about this, but at this point, Iâm not entirely sure for whom.
Richard Parker: Itâs going to be for Daniels. Again, the Soviet planning here is exquisite.
Randallâs flailing arms and animated voice has no effect on either of the two women staring him down from inside of the ring. Finally, he just goes for it.
Randall Schwartz: Hey, over there, look!
Neither Barlow nor Daniels fall for his gambit. He waits on the apron nervously, sweat starting to drip from his forehead into his mutton chops. A weak smile forms on his face, and he does the only thing he can think to do in the moment.
What he was planning on doing all along if his gambit had worked, at least on the referee.
DOINK
Nick Stuart: Did Randall Schwartz just poke Anna Daniels in the eyes in FRONT of Ashley Barlow?
Richard Parker: Uh, it was a trick of the eye?
Nick Stuart: Yeah, I think you were wrong in your assessment here.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner, as a result of a disqualification⌠ANNA DANIELS!!!!
The crowd is bewildered at the turn of events. Kenny Freeman has risen to his feet, but his attempt at a sneak attack is thwarted by a mere scowl from The Multitudes.
Nick Stuart: Well, that was something that actually happened. Anyway, letâs throw it backstage.
We cut to backstage, where we find SeĂĄn OâNeill. It looks like heâs just arrived, his travel bag is slung over his left shoulder. Heâs wearing loose black jeans, a pair of DC shoes and a Maple Leafs jersey, the microphones inside the arena pick up the jeers of the fans seeing this on the big screen. Why would he wear that, of all things here in the home of the Sabres? Looking a little lost, OâNeill makes for one of the backstage crew. Before he reaches her, she glances up, giving him a look that says âsorryâ and scuttles off.
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, OâNeill shakes his head and starts walking back in the direction heâd originally been going. Spotting two more crew members chatting further up the corridor he shouts out to them.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Help me out guys, locker rooms?
Both of the crew turn to look at OâNeill, they almost look nervous, one of them slowly raises an arm to point off to another corridor to the left. Neither man says a word though. Reaching them OâNeill looks at them both in turn, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Cheers guys, great talk!
Shaking his head, what is it with everyone today? He heads off in the direction the crewman is still pointing in. With OâNeill now heading away from them, the two look at each other and the one who didnât volunteer the direction makes a gesture of grimacing whilst pulling his finger across his throat. His friend nods in agreement.
We catch up to OâNeill, heâs stopped outside two doors on either side of the corridor. Neither door has a sign; he takes a few steps to the next set of doors, to find the same. Glancing up the corridor, there is no shortage of doors; none of them showing anything to suggest the purpose of the room behind though. OâNeill throws his travel bag to the floor, temper now getting the better of him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: For the love of fâŚ
He spots a young man coming down the corridor from the other direction, heâs not paying the slightest bit of attention to whatâs ahead, his head is buried in the stack of papers heâs carrying like the world depends on it. Giving the youngster a quick once over, OâNeill spots a lanyard hanging from his hip, branded with the PRIME logo. Bingo! The corridor isnât terribly wide, so this young lad will find the Irishman standing in his way will halt his progress. OâNeill waits impatiently, arms crossed and a look on his face that could strip paint. At the last moment, it becomes clear a collision is imminent as the lad has still to look up.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oi! Wanna watch where youâre going?
The young man comes to a jarring halt, mere inches from OâNeill. Sheepishly he looks up at OâNeill and gapes at him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: How hard is it for you morons to put up some signage? Where are the locker rooms in this place?
In place of a reply, the young man just continues to stare at OâNeill. His eyes widen as he takes in the hostility aimed in his direction. He looks like heâs trying to say something, but the only sound that escapes his open mouth is a collection of Uhs, Ahs and Ums. OâNeill isnât known for his patience at the best of times, right now, heâs not having the best of times.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: DO YOU, OR DO YOU NOT, WORK. FOR. PRIME?
The young man slowly nods his head, but still doesnât speak.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: WELL THEN! WHERE DO I GET READY FOR MY MATCH TONIGHT?
Every passing second of silence is just further angering the Irishman. The youngster looks down at his papers, seemingly in hope of finding an answer there.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? Youâre the forth asshole whoâs looked at me like youâve seen a ghost! Iâm right here and Iâd really, REALLY, like to get ready for my match tonight, if thatâs not too much trouble. Or perhaps youâd like to explain to Troy why Iâm wrestling in jeans and skate shoes tonight? Assuming that is, that I can even find the god-damned ring since THERE ARE NO SIGNS UP ANYWHERE!
Rifling through his papers the young man pulls out a sheet that reads âMale Locker Roomâ and quickly attaches it to the door to his right. He looks back at OâNeill, half apologetically, half⌠what is that look? Pity? Since words seem to be too much to ask for, OâNeill glares at the lad, once again shaking his head in disbelief.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: THANK YOU! Now care to explain why the hell everyone is looking at me like Iâm the walking dead today?
His hand trembling, the young man points in OâNeillâs direction. OâNeill points at himself questioningly but no sooner has he done so, the lad shakes his head and continues to point at OâNeill. No, not at OâNeill, behind him!
His patience well and truly gone, OâNeill spins around, to see a chest, a very large chest. Grimacing, he closes his eyes for a split second and audibly takes a deep breath, before looking up into the face of the hulking figure of his opponent, of The Murder Show. The face of Hessian. The sound of rushing footsteps lets him know the young lad has wasted no time in fleeing the scene. Where mere seconds ago, OâNeillâs face was red with anger, itâs now white as a sheet.
Hessian: Whatâs all the fuss, chief?
The giant is clad in a black knitted beanie pulled low to his brow-line, dark grey sweatshirt with its hood pulled up covering most of his features, navy thermal work pants and tan construction boots. A large heavy looking duffel bag is casually slung over his shoulder. He regards OâNeill absent-mindedly for a moment, shifting his gaze to the newly christened Male Locker Room then past him to the hall beyond and back to OâNeill again. He thinks about asking âyou talent?â when it suddenly clicks and his lips begin to turn up at the corners.
Hessian: Hey, we doing business tonight? SeĂĄn OâNeill, right? Nameâs Hessian.
The Irishman stiffens as The Murder Show adjusts the duffel bag and presents his free arm, relaxing as Hessian extends an open hand, seemingly dormant. SeĂĄn reciprocates cautiously, holding the giantâs gaze, he winces in anticipation of having his arm ripped from its socket. OâNeill responds in a flat tone, with none of the confidence of his rant of a few moments before.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Aye, thatâs me. Know who you are of course, reckon everyone does. Itâs a pleasure.
They relinquish their grip of the handshake and give a curt nod each.
Hessian: You throw me around like you did Mar and Williams Iâm sure the pleasure will be all yours.
OâNeill lets out a feeble bark of a laugh, taking the comment as a joke.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oh aye? Fair to say your arse will take some shifting. Youâre looking well, mind.
Hessian: Tell me again after the match. Iâm sure youâll let me know if you catch me slipping, take care I donât catch you back.
The Irishman makes for the door, careful not to let his demeanour slip.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Iâll be sure of it. Gonna head on in here, all the best.
Hessian: All the best indeed. Nice meeting you SeĂĄn.
With no blood in the water yet, The Murder Show gives another nod and carries off in the direction of his dressing room. A few seconds later, part of OâNeillâs head slowly peaks back around the frame of the locker room door, eyes shifting up and down, taking in once more the sheer size of the behemoth heâd have to wrestle tonight. He whispers to himself.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Maybe itâs time I started praying!
We cut to ringside.
We cut to backstage, where we find SeĂĄn OâNeill. It looks like heâs just arrived, his travel bag is slung over his left shoulder. Heâs wearing loose black jeans, a pair of DC shoes and a Maple Leafs jersey, the microphones inside the arena pick up the jeers of the fans seeing this on the big screen. Why would he wear that, of all things here in the home of the Sabres? Looking a little lost, OâNeill makes for one of the backstage crew. Before he reaches her, she glances up, giving him a look that says âsorryâ and scuttles off.
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, OâNeill shakes his head and starts walking back in the direction heâd originally been going. Spotting two more crew members chatting further up the corridor he shouts out to them.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Help me out guys, locker rooms?
Both of the crew turn to look at OâNeill, they almost look nervous, one of them slowly raises an arm to point off to another corridor to the left. Neither man says a word though. Reaching them OâNeill looks at them both in turn, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Cheers guys, great talk!
Shaking his head, what is it with everyone today? He heads off in the direction the crewman is still pointing in. With OâNeill now heading away from them, the two look at each other and the one who didnât volunteer the direction makes a gesture of grimacing whilst pulling his finger across his throat. His friend nods in agreement.
We catch up to OâNeill, heâs stopped outside two doors on either side of the corridor. Neither door has a sign; he takes a few steps to the next set of doors, to find the same. Glancing up the corridor, there is no shortage of doors; none of them showing anything to suggest the purpose of the room behind though. OâNeill throws his travel bag to the floor, temper now getting the better of him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: For the love of fâŚ
He spots a young man coming down the corridor from the other direction, heâs not paying the slightest bit of attention to whatâs ahead, his head is buried in the stack of papers heâs carrying like the world depends on it. Giving the youngster a quick once over, OâNeill spots a lanyard hanging from his hip, branded with the PRIME logo. Bingo! The corridor isnât terribly wide, so this young lad will find the Irishman standing in his way will halt his progress. OâNeill waits impatiently, arms crossed and a look on his face that could strip paint. At the last moment, it becomes clear a collision is imminent as the lad has still to look up.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oi! Wanna watch where youâre going?
The young man comes to a jarring halt, mere inches from OâNeill. Sheepishly he looks up at OâNeill and gapes at him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: How hard is it for you morons to put up some signage? Where are the locker rooms in this place?
In place of a reply, the young man just continues to stare at OâNeill. His eyes widen as he takes in the hostility aimed in his direction. He looks like heâs trying to say something, but the only sound that escapes his open mouth is a collection of Uhs, Ahs and Ums. OâNeill isnât known for his patience at the best of times, right now, heâs not having the best of times.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: DO YOU, OR DO YOU NOT, WORK. FOR. PRIME?
The young man slowly nods his head, but still doesnât speak.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: WELL THEN! WHERE DO I GET READY FOR MY MATCH TONIGHT?
Every passing second of silence is just further angering the Irishman. The youngster looks down at his papers, seemingly in hope of finding an answer there.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? Youâre the forth asshole whoâs looked at me like youâve seen a ghost! Iâm right here and Iâd really, REALLY, like to get ready for my match tonight, if thatâs not too much trouble. Or perhaps youâd like to explain to Troy why Iâm wrestling in jeans and skate shoes tonight? Assuming that is, that I can even find the god-damned ring since THERE ARE NO SIGNS UP ANYWHERE!
Rifling through his papers the young man pulls out a sheet that reads âMale Locker Roomâ and quickly attaches it to the door to his right. He looks back at OâNeill, half apologetically, half⌠what is that look? Pity? Since words seem to be too much to ask for, OâNeill glares at the lad, once again shaking his head in disbelief.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: THANK YOU! Now care to explain why the hell everyone is looking at me like Iâm the walking dead today?
His hand trembling, the young man points in OâNeillâs direction. OâNeill points at himself questioningly but no sooner has he done so, the lad shakes his head and continues to point at OâNeill. No, not at OâNeill, behind him!
His patience well and truly gone, OâNeill spins around, to see a chest, a very large chest. Grimacing, he closes his eyes for a split second and audibly takes a deep breath, before looking up into the face of the hulking figure of his opponent, of The Murder Show. The face of Hessian. The sound of rushing footsteps lets him know the young lad has wasted no time in fleeing the scene. Where mere seconds ago, OâNeillâs face was red with anger, itâs now white as a sheet.
Hessian: Whatâs all the fuss, chief?
The giant is clad in a black knitted beanie pulled low to his brow-line, dark grey sweatshirt with its hood pulled up covering most of his features, navy thermal work pants and tan construction boots. A large heavy looking duffel bag is casually slung over his shoulder. He regards OâNeill absent-mindedly for a moment, shifting his gaze to the newly christened Male Locker Room then past him to the hall beyond and back to OâNeill again. He thinks about asking âyou talent?â when it suddenly clicks and his lips begin to turn up at the corners.
Hessian: Hey, we doing business tonight? SeĂĄn OâNeill, right? Nameâs Hessian.
The Irishman stiffens as The Murder Show adjusts the duffel bag and presents his free arm, relaxing as Hessian extends an open hand, seemingly dormant. SeĂĄn reciprocates cautiously, holding the giantâs gaze, he winces in anticipation of having his arm ripped from its socket. OâNeill responds in a flat tone, with none of the confidence of his rant of a few moments before.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Aye, thatâs me. Know who you are of course, reckon everyone does. Itâs a pleasure.
They relinquish their grip of the handshake and give a curt nod each.
Hessian: You throw me around like you did Mar and Williams Iâm sure the pleasure will be all yours.
OâNeill lets out a feeble bark of a laugh, taking the comment as a joke.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oh aye? Fair to say your arse will take some shifting. Youâre looking well, mind.
Hessian: Tell me again after the match. Iâm sure youâll let me know if you catch me slipping, take care I donât catch you back.
The Irishman makes for the door, careful not to let his demeanour slip.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Iâll be sure of it. Gonna head on in here, all the best.
Hessian: All the best indeed. Nice meeting you SeĂĄn.
With no blood in the water yet, The Murder Show gives another nod and carries off in the direction of his dressing room. A few seconds later, part of OâNeillâs head slowly peaks back around the frame of the locker room door, eyes shifting up and down, taking in once more the sheer size of the behemoth heâd have to wrestle tonight. He whispers to himself.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Maybe itâs time I started praying!
We cut to ringside.
We cut to backstage, where we find SeĂĄn OâNeill. It looks like heâs just arrived, his travel bag is slung over his left shoulder. Heâs wearing loose black jeans, a pair of DC shoes and a Maple Leafs jersey, the microphones inside the arena pick up the jeers of the fans seeing this on the big screen. Why would he wear that, of all things here in the home of the Sabres? Looking a little lost, OâNeill makes for one of the backstage crew. Before he reaches her, she glances up, giving him a look that says âsorryâ and scuttles off.
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, OâNeill shakes his head and starts walking back in the direction heâd originally been going. Spotting two more crew members chatting further up the corridor he shouts out to them.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Help me out guys, locker rooms?
Both of the crew turn to look at OâNeill, they almost look nervous, one of them slowly raises an arm to point off to another corridor to the left. Neither man says a word though. Reaching them OâNeill looks at them both in turn, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Cheers guys, great talk!
Shaking his head, what is it with everyone today? He heads off in the direction the crewman is still pointing in. With OâNeill now heading away from them, the two look at each other and the one who didnât volunteer the direction makes a gesture of grimacing whilst pulling his finger across his throat. His friend nods in agreement.
We catch up to OâNeill, heâs stopped outside two doors on either side of the corridor. Neither door has a sign; he takes a few steps to the next set of doors, to find the same. Glancing up the corridor, there is no shortage of doors; none of them showing anything to suggest the purpose of the room behind though. OâNeill throws his travel bag to the floor, temper now getting the better of him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: For the love of fâŚ
He spots a young man coming down the corridor from the other direction, heâs not paying the slightest bit of attention to whatâs ahead, his head is buried in the stack of papers heâs carrying like the world depends on it. Giving the youngster a quick once over, OâNeill spots a lanyard hanging from his hip, branded with the PRIME logo. Bingo! The corridor isnât terribly wide, so this young lad will find the Irishman standing in his way will halt his progress. OâNeill waits impatiently, arms crossed and a look on his face that could strip paint. At the last moment, it becomes clear a collision is imminent as the lad has still to look up.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oi! Wanna watch where youâre going?
The young man comes to a jarring halt, mere inches from OâNeill. Sheepishly he looks up at OâNeill and gapes at him.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: How hard is it for you morons to put up some signage? Where are the locker rooms in this place?
In place of a reply, the young man just continues to stare at OâNeill. His eyes widen as he takes in the hostility aimed in his direction. He looks like heâs trying to say something, but the only sound that escapes his open mouth is a collection of Uhs, Ahs and Ums. OâNeill isnât known for his patience at the best of times, right now, heâs not having the best of times.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: DO YOU, OR DO YOU NOT, WORK. FOR. PRIME?
The young man slowly nods his head, but still doesnât speak.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: WELL THEN! WHERE DO I GET READY FOR MY MATCH TONIGHT?
Every passing second of silence is just further angering the Irishman. The youngster looks down at his papers, seemingly in hope of finding an answer there.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? Youâre the forth asshole whoâs looked at me like youâve seen a ghost! Iâm right here and Iâd really, REALLY, like to get ready for my match tonight, if thatâs not too much trouble. Or perhaps youâd like to explain to Troy why Iâm wrestling in jeans and skate shoes tonight? Assuming that is, that I can even find the god-damned ring since THERE ARE NO SIGNS UP ANYWHERE!
Rifling through his papers the young man pulls out a sheet that reads âMale Locker Roomâ and quickly attaches it to the door to his right. He looks back at OâNeill, half apologetically, half⌠what is that look? Pity? Since words seem to be too much to ask for, OâNeill glares at the lad, once again shaking his head in disbelief.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: THANK YOU! Now care to explain why the hell everyone is looking at me like Iâm the walking dead today?
His hand trembling, the young man points in OâNeillâs direction. OâNeill points at himself questioningly but no sooner has he done so, the lad shakes his head and continues to point at OâNeill. No, not at OâNeill, behind him!
His patience well and truly gone, OâNeill spins around, to see a chest, a very large chest. Grimacing, he closes his eyes for a split second and audibly takes a deep breath, before looking up into the face of the hulking figure of his opponent, of The Murder Show. The face of Hessian. The sound of rushing footsteps lets him know the young lad has wasted no time in fleeing the scene. Where mere seconds ago, OâNeillâs face was red with anger, itâs now white as a sheet.
Hessian: Whatâs all the fuss, chief?
The giant is clad in a black knitted beanie pulled low to his brow-line, dark grey sweatshirt with its hood pulled up covering most of his features, navy thermal work pants and tan construction boots. A large heavy looking duffel bag is casually slung over his shoulder. He regards OâNeill absent-mindedly for a moment, shifting his gaze to the newly christened Male Locker Room then past him to the hall beyond and back to OâNeill again. He thinks about asking âyou talent?â when it suddenly clicks and his lips begin to turn up at the corners.
Hessian: Hey, we doing business tonight? SeĂĄn OâNeill, right? Nameâs Hessian.
The Irishman stiffens as The Murder Show adjusts the duffel bag and presents his free arm, relaxing as Hessian extends an open hand, seemingly dormant. SeĂĄn reciprocates cautiously, holding the giantâs gaze, he winces in anticipation of having his arm ripped from its socket. OâNeill responds in a flat tone, with none of the confidence of his rant of a few moments before.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Aye, thatâs me. Know who you are of course, reckon everyone does. Itâs a pleasure.
They relinquish their grip of the handshake and give a curt nod each.
Hessian: You throw me around like you did Mar and Williams Iâm sure the pleasure will be all yours.
OâNeill lets out a feeble bark of a laugh, taking the comment as a joke.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Oh aye? Fair to say your arse will take some shifting. Youâre looking well, mind.
Hessian: Tell me again after the match. Iâm sure youâll let me know if you catch me slipping, take care I donât catch you back.
The Irishman makes for the door, careful not to let his demeanour slip.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Iâll be sure of it. Gonna head on in here, all the best.
Hessian: All the best indeed. Nice meeting you SeĂĄn.
With no blood in the water yet, The Murder Show gives another nod and carries off in the direction of his dressing room. A few seconds later, part of OâNeillâs head slowly peaks back around the frame of the locker room door, eyes shifting up and down, taking in once more the sheer size of the behemoth heâd have to wrestle tonight. He whispers to himself.
SeĂĄn OâNeill: Maybe itâs time I started praying!
We cut to ringside.
Scene cuts back to the ring at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY, just as the lights turn a customary crimson color.
Nick Stuart: Weâre back at you here folks, right at ringside at the Keybank Arena, and if you canât tell already by the color of the lights, it can mean only one thing.
Richard Parker: Well, Christmas just passed and Valentineâs Day is still a few weeks off⌠so it must mean The Red Army!
But thereâs no fanfare and joyous all-male chorus. Instead, thereâs electric guitars and heavy metal.
Taste the waste
Of our neon disgrace
Deformed children made from corporate gods grace
Better wear your mask because
The air melts your face
No one wins in this human race
Yellow lights flash in time to the downbeat of âSlum Planetâ by 3Teeth and Mick Gordon booms and pyro explodes around the entryway. From behind the smoke stalks Arthur Pleasant, with Alexei Ruslan a step behind him.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and has a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, from under the midnight sun in Utqiâ Utq⌠from Alaska, he stands 6â3â tall and weighs in at 225 lbs: PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare! Arrthurrrrr Pleaaasant!!!
Pleasant grins from ear to ear while Ruslan points at the crowd and yells at them. He leaps up onto the apron and places his foot on the middle rope, letting Arthur in and then hops down to ringside. Pleasant bounces off the ropes once and rolls his shoulders while he gazes at the entryway and bares his teeth. Vince Howard takes a few steps to the side. As the music subsides, Howard continues.
Vince Howard: Introducing secondâŚ
The opening riff of âMan in the Boxâ by Alice and Chains rips through the arena. Fire lights up along the entrance ramp as Rob Williams steps out from behind the curtains.
Iâm the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Wonât you come and save me?
Save me
Vince Howard: From Decatur, Georgia, he stands 6â2â tall and weighs in at 240 lbs. âThe Legendâ Rob Williams!!!!
Robâs head hangs down, hair in his eyes as he slowly walks down the ramp, not making eye contact with any of the fans. Behind him, Lem Hawthorne, who had recently competed in the Belmont, along with six other folks who could only be described as hippies follow behind him.
Richard Parker: Is Rob Williams trying to think heâs a bigger legend than Robin Williams?
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: And are those folks supposed to be with him, or are they thinking heâs Sage Pontiff? Bunchâa hippiesâŚ.
Hawthorne and the others congregate in one corner at ringside and watch while Rob climbs into the ring just as the vocals hit âIâm the dog who gets beatâ and stares across the ring at Pleasant. While Williams is almost completely vacant in his countenance, Pleasant is animated and erratic.
Howard makes his way out of the ring as the bell rings.
Nick Stuart: Here we go folks!
Williams finally looks over at Pleasant, who gnashes his teeth in his direction, and before anything else Rob steps to the middle of the ring and offers his hand. Pleasant pauses for a moment and looks down at the hand for a moment and tilts his head to the side, considering it.
Nick Stuart: I donât know if Iâd ever want to shake Arthur Pleasantâs hand. Iâd be afraid heâd try to bite it off.
Richard Parker: Thatâs the thing with all you people, you never give him a chance.
Surprisingly, Pleasant nods and he takes the hand and shakes it onceâŚ
Nick Stuart: Wow, maybe youâre onto something there, Richard!
Richard Parker: Of course I am!
âŚand then grabs Williamsâ forearm and lifts his arm up, and indeed bites straight down on his arm! Williams roars with frustration as the camera cuts to Stuart, who stares at Parker.
Nick Stuart: You were saying?
Richard Parker: Letâs get back to the action!
Williams grabs Pleasant by the hair and wrenches his head away, sending flecks of blood flying into the air while Pleasant screams with glee. Referee Johnny Turnbull blanches as he watches, but the randomness of the beginning of the match has him off balance. Still, the action continues.
Williams wraps Pleasant up into a side headlock and wrenches it on. He leans his head down and is clearly talking to Arthur, before sending him into the ropes. Pleasant comes back with a shoulder charge. He hits Williams, but Robâs lower center of gravity and extra weight instead knocks Pleasant down. Ruslan screams from ringside and pantomimes a hair pull. Turnbull ignores him.
Pleasant scrambles up to his feet and bounces off the ropes again. Williams swings for a lariat, but Pleasant slides between his feet and pops up behind him. He grabs Williams by the shoulders and knees him hard in the center of his back. Williams bounces chest first the ropes, back against Pleasant. Pleasant hooks him around the waist and throws a forearm back into Williamsâ back. Williams twists and manages to hip toss Pleasant to the mat. Pleasant rolls back up to his feet and the two circle again.
Nick Stuart: Action hot and heavy here in the beginning moments of this match. Both men are about the same height and about the same weight, though I donât know if youâd say theyâre the same sanity.
Williams calls out to Pleasant, offering his hand again to him. Pleasant shakes his head and slaps the hand away, and slaps Williams across the side of the face. Williams returns with a close fist. Turnbull admonishes Williams. Pleasant with a closed fist. Turnbull admonishes Pleasant. Fist. Fist. Fist. The two men just start wailing on each other in the center of the ring.
Richard Parker: Johnny Turnbull seems a little bit out of his depth here.
Williams has a bit more mustard behind his punches, but a blatant eye gouge by Arthur kills any momentum. He sends Williams into the ropes and lifts him up into the air on the rebound, walks backwards, and drops him into a stun gun across the ropes. Williams bounces up, lands on his feet, and falls onto his back. Pleasant drops a quick elbow and covers Williams.
Turnbull in position.
1âŚ.
Kickout by Williams!
Williams surges and rises just as quickly as Pleasant and positively levels him with a lariat. Pleasant does a 360 in mid air and falls onto his back, still trying to figure out how he got in this position. Williams bounces off the ropesâŚ
Nick Stuart: Williams with a surge of energy!
âŚand falls flat on his face.
Nick Stuart: What?!
Eagle-eyed fans would have seen just what happened. While Ruslan stood with his back to the ring, he reached back and tripped Williams. Meanwhile, Turnbull was too busy checking on Pleasant.
Nick Stuart: Now câmon, everyone should know that Alexei Ruslan has no business being at ringside.
Richard Parker: My monitor went out, what did I miss?
Nick Stuart: The action is right in front of your face, Richard!!
Richard Parker: I lost a contact at the same time!
Pleasant moves to Williams and smirks down at Ruslan, who nods. He drags him up by the hair, but The Legend shoves up hard and slams the top of his head into the nose of PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare.
Richard Parker: Well, guess weâre thinking red!
Indeed, a gout of crimson flies out of Pleasantâs nose and rains down upon the two men and the mat. Pleasant grabs his nose and stumbles backwards, eyes watering and blood oozing between his fingers.
Nick Stuart: This is one sick puppy.
Pleasant smiles. Williams yells at him again and offers his hand once more, only for Pleasant to charge Williams. Itâs not pretty, but the two men stumble through the middle ropes and roll off the apron onto the floor. The two begin to brawl violently outside.
Pleasant mounts Williams and rains palm strikes down at him, busting open his lip and opening a gash on the side of his forehead. Williams shoves him up and off of him. Pleasant laughs and turns in a circle on his heel, before charging Williams again. This time, Williams slides to the side and shoves Pleasant past him. Arthur charges straight into the ring steps and sends them scattering, while also flying over them and driving his shoulder hard into the barricade!
Johnny Turnbull is already at 3 with his count.
4âŚ.
âŚ.5âŚ.
Williams roars as he kicks the ring steps out of the way and stalks around the ring towards Pleasant. Arthur isnât laughing now while Williams lifts him up and scoop slams him onto one half of the ring steps with a sickening crunch. Pleasant lets out a roaring laugh that is clouded with pain. Williams stands over him and points down at him, yelling loud enough that we can hear him.
Rob Williams: RENOUNCE YOUR LABELS!!
Pleasant roars back.
Arthur Pleasant: !&@# YOU!!
Rob shakes his head and drags Pleasant up, but Arthur knocks his hands out of the way and spits blood in his face.
6âŚ.
âŚ.7âŚ..
On the other side of the ring, Ruslan hops up onto the apron and yells at Turnbull, stopping the count and also dragging his attention away.
Williams paws at the fresh blood in his face while Pleasant grabs him by the head and slams it against the ring post.
CLANG!!!
OHHHHHH!!!!
Pleasant looms over Williams and laughs. While Ruslan keeps Turnbull busy, he hefts up one of the ring steps, favoring his shoulder slightly and sends it crashing down across Robâs body with sickening crunch. He leaves it over his body and axehandles the top of the steps, uncaring of the damage he might do to his own hands, and Williams lets out a painful roar in pain. Arthur then kicks the steps off of Williams.
Turnbull tries to turn around, but Ruslan grabs his shirt and yells at him in Russian. Johnny doesnât speak Russian, but Ruslan wonât let him go.
On the far side of the ring, outside, both men are bleeding heavily. Pleasant picks up Williams and grabs him from behind, looking for a German suplex. Williams has the wherewithal to know where he is, however, and he reaches out and grabs the ring post that just bloodied him, stopping the momentum. A mule kick later knocks Pleasant back and doubles him over. Williams takes a moment to pull himself together, seeing the blood splatter on the ring post. He brings his hand to his forehead and pulls his hand back, realizing how busted open he is. He turns and catches Pleasant in a swinging neckbreaker. Both men are on their backs.
Turnbull has finally extricated himself from Ruslan. He rushes over to the other side of the ring and sees both men in far bloodier fashion than before. Blood drains down their faces and onto their chests, and Turnbullâs own face loses color. For a moment, heâs not sure what to do.
Nate Stuart: I donât think Johnny Turnbull expected all of this. I donât think any of us did.
Richard Parker: Heâs a junior ref⌠but this type of match⌠I donât know manâŚ
Unable to remember where he left off, Turnbull does what every referee learns in referee school. âIf you forget where you stopped, start from 1 again.â
1âŚ.
Both men slowly roll over onto their hands and knees, they lock up on their knees and punch each other, using each otherâs weight to keep themselves upright until theyâre both standing. Williams is talking to Pleasant again while theyâre this close, but obviously Arthur isnât quite in the mood for a chat. Williams hits Pleasant with knee to the midsection and doubles him over. He hooks the back of Pleasantâs pants and rolls him back into the ring and climbs to the apron. As Arthur stands in the ring, Williams shoulders him through the ropes, and then springs into a sunset flip. He springs over Pleasant and rolls him up.
1⌠2âŚ.
Pleasant instinctively slams his feet against the side of Williamsâ head and breaks the pin. Pleasant stands up, jawing angrily at Williams. Blood pours out of his nose, down onto his chest, and stains the mat while Williams rolls over and presses his busted open forehead against the mat, drawing a long red stain against the canvas. Turnbull looks a bit out of his element as he considers stopping the match.
Pleasant points at him, as if reading his mind.
Arthur Pleasant: DONâT YOU DARE!!
Pleasant lifts Williams and sends him into the corner with authority. The Legend bounces out into Pleasantâs waiting arms. He grabs him and -gnaws- on his forehead, digging his sharpened teeth into the already open wound. Williams howls and hooks Pleasant in his arms and lifts him in a very sloppy belly to belly suplex and dumps him more to the side.
Williams makes the cover, but once again, Ruslan is up on the apron distracting Turnbull. Williams stands up. If he thinks he can get through to Pleasant, he knows heâll never get through to the old Russian. With blood reflecting light all over his grizzled face, he shoves Turnbull to the side and grabs Ruslan by the coat.
Love him or hate him, the crowd cheers for Rob Williams. The Legend delivers a jaw-jacking uppercut that sends Ruslanâs hat into orbit and the Russian agent lifts two feet off the apron and lands in a heap with hammers and sickles circling his head.
Nick Stuart: Finally!
Richard Parker: He should be disqualified, that is ridiculous!!
Nick Stuart: Do you even listen to yourself?!
Richard Parker: As a matter of fact, I sometimes listen to myself on homemade ASMR tapes.
Pleasant stands, but doesnât seem to be very affected by what has happened to Ruslan. Back where they started, the two men lock up once more. Williams twists Pleasantâs arm into an arm wringer. Once more, it seems like Rob Williams is just as invested in getting through to Arthur Pleasant as he is about winning this match. He yells at him now, imploring with him. Pleasant shakes his head and becomes more enraged.
Pleasant rolls forward into a front flip, reversing the wringer, and sends Williams down to the mat. He holds onto his wrist and drops a leg across it. Rather than pin him, he mounts him and grabs his bloody face and digs both of his fingers into Williamsâ eyes. Turnbull counts.
1âŚ2..3..
He never gets to five, though, when Williams grabs Pleasantâs forearms and jerks him to the side. Arthurâs hands slide along the blood along Williamsâ face and he rolls off of him. Williams is on him, clubbing him over the back, then hooking him and lifting him into a thunderous gutwrench suplex that flexes the entire canvas. Pin by Williams! Turnbull slides into position!
1⌠2âŚ
Shoulder up by Pleasant!
Williams drags Pleasant up again. He belts him in the stomach and sets him up for a piledriver. He pulls up on him, but Pleasant grabs his ankles and trips him up. He jumps and slams his heel directly into Williamâs abdomen, dreadfully close to being illegal.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Iâve seen a single submission moveâŚ
Richard Parker: You say this as if youâre surprised.
Pleasant drags Williams up, but the match has taken a toll on both men. Johnny Turnbull stares in a bit of stunned shock, there are red splotches on the mat, blood smears his uniform, and both men are covered in each otherâs blood. Pleasant sends Williams into the ropes and rushes off to the other side, they both rebound and clothesline each other, landing hard in the ring. Turnbull stands there and looks down at them.
1âŚ.
âŚ.2âŚ..
âŚâŚ..3âŚâŚ
âŚâŚâŚâŚ4âŚâŚ
Pleasant rolls over.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..5âŚâŚâŚâŚ
Williams blinks his eyes open and sits up slowly.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.6âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..7âŚ..
Both men drag themselves up to their feet, in the middle of the ring, wavering and wobbling. Pleasant punches Williams. Williams returns with his own punch. Both men are holding each otherâs shoulder with a free hand as they slowly wail on each other.
Right by Pleasant.
Return by Williams.
Another hard right by Pleasant.
A stiff followup by Williams.
One more palm strike by Pleasant.
Williams responds with one more quick and seamlessly he snaps Pleasant into Old Time Rock and Roll!
Nick Stuart: Old Time Rock and Roll!! Can Williams capitalize?!
Williams lies on the mat for a moment next to Pleasant, and then rolls over and drapes an arm.
Turnbull drops to his hands and knees, careful not to slap a portion of the mat that has blood.
1âŚ.2âŚ3!!!
Vince Howard: Your winner, The Legend, ROOOOBBBBB WILLLLIAMMMSS!!!
Nick Stuart: Thank goodness that is over. That was NOT what I expected.
Richard Parker: I think that was less of a wrestling match and more aâŚ. I donât know what youâd call it. A brawl? A battle? Yeesh.
Johnny Turnbull looks almost relieved that what just happened is over.
Williams rolls off of Pleasant and lays on his back for a moment. Then, he drags himself up to a kneeling position and looks down at Pleasant with a look of almost remorse. He shakes his head and speaks to him quietly, before slowly dragging himself up to his feet. Lem and the rest of Williamsâ entourage cheer happily.
Nick Stuart: Folks, itâs gonna take some time to clean up the ring, so letâs get to a commercial. But donât go anywhere! We still have the returning Hessian against SeĂĄn OâNeill and then the Intense Title Barbed Wire Ropes Match: Max Kael vs. Paxton Ray.
Richard Parker: Might not be worth cleaning up the ring with those two matches on the list!
Nick Stuart: Weâll be right back!
Scene cuts back to the ring at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY, just as the lights turn a customary crimson color.
Nick Stuart: Weâre back at you here folks, right at ringside at the Keybank Arena, and if you canât tell already by the color of the lights, it can mean only one thing.
Richard Parker: Well, Christmas just passed and Valentineâs Day is still a few weeks off⌠so it must mean The Red Army!
But thereâs no fanfare and joyous all-male chorus. Instead, thereâs electric guitars and heavy metal.
Taste the waste
Of our neon disgrace
Deformed children made from corporate gods grace
Better wear your mask because
The air melts your face
No one wins in this human race
Yellow lights flash in time to the downbeat of âSlum Planetâ by 3Teeth and Mick Gordon booms and pyro explodes around the entryway. From behind the smoke stalks Arthur Pleasant, with Alexei Ruslan a step behind him.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and has a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, from under the midnight sun in Utqiâ Utq⌠from Alaska, he stands 6â3â tall and weighs in at 225 lbs: PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare! Arrthurrrrr Pleaaasant!!!
Pleasant grins from ear to ear while Ruslan points at the crowd and yells at them. He leaps up onto the apron and places his foot on the middle rope, letting Arthur in and then hops down to ringside. Pleasant bounces off the ropes once and rolls his shoulders while he gazes at the entryway and bares his teeth. Vince Howard takes a few steps to the side. As the music subsides, Howard continues.
Vince Howard: Introducing secondâŚ
The opening riff of âMan in the Boxâ by Alice and Chains rips through the arena. Fire lights up along the entrance ramp as Rob Williams steps out from behind the curtains.
Iâm the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Wonât you come and save me?
Save me
Vince Howard: From Decatur, Georgia, he stands 6â2â tall and weighs in at 240 lbs. âThe Legendâ Rob Williams!!!!
Robâs head hangs down, hair in his eyes as he slowly walks down the ramp, not making eye contact with any of the fans. Behind him, Lem Hawthorne, who had recently competed in the Belmont, along with six other folks who could only be described as hippies follow behind him.
Richard Parker: Is Rob Williams trying to think heâs a bigger legend than Robin Williams?
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: And are those folks supposed to be with him, or are they thinking heâs Sage Pontiff? Bunchâa hippiesâŚ.
Hawthorne and the others congregate in one corner at ringside and watch while Rob climbs into the ring just as the vocals hit âIâm the dog who gets beatâ and stares across the ring at Pleasant. While Williams is almost completely vacant in his countenance, Pleasant is animated and erratic.
Howard makes his way out of the ring as the bell rings.
Nick Stuart: Here we go folks!
Williams finally looks over at Pleasant, who gnashes his teeth in his direction, and before anything else Rob steps to the middle of the ring and offers his hand. Pleasant pauses for a moment and looks down at the hand for a moment and tilts his head to the side, considering it.
Nick Stuart: I donât know if Iâd ever want to shake Arthur Pleasantâs hand. Iâd be afraid heâd try to bite it off.
Richard Parker: Thatâs the thing with all you people, you never give him a chance.
Surprisingly, Pleasant nods and he takes the hand and shakes it onceâŚ
Nick Stuart: Wow, maybe youâre onto something there, Richard!
Richard Parker: Of course I am!
âŚand then grabs Williamsâ forearm and lifts his arm up, and indeed bites straight down on his arm! Williams roars with frustration as the camera cuts to Stuart, who stares at Parker.
Nick Stuart: You were saying?
Richard Parker: Letâs get back to the action!
Williams grabs Pleasant by the hair and wrenches his head away, sending flecks of blood flying into the air while Pleasant screams with glee. Referee Johnny Turnbull blanches as he watches, but the randomness of the beginning of the match has him off balance. Still, the action continues.
Williams wraps Pleasant up into a side headlock and wrenches it on. He leans his head down and is clearly talking to Arthur, before sending him into the ropes. Pleasant comes back with a shoulder charge. He hits Williams, but Robâs lower center of gravity and extra weight instead knocks Pleasant down. Ruslan screams from ringside and pantomimes a hair pull. Turnbull ignores him.
Pleasant scrambles up to his feet and bounces off the ropes again. Williams swings for a lariat, but Pleasant slides between his feet and pops up behind him. He grabs Williams by the shoulders and knees him hard in the center of his back. Williams bounces chest first the ropes, back against Pleasant. Pleasant hooks him around the waist and throws a forearm back into Williamsâ back. Williams twists and manages to hip toss Pleasant to the mat. Pleasant rolls back up to his feet and the two circle again.
Nick Stuart: Action hot and heavy here in the beginning moments of this match. Both men are about the same height and about the same weight, though I donât know if youâd say theyâre the same sanity.
Williams calls out to Pleasant, offering his hand again to him. Pleasant shakes his head and slaps the hand away, and slaps Williams across the side of the face. Williams returns with a close fist. Turnbull admonishes Williams. Pleasant with a closed fist. Turnbull admonishes Pleasant. Fist. Fist. Fist. The two men just start wailing on each other in the center of the ring.
Richard Parker: Johnny Turnbull seems a little bit out of his depth here.
Williams has a bit more mustard behind his punches, but a blatant eye gouge by Arthur kills any momentum. He sends Williams into the ropes and lifts him up into the air on the rebound, walks backwards, and drops him into a stun gun across the ropes. Williams bounces up, lands on his feet, and falls onto his back. Pleasant drops a quick elbow and covers Williams.
Turnbull in position.
1âŚ.
Kickout by Williams!
Williams surges and rises just as quickly as Pleasant and positively levels him with a lariat. Pleasant does a 360 in mid air and falls onto his back, still trying to figure out how he got in this position. Williams bounces off the ropesâŚ
Nick Stuart: Williams with a surge of energy!
âŚand falls flat on his face.
Nick Stuart: What?!
Eagle-eyed fans would have seen just what happened. While Ruslan stood with his back to the ring, he reached back and tripped Williams. Meanwhile, Turnbull was too busy checking on Pleasant.
Nick Stuart: Now câmon, everyone should know that Alexei Ruslan has no business being at ringside.
Richard Parker: My monitor went out, what did I miss?
Nick Stuart: The action is right in front of your face, Richard!!
Richard Parker: I lost a contact at the same time!
Pleasant moves to Williams and smirks down at Ruslan, who nods. He drags him up by the hair, but The Legend shoves up hard and slams the top of his head into the nose of PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare.
Richard Parker: Well, guess weâre thinking red!
Indeed, a gout of crimson flies out of Pleasantâs nose and rains down upon the two men and the mat. Pleasant grabs his nose and stumbles backwards, eyes watering and blood oozing between his fingers.
Nick Stuart: This is one sick puppy.
Pleasant smiles. Williams yells at him again and offers his hand once more, only for Pleasant to charge Williams. Itâs not pretty, but the two men stumble through the middle ropes and roll off the apron onto the floor. The two begin to brawl violently outside.
Pleasant mounts Williams and rains palm strikes down at him, busting open his lip and opening a gash on the side of his forehead. Williams shoves him up and off of him. Pleasant laughs and turns in a circle on his heel, before charging Williams again. This time, Williams slides to the side and shoves Pleasant past him. Arthur charges straight into the ring steps and sends them scattering, while also flying over them and driving his shoulder hard into the barricade!
Johnny Turnbull is already at 3 with his count.
4âŚ.
âŚ.5âŚ.
Williams roars as he kicks the ring steps out of the way and stalks around the ring towards Pleasant. Arthur isnât laughing now while Williams lifts him up and scoop slams him onto one half of the ring steps with a sickening crunch. Pleasant lets out a roaring laugh that is clouded with pain. Williams stands over him and points down at him, yelling loud enough that we can hear him.
Rob Williams: RENOUNCE YOUR LABELS!!
Pleasant roars back.
Arthur Pleasant: !&@# YOU!!
Rob shakes his head and drags Pleasant up, but Arthur knocks his hands out of the way and spits blood in his face.
6âŚ.
âŚ.7âŚ..
On the other side of the ring, Ruslan hops up onto the apron and yells at Turnbull, stopping the count and also dragging his attention away.
Williams paws at the fresh blood in his face while Pleasant grabs him by the head and slams it against the ring post.
CLANG!!!
OHHHHHH!!!!
Pleasant looms over Williams and laughs. While Ruslan keeps Turnbull busy, he hefts up one of the ring steps, favoring his shoulder slightly and sends it crashing down across Robâs body with sickening crunch. He leaves it over his body and axehandles the top of the steps, uncaring of the damage he might do to his own hands, and Williams lets out a painful roar in pain. Arthur then kicks the steps off of Williams.
Turnbull tries to turn around, but Ruslan grabs his shirt and yells at him in Russian. Johnny doesnât speak Russian, but Ruslan wonât let him go.
On the far side of the ring, outside, both men are bleeding heavily. Pleasant picks up Williams and grabs him from behind, looking for a German suplex. Williams has the wherewithal to know where he is, however, and he reaches out and grabs the ring post that just bloodied him, stopping the momentum. A mule kick later knocks Pleasant back and doubles him over. Williams takes a moment to pull himself together, seeing the blood splatter on the ring post. He brings his hand to his forehead and pulls his hand back, realizing how busted open he is. He turns and catches Pleasant in a swinging neckbreaker. Both men are on their backs.
Turnbull has finally extricated himself from Ruslan. He rushes over to the other side of the ring and sees both men in far bloodier fashion than before. Blood drains down their faces and onto their chests, and Turnbullâs own face loses color. For a moment, heâs not sure what to do.
Nate Stuart: I donât think Johnny Turnbull expected all of this. I donât think any of us did.
Richard Parker: Heâs a junior ref⌠but this type of match⌠I donât know manâŚ
Unable to remember where he left off, Turnbull does what every referee learns in referee school. âIf you forget where you stopped, start from 1 again.â
1âŚ.
Both men slowly roll over onto their hands and knees, they lock up on their knees and punch each other, using each otherâs weight to keep themselves upright until theyâre both standing. Williams is talking to Pleasant again while theyâre this close, but obviously Arthur isnât quite in the mood for a chat. Williams hits Pleasant with knee to the midsection and doubles him over. He hooks the back of Pleasantâs pants and rolls him back into the ring and climbs to the apron. As Arthur stands in the ring, Williams shoulders him through the ropes, and then springs into a sunset flip. He springs over Pleasant and rolls him up.
1⌠2âŚ.
Pleasant instinctively slams his feet against the side of Williamsâ head and breaks the pin. Pleasant stands up, jawing angrily at Williams. Blood pours out of his nose, down onto his chest, and stains the mat while Williams rolls over and presses his busted open forehead against the mat, drawing a long red stain against the canvas. Turnbull looks a bit out of his element as he considers stopping the match.
Pleasant points at him, as if reading his mind.
Arthur Pleasant: DONâT YOU DARE!!
Pleasant lifts Williams and sends him into the corner with authority. The Legend bounces out into Pleasantâs waiting arms. He grabs him and -gnaws- on his forehead, digging his sharpened teeth into the already open wound. Williams howls and hooks Pleasant in his arms and lifts him in a very sloppy belly to belly suplex and dumps him more to the side.
Williams makes the cover, but once again, Ruslan is up on the apron distracting Turnbull. Williams stands up. If he thinks he can get through to Pleasant, he knows heâll never get through to the old Russian. With blood reflecting light all over his grizzled face, he shoves Turnbull to the side and grabs Ruslan by the coat.
Love him or hate him, the crowd cheers for Rob Williams. The Legend delivers a jaw-jacking uppercut that sends Ruslanâs hat into orbit and the Russian agent lifts two feet off the apron and lands in a heap with hammers and sickles circling his head.
Nick Stuart: Finally!
Richard Parker: He should be disqualified, that is ridiculous!!
Nick Stuart: Do you even listen to yourself?!
Richard Parker: As a matter of fact, I sometimes listen to myself on homemade ASMR tapes.
Pleasant stands, but doesnât seem to be very affected by what has happened to Ruslan. Back where they started, the two men lock up once more. Williams twists Pleasantâs arm into an arm wringer. Once more, it seems like Rob Williams is just as invested in getting through to Arthur Pleasant as he is about winning this match. He yells at him now, imploring with him. Pleasant shakes his head and becomes more enraged.
Pleasant rolls forward into a front flip, reversing the wringer, and sends Williams down to the mat. He holds onto his wrist and drops a leg across it. Rather than pin him, he mounts him and grabs his bloody face and digs both of his fingers into Williamsâ eyes. Turnbull counts.
1âŚ2..3..
He never gets to five, though, when Williams grabs Pleasantâs forearms and jerks him to the side. Arthurâs hands slide along the blood along Williamsâ face and he rolls off of him. Williams is on him, clubbing him over the back, then hooking him and lifting him into a thunderous gutwrench suplex that flexes the entire canvas. Pin by Williams! Turnbull slides into position!
1⌠2âŚ
Shoulder up by Pleasant!
Williams drags Pleasant up again. He belts him in the stomach and sets him up for a piledriver. He pulls up on him, but Pleasant grabs his ankles and trips him up. He jumps and slams his heel directly into Williamâs abdomen, dreadfully close to being illegal.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Iâve seen a single submission moveâŚ
Richard Parker: You say this as if youâre surprised.
Pleasant drags Williams up, but the match has taken a toll on both men. Johnny Turnbull stares in a bit of stunned shock, there are red splotches on the mat, blood smears his uniform, and both men are covered in each otherâs blood. Pleasant sends Williams into the ropes and rushes off to the other side, they both rebound and clothesline each other, landing hard in the ring. Turnbull stands there and looks down at them.
1âŚ.
âŚ.2âŚ..
âŚâŚ..3âŚâŚ
âŚâŚâŚâŚ4âŚâŚ
Pleasant rolls over.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..5âŚâŚâŚâŚ
Williams blinks his eyes open and sits up slowly.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.6âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..7âŚ..
Both men drag themselves up to their feet, in the middle of the ring, wavering and wobbling. Pleasant punches Williams. Williams returns with his own punch. Both men are holding each otherâs shoulder with a free hand as they slowly wail on each other.
Right by Pleasant.
Return by Williams.
Another hard right by Pleasant.
A stiff followup by Williams.
One more palm strike by Pleasant.
Williams responds with one more quick and seamlessly he snaps Pleasant into Old Time Rock and Roll!
Nick Stuart: Old Time Rock and Roll!! Can Williams capitalize?!
Williams lies on the mat for a moment next to Pleasant, and then rolls over and drapes an arm.
Turnbull drops to his hands and knees, careful not to slap a portion of the mat that has blood.
1âŚ.2âŚ3!!!
Vince Howard: Your winner, The Legend, ROOOOBBBBB WILLLLIAMMMSS!!!
Nick Stuart: Thank goodness that is over. That was NOT what I expected.
Richard Parker: I think that was less of a wrestling match and more aâŚ. I donât know what youâd call it. A brawl? A battle? Yeesh.
Johnny Turnbull looks almost relieved that what just happened is over.
Williams rolls off of Pleasant and lays on his back for a moment. Then, he drags himself up to a kneeling position and looks down at Pleasant with a look of almost remorse. He shakes his head and speaks to him quietly, before slowly dragging himself up to his feet. Lem and the rest of Williamsâ entourage cheer happily.
Nick Stuart: Folks, itâs gonna take some time to clean up the ring, so letâs get to a commercial. But donât go anywhere! We still have the returning Hessian against SeĂĄn OâNeill and then the Intense Title Barbed Wire Ropes Match: Max Kael vs. Paxton Ray.
Richard Parker: Might not be worth cleaning up the ring with those two matches on the list!
Nick Stuart: Weâll be right back!
Scene cuts back to the ring at the KeyBank Arena in Buffalo, NY, just as the lights turn a customary crimson color.
Nick Stuart: Weâre back at you here folks, right at ringside at the Keybank Arena, and if you canât tell already by the color of the lights, it can mean only one thing.
Richard Parker: Well, Christmas just passed and Valentineâs Day is still a few weeks off⌠so it must mean The Red Army!
But thereâs no fanfare and joyous all-male chorus. Instead, thereâs electric guitars and heavy metal.
Taste the waste
Of our neon disgrace
Deformed children made from corporate gods grace
Better wear your mask because
The air melts your face
No one wins in this human race
Yellow lights flash in time to the downbeat of âSlum Planetâ by 3Teeth and Mick Gordon booms and pyro explodes around the entryway. From behind the smoke stalks Arthur Pleasant, with Alexei Ruslan a step behind him.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and has a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, from under the midnight sun in Utqiâ Utq⌠from Alaska, he stands 6â3â tall and weighs in at 225 lbs: PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare! Arrthurrrrr Pleaaasant!!!
Pleasant grins from ear to ear while Ruslan points at the crowd and yells at them. He leaps up onto the apron and places his foot on the middle rope, letting Arthur in and then hops down to ringside. Pleasant bounces off the ropes once and rolls his shoulders while he gazes at the entryway and bares his teeth. Vince Howard takes a few steps to the side. As the music subsides, Howard continues.
Vince Howard: Introducing secondâŚ
The opening riff of âMan in the Boxâ by Alice and Chains rips through the arena. Fire lights up along the entrance ramp as Rob Williams steps out from behind the curtains.
Iâm the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Wonât you come and save me?
Save me
Vince Howard: From Decatur, Georgia, he stands 6â2â tall and weighs in at 240 lbs. âThe Legendâ Rob Williams!!!!
Robâs head hangs down, hair in his eyes as he slowly walks down the ramp, not making eye contact with any of the fans. Behind him, Lem Hawthorne, who had recently competed in the Belmont, along with six other folks who could only be described as hippies follow behind him.
Richard Parker: Is Rob Williams trying to think heâs a bigger legend than Robin Williams?
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: And are those folks supposed to be with him, or are they thinking heâs Sage Pontiff? Bunchâa hippiesâŚ.
Hawthorne and the others congregate in one corner at ringside and watch while Rob climbs into the ring just as the vocals hit âIâm the dog who gets beatâ and stares across the ring at Pleasant. While Williams is almost completely vacant in his countenance, Pleasant is animated and erratic.
Howard makes his way out of the ring as the bell rings.
Nick Stuart: Here we go folks!
Williams finally looks over at Pleasant, who gnashes his teeth in his direction, and before anything else Rob steps to the middle of the ring and offers his hand. Pleasant pauses for a moment and looks down at the hand for a moment and tilts his head to the side, considering it.
Nick Stuart: I donât know if Iâd ever want to shake Arthur Pleasantâs hand. Iâd be afraid heâd try to bite it off.
Richard Parker: Thatâs the thing with all you people, you never give him a chance.
Surprisingly, Pleasant nods and he takes the hand and shakes it onceâŚ
Nick Stuart: Wow, maybe youâre onto something there, Richard!
Richard Parker: Of course I am!
âŚand then grabs Williamsâ forearm and lifts his arm up, and indeed bites straight down on his arm! Williams roars with frustration as the camera cuts to Stuart, who stares at Parker.
Nick Stuart: You were saying?
Richard Parker: Letâs get back to the action!
Williams grabs Pleasant by the hair and wrenches his head away, sending flecks of blood flying into the air while Pleasant screams with glee. Referee Johnny Turnbull blanches as he watches, but the randomness of the beginning of the match has him off balance. Still, the action continues.
Williams wraps Pleasant up into a side headlock and wrenches it on. He leans his head down and is clearly talking to Arthur, before sending him into the ropes. Pleasant comes back with a shoulder charge. He hits Williams, but Robâs lower center of gravity and extra weight instead knocks Pleasant down. Ruslan screams from ringside and pantomimes a hair pull. Turnbull ignores him.
Pleasant scrambles up to his feet and bounces off the ropes again. Williams swings for a lariat, but Pleasant slides between his feet and pops up behind him. He grabs Williams by the shoulders and knees him hard in the center of his back. Williams bounces chest first the ropes, back against Pleasant. Pleasant hooks him around the waist and throws a forearm back into Williamsâ back. Williams twists and manages to hip toss Pleasant to the mat. Pleasant rolls back up to his feet and the two circle again.
Nick Stuart: Action hot and heavy here in the beginning moments of this match. Both men are about the same height and about the same weight, though I donât know if youâd say theyâre the same sanity.
Williams calls out to Pleasant, offering his hand again to him. Pleasant shakes his head and slaps the hand away, and slaps Williams across the side of the face. Williams returns with a close fist. Turnbull admonishes Williams. Pleasant with a closed fist. Turnbull admonishes Pleasant. Fist. Fist. Fist. The two men just start wailing on each other in the center of the ring.
Richard Parker: Johnny Turnbull seems a little bit out of his depth here.
Williams has a bit more mustard behind his punches, but a blatant eye gouge by Arthur kills any momentum. He sends Williams into the ropes and lifts him up into the air on the rebound, walks backwards, and drops him into a stun gun across the ropes. Williams bounces up, lands on his feet, and falls onto his back. Pleasant drops a quick elbow and covers Williams.
Turnbull in position.
1âŚ.
Kickout by Williams!
Williams surges and rises just as quickly as Pleasant and positively levels him with a lariat. Pleasant does a 360 in mid air and falls onto his back, still trying to figure out how he got in this position. Williams bounces off the ropesâŚ
Nick Stuart: Williams with a surge of energy!
âŚand falls flat on his face.
Nick Stuart: What?!
Eagle-eyed fans would have seen just what happened. While Ruslan stood with his back to the ring, he reached back and tripped Williams. Meanwhile, Turnbull was too busy checking on Pleasant.
Nick Stuart: Now câmon, everyone should know that Alexei Ruslan has no business being at ringside.
Richard Parker: My monitor went out, what did I miss?
Nick Stuart: The action is right in front of your face, Richard!!
Richard Parker: I lost a contact at the same time!
Pleasant moves to Williams and smirks down at Ruslan, who nods. He drags him up by the hair, but The Legend shoves up hard and slams the top of his head into the nose of PRIMEâs Worst Nightmare.
Richard Parker: Well, guess weâre thinking red!
Indeed, a gout of crimson flies out of Pleasantâs nose and rains down upon the two men and the mat. Pleasant grabs his nose and stumbles backwards, eyes watering and blood oozing between his fingers.
Nick Stuart: This is one sick puppy.
Pleasant smiles. Williams yells at him again and offers his hand once more, only for Pleasant to charge Williams. Itâs not pretty, but the two men stumble through the middle ropes and roll off the apron onto the floor. The two begin to brawl violently outside.
Pleasant mounts Williams and rains palm strikes down at him, busting open his lip and opening a gash on the side of his forehead. Williams shoves him up and off of him. Pleasant laughs and turns in a circle on his heel, before charging Williams again. This time, Williams slides to the side and shoves Pleasant past him. Arthur charges straight into the ring steps and sends them scattering, while also flying over them and driving his shoulder hard into the barricade!
Johnny Turnbull is already at 3 with his count.
4âŚ.
âŚ.5âŚ.
Williams roars as he kicks the ring steps out of the way and stalks around the ring towards Pleasant. Arthur isnât laughing now while Williams lifts him up and scoop slams him onto one half of the ring steps with a sickening crunch. Pleasant lets out a roaring laugh that is clouded with pain. Williams stands over him and points down at him, yelling loud enough that we can hear him.
Rob Williams: RENOUNCE YOUR LABELS!!
Pleasant roars back.
Arthur Pleasant: !&@# YOU!!
Rob shakes his head and drags Pleasant up, but Arthur knocks his hands out of the way and spits blood in his face.
6âŚ.
âŚ.7âŚ..
On the other side of the ring, Ruslan hops up onto the apron and yells at Turnbull, stopping the count and also dragging his attention away.
Williams paws at the fresh blood in his face while Pleasant grabs him by the head and slams it against the ring post.
CLANG!!!
OHHHHHH!!!!
Pleasant looms over Williams and laughs. While Ruslan keeps Turnbull busy, he hefts up one of the ring steps, favoring his shoulder slightly and sends it crashing down across Robâs body with sickening crunch. He leaves it over his body and axehandles the top of the steps, uncaring of the damage he might do to his own hands, and Williams lets out a painful roar in pain. Arthur then kicks the steps off of Williams.
Turnbull tries to turn around, but Ruslan grabs his shirt and yells at him in Russian. Johnny doesnât speak Russian, but Ruslan wonât let him go.
On the far side of the ring, outside, both men are bleeding heavily. Pleasant picks up Williams and grabs him from behind, looking for a German suplex. Williams has the wherewithal to know where he is, however, and he reaches out and grabs the ring post that just bloodied him, stopping the momentum. A mule kick later knocks Pleasant back and doubles him over. Williams takes a moment to pull himself together, seeing the blood splatter on the ring post. He brings his hand to his forehead and pulls his hand back, realizing how busted open he is. He turns and catches Pleasant in a swinging neckbreaker. Both men are on their backs.
Turnbull has finally extricated himself from Ruslan. He rushes over to the other side of the ring and sees both men in far bloodier fashion than before. Blood drains down their faces and onto their chests, and Turnbullâs own face loses color. For a moment, heâs not sure what to do.
Nate Stuart: I donât think Johnny Turnbull expected all of this. I donât think any of us did.
Richard Parker: Heâs a junior ref⌠but this type of match⌠I donât know manâŚ
Unable to remember where he left off, Turnbull does what every referee learns in referee school. âIf you forget where you stopped, start from 1 again.â
1âŚ.
Both men slowly roll over onto their hands and knees, they lock up on their knees and punch each other, using each otherâs weight to keep themselves upright until theyâre both standing. Williams is talking to Pleasant again while theyâre this close, but obviously Arthur isnât quite in the mood for a chat. Williams hits Pleasant with knee to the midsection and doubles him over. He hooks the back of Pleasantâs pants and rolls him back into the ring and climbs to the apron. As Arthur stands in the ring, Williams shoulders him through the ropes, and then springs into a sunset flip. He springs over Pleasant and rolls him up.
1⌠2âŚ.
Pleasant instinctively slams his feet against the side of Williamsâ head and breaks the pin. Pleasant stands up, jawing angrily at Williams. Blood pours out of his nose, down onto his chest, and stains the mat while Williams rolls over and presses his busted open forehead against the mat, drawing a long red stain against the canvas. Turnbull looks a bit out of his element as he considers stopping the match.
Pleasant points at him, as if reading his mind.
Arthur Pleasant: DONâT YOU DARE!!
Pleasant lifts Williams and sends him into the corner with authority. The Legend bounces out into Pleasantâs waiting arms. He grabs him and -gnaws- on his forehead, digging his sharpened teeth into the already open wound. Williams howls and hooks Pleasant in his arms and lifts him in a very sloppy belly to belly suplex and dumps him more to the side.
Williams makes the cover, but once again, Ruslan is up on the apron distracting Turnbull. Williams stands up. If he thinks he can get through to Pleasant, he knows heâll never get through to the old Russian. With blood reflecting light all over his grizzled face, he shoves Turnbull to the side and grabs Ruslan by the coat.
Love him or hate him, the crowd cheers for Rob Williams. The Legend delivers a jaw-jacking uppercut that sends Ruslanâs hat into orbit and the Russian agent lifts two feet off the apron and lands in a heap with hammers and sickles circling his head.
Nick Stuart: Finally!
Richard Parker: He should be disqualified, that is ridiculous!!
Nick Stuart: Do you even listen to yourself?!
Richard Parker: As a matter of fact, I sometimes listen to myself on homemade ASMR tapes.
Pleasant stands, but doesnât seem to be very affected by what has happened to Ruslan. Back where they started, the two men lock up once more. Williams twists Pleasantâs arm into an arm wringer. Once more, it seems like Rob Williams is just as invested in getting through to Arthur Pleasant as he is about winning this match. He yells at him now, imploring with him. Pleasant shakes his head and becomes more enraged.
Pleasant rolls forward into a front flip, reversing the wringer, and sends Williams down to the mat. He holds onto his wrist and drops a leg across it. Rather than pin him, he mounts him and grabs his bloody face and digs both of his fingers into Williamsâ eyes. Turnbull counts.
1âŚ2..3..
He never gets to five, though, when Williams grabs Pleasantâs forearms and jerks him to the side. Arthurâs hands slide along the blood along Williamsâ face and he rolls off of him. Williams is on him, clubbing him over the back, then hooking him and lifting him into a thunderous gutwrench suplex that flexes the entire canvas. Pin by Williams! Turnbull slides into position!
1⌠2âŚ
Shoulder up by Pleasant!
Williams drags Pleasant up again. He belts him in the stomach and sets him up for a piledriver. He pulls up on him, but Pleasant grabs his ankles and trips him up. He jumps and slams his heel directly into Williamâs abdomen, dreadfully close to being illegal.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Iâve seen a single submission moveâŚ
Richard Parker: You say this as if youâre surprised.
Pleasant drags Williams up, but the match has taken a toll on both men. Johnny Turnbull stares in a bit of stunned shock, there are red splotches on the mat, blood smears his uniform, and both men are covered in each otherâs blood. Pleasant sends Williams into the ropes and rushes off to the other side, they both rebound and clothesline each other, landing hard in the ring. Turnbull stands there and looks down at them.
1âŚ.
âŚ.2âŚ..
âŚâŚ..3âŚâŚ
âŚâŚâŚâŚ4âŚâŚ
Pleasant rolls over.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..5âŚâŚâŚâŚ
Williams blinks his eyes open and sits up slowly.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.6âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..7âŚ..
Both men drag themselves up to their feet, in the middle of the ring, wavering and wobbling. Pleasant punches Williams. Williams returns with his own punch. Both men are holding each otherâs shoulder with a free hand as they slowly wail on each other.
Right by Pleasant.
Return by Williams.
Another hard right by Pleasant.
A stiff followup by Williams.
One more palm strike by Pleasant.
Williams responds with one more quick and seamlessly he snaps Pleasant into Old Time Rock and Roll!
Nick Stuart: Old Time Rock and Roll!! Can Williams capitalize?!
Williams lies on the mat for a moment next to Pleasant, and then rolls over and drapes an arm.
Turnbull drops to his hands and knees, careful not to slap a portion of the mat that has blood.
1âŚ.2âŚ3!!!
Vince Howard: Your winner, The Legend, ROOOOBBBBB WILLLLIAMMMSS!!!
Nick Stuart: Thank goodness that is over. That was NOT what I expected.
Richard Parker: I think that was less of a wrestling match and more aâŚ. I donât know what youâd call it. A brawl? A battle? Yeesh.
Johnny Turnbull looks almost relieved that what just happened is over.
Williams rolls off of Pleasant and lays on his back for a moment. Then, he drags himself up to a kneeling position and looks down at Pleasant with a look of almost remorse. He shakes his head and speaks to him quietly, before slowly dragging himself up to his feet. Lem and the rest of Williamsâ entourage cheer happily.
Nick Stuart: Folks, itâs gonna take some time to clean up the ring, so letâs get to a commercial. But donât go anywhere! We still have the returning Hessian against SeĂĄn OâNeill and then the Intense Title Barbed Wire Ropes Match: Max Kael vs. Paxton Ray.
Richard Parker: Might not be worth cleaning up the ring with those two matches on the list!
Nick Stuart: Weâll be right back!
This PRIME commercial is sponsored by WARGAMES, tehehe.
Vickie Hall stands behind a PRETTY PINKŠ backdrop.
Vickie Hall: Hello PRIMETIMERS, itâs me, Vickie Hall and by proxy I am going to be leading my own WarGames team!
She stops for a quick off-the-beat note in a different tone of voice.
Vickie Hall: But Jonathan-Christopher will be doing the wrestling.
Of course he will.
And back on track.
Vickie Hall: So introducing MY wonderful dainty little clubâŚ
A drum roll comes out of nowhere.
Vickie Hall: First, we have the love of my life, my man, my main squeeze, the only person Iâd EVER have eyes for and the WINNER OF THE ALMASY TOURNAMENT⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall!
She jiggles with glee as the drum roll plays on.
Vickie Hall: Next up, weâre going to add a little RED to the shade of PRETTY PINKŠ because after all pink is a derivative from red!
The Red Army logo SLAMS across the screen as Vickie giggles with more delightful glee.
Vickie Hall: Please WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME Kenny Freeman, Arthur Pleasant and The MOTHA-RUSSIA BIG BAD BEAR HIMSELFâŚ
She can barely hold in her excitement.
Vickie Hall: IVON STAN-SIV-LAV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Although she absolutely butchers his name, it doesnât make her any less thrilled.
Back to the drum roll as The Red Army logo leaves the screen.
Vickie Hall: Now, that gives us FOUR but apparently we need SIX. So please, allow me to introduce to you the NEXT hand-selected member by yours truly.
The VAE VICTIS logo flies into the screen and goes BOOM-smack, square in the middle.
Vickie is rocking like sheâs on rough waters or heroin, take your pick.
Vickie Hall: Welcome welcome WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLCOME to the team the double K baddie, The Specific Blitzkrieg!
Vickie isnât lying, Kerryâs in the group.
Vickie Hall: Mr. Cure-yo-lama, I know we beat you in the tournament but we know how GUD you are and it is so very. You are everything PRIME needs more of! We welcome you to the crew!
Vickie counts on her hands. Thatâs FIVE teammates.
Thereâs ONE left.
Thereâs a new drumroll.
Vickie Hall: The FINAL MEMBER AND I CAN BARELY CONTAIN MYSELF.
She canât, because sheâs screaming at the top of her lungs. Itâs extremely painful if you have your volume even remotely on medium level.
Vickie Hall: DRUM ROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL.
Even though the drum roll was already rolling.
Then the drums stop.
Then Vickie stops shaking.
Sheâs even stopped smiling.
She looks all dead serious.
Itâs really fucking creepy.
Too creepy.
Too serious.
A coy, clever grin crosses her face.
She lets it out.
She lets out a hehe.
Oops, sorry, a tehe.
In a cold and calculating voice, Vickie slowly speaks.
Vickie Hall: Welcome to the teamâŚ
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
Vickie Hall: Maximilion William Kale.
Her eyes go wide with excitement but she maintains a stoic pose.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, U.N. Cloth.
Yes, she said Cloth.
Vickie Hall: I canât wait to learn from you!
That actually seems like a genuine comment.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, Violence Purple.
She tilts her head with ponder.
Vickie Hall: Purple, pink. Purple, pink. Purple, pink.
She blushes at the thought.
Vickie Hall: Welcome one, welcome all, to the LOVEGames team thatâs going to win the war. Welcome toâŚ
Another drum roll.
A clever smile.
An annoying shriek.
Vickie Hall: The Unquestionable PRETTY PINKŠ Army of Victis!
The Red Army logo, the LOVE CONVOY logo, the Vae Victis logo and Max Kaelâs face appear at the bottom of the screen. Then the graphics mesh together to create the most disgusting sports logo ever created, something out of MS Paint, or worse, an Angelfire wrestling organization.
Vickie Hall: See you soon.
Immediate cut after some hellacious Vickie laughter.
To PRETTY PINKŠ.
This PRIME commercial is sponsored by WARGAMES, tehehe.
Vickie Hall stands behind a PRETTY PINKŠ backdrop.
Vickie Hall: Hello PRIMETIMERS, itâs me, Vickie Hall and by proxy I am going to be leading my own WarGames team!
She stops for a quick off-the-beat note in a different tone of voice.
Vickie Hall: But Jonathan-Christopher will be doing the wrestling.
Of course he will.
And back on track.
Vickie Hall: So introducing MY wonderful dainty little clubâŚ
A drum roll comes out of nowhere.
Vickie Hall: First, we have the love of my life, my man, my main squeeze, the only person Iâd EVER have eyes for and the WINNER OF THE ALMASY TOURNAMENT⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall!
She jiggles with glee as the drum roll plays on.
Vickie Hall: Next up, weâre going to add a little RED to the shade of PRETTY PINKŠ because after all pink is a derivative from red!
The Red Army logo SLAMS across the screen as Vickie giggles with more delightful glee.
Vickie Hall: Please WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME Kenny Freeman, Arthur Pleasant and The MOTHA-RUSSIA BIG BAD BEAR HIMSELFâŚ
She can barely hold in her excitement.
Vickie Hall: IVON STAN-SIV-LAV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Although she absolutely butchers his name, it doesnât make her any less thrilled.
Back to the drum roll as The Red Army logo leaves the screen.
Vickie Hall: Now, that gives us FOUR but apparently we need SIX. So please, allow me to introduce to you the NEXT hand-selected member by yours truly.
The VAE VICTIS logo flies into the screen and goes BOOM-smack, square in the middle.
Vickie is rocking like sheâs on rough waters or heroin, take your pick.
Vickie Hall: Welcome welcome WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLCOME to the team the double K baddie, The Specific Blitzkrieg!
Vickie isnât lying, Kerryâs in the group.
Vickie Hall: Mr. Cure-yo-lama, I know we beat you in the tournament but we know how GUD you are and it is so very. You are everything PRIME needs more of! We welcome you to the crew!
Vickie counts on her hands. Thatâs FIVE teammates.
Thereâs ONE left.
Thereâs a new drumroll.
Vickie Hall: The FINAL MEMBER AND I CAN BARELY CONTAIN MYSELF.
She canât, because sheâs screaming at the top of her lungs. Itâs extremely painful if you have your volume even remotely on medium level.
Vickie Hall: DRUM ROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL.
Even though the drum roll was already rolling.
Then the drums stop.
Then Vickie stops shaking.
Sheâs even stopped smiling.
She looks all dead serious.
Itâs really fucking creepy.
Too creepy.
Too serious.
A coy, clever grin crosses her face.
She lets it out.
She lets out a hehe.
Oops, sorry, a tehe.
In a cold and calculating voice, Vickie slowly speaks.
Vickie Hall: Welcome to the teamâŚ
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
Vickie Hall: Maximilion William Kale.
Her eyes go wide with excitement but she maintains a stoic pose.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, U.N. Cloth.
Yes, she said Cloth.
Vickie Hall: I canât wait to learn from you!
That actually seems like a genuine comment.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, Violence Purple.
She tilts her head with ponder.
Vickie Hall: Purple, pink. Purple, pink. Purple, pink.
She blushes at the thought.
Vickie Hall: Welcome one, welcome all, to the LOVEGames team thatâs going to win the war. Welcome toâŚ
Another drum roll.
A clever smile.
An annoying shriek.
Vickie Hall: The Unquestionable PRETTY PINKŠ Army of Victis!
The Red Army logo, the LOVE CONVOY logo, the Vae Victis logo and Max Kaelâs face appear at the bottom of the screen. Then the graphics mesh together to create the most disgusting sports logo ever created, something out of MS Paint, or worse, an Angelfire wrestling organization.
Vickie Hall: See you soon.
Immediate cut after some hellacious Vickie laughter.
To PRETTY PINKŠ.
This PRIME commercial is sponsored by WARGAMES, tehehe.
Vickie Hall stands behind a PRETTY PINKŠ backdrop.
Vickie Hall: Hello PRIMETIMERS, itâs me, Vickie Hall and by proxy I am going to be leading my own WarGames team!
She stops for a quick off-the-beat note in a different tone of voice.
Vickie Hall: But Jonathan-Christopher will be doing the wrestling.
Of course he will.
And back on track.
Vickie Hall: So introducing MY wonderful dainty little clubâŚ
A drum roll comes out of nowhere.
Vickie Hall: First, we have the love of my life, my man, my main squeeze, the only person Iâd EVER have eyes for and the WINNER OF THE ALMASY TOURNAMENT⌠Jonathan-Christopher Hall!
She jiggles with glee as the drum roll plays on.
Vickie Hall: Next up, weâre going to add a little RED to the shade of PRETTY PINKŠ because after all pink is a derivative from red!
The Red Army logo SLAMS across the screen as Vickie giggles with more delightful glee.
Vickie Hall: Please WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME Kenny Freeman, Arthur Pleasant and The MOTHA-RUSSIA BIG BAD BEAR HIMSELFâŚ
She can barely hold in her excitement.
Vickie Hall: IVON STAN-SIV-LAV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Although she absolutely butchers his name, it doesnât make her any less thrilled.
Back to the drum roll as The Red Army logo leaves the screen.
Vickie Hall: Now, that gives us FOUR but apparently we need SIX. So please, allow me to introduce to you the NEXT hand-selected member by yours truly.
The VAE VICTIS logo flies into the screen and goes BOOM-smack, square in the middle.
Vickie is rocking like sheâs on rough waters or heroin, take your pick.
Vickie Hall: Welcome welcome WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLCOME to the team the double K baddie, The Specific Blitzkrieg!
Vickie isnât lying, Kerryâs in the group.
Vickie Hall: Mr. Cure-yo-lama, I know we beat you in the tournament but we know how GUD you are and it is so very. You are everything PRIME needs more of! We welcome you to the crew!
Vickie counts on her hands. Thatâs FIVE teammates.
Thereâs ONE left.
Thereâs a new drumroll.
Vickie Hall: The FINAL MEMBER AND I CAN BARELY CONTAIN MYSELF.
She canât, because sheâs screaming at the top of her lungs. Itâs extremely painful if you have your volume even remotely on medium level.
Vickie Hall: DRUM ROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL.
Even though the drum roll was already rolling.
Then the drums stop.
Then Vickie stops shaking.
Sheâs even stopped smiling.
She looks all dead serious.
Itâs really fucking creepy.
Too creepy.
Too serious.
A coy, clever grin crosses her face.
She lets it out.
She lets out a hehe.
Oops, sorry, a tehe.
In a cold and calculating voice, Vickie slowly speaks.
Vickie Hall: Welcome to the teamâŚ
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
Vickie Hall: Maximilion William Kale.
Her eyes go wide with excitement but she maintains a stoic pose.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, U.N. Cloth.
Yes, she said Cloth.
Vickie Hall: I canât wait to learn from you!
That actually seems like a genuine comment.
Vickie Hall: Welcome, Violence Purple.
She tilts her head with ponder.
Vickie Hall: Purple, pink. Purple, pink. Purple, pink.
She blushes at the thought.
Vickie Hall: Welcome one, welcome all, to the LOVEGames team thatâs going to win the war. Welcome toâŚ
Another drum roll.
A clever smile.
An annoying shriek.
Vickie Hall: The Unquestionable PRETTY PINKŠ Army of Victis!
The Red Army logo, the LOVE CONVOY logo, the Vae Victis logo and Max Kaelâs face appear at the bottom of the screen. Then the graphics mesh together to create the most disgusting sports logo ever created, something out of MS Paint, or worse, an Angelfire wrestling organization.
Vickie Hall: See you soon.
Immediate cut after some hellacious Vickie laughter.
To PRETTY PINKŠ.
From commercial, we return, a single shot up close of spectators on one of the ends of the entrance ramp. A low murmur runs through the KeyBank Arena crowd, unaware of what to expect next.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
The murmur quickly changes to arms raised in the air, practically everyone in attendance getting to their feet in anticipation for one of the surliest, perpetually intense stars to ever grace a wrestling ring. The camera cut quickly shifts to a wide shot from the foot of the stage, Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surging through the arena. There are no blue or white strobes, the house lights remaining at full.
Then, Mr. Fuck Around And Find Out powers through the curtain.
Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd!
The appearance of the Suplex Daddy sends the fans into absolute raucous cheers. Dressed casually, white henley with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, jeans, a black banded watch on the wrist, black shitkicking boots, The Tower of Babel powerwalks, his eyes trained forward, the hallmark oppressive scowl of intensity etched like stone across his face.
Richard Parker: This entranceâŚeverytimeâŚEVERYTIMEâŚit gives me a headache! Get me thicker earplugs!
Nick Stuart: I tell you one thingâŚthis manâŚheâs not here to compete tonight, and frankly, at the end of last year, he shouldnât have been. A torn tricep. Dislocated shoulder. And he wrestled at Colossus mere weeks after a surgery nobody knew aboutâ
Richard Parker: And couldâve lost his arm!
Nick Stuart: Didnât matter. Tony Gamble picked a fight, and he sure got one in New Orleans!
Youngbloodâs shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, quickly down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring like a stirring bull. As if on cue, one of the ringside attendants gets near the ring apron, holding out a microphone.
The Diamond rips it away, his head drawn upward as he continues his pacing.
Richard Parker: He looks POSITIVELY irate. And after what happened with him and Cancer Jiles at Colossus, I canât blame him. Disgusting alfredo sauce and all. Disgusting.
Nick Stuart: Forceful as ever. Looking ready as ever.
His music fading, the crowd continuing to cheer, after a few moments, the volume lowers, and as it does, the pacing stops. Itâs then that The Diamond begins to speak.
Brandon Youngblood: New year. ReVival, year three. PRIMEâs back. AndâŚJULIEN! The clock is tickingâŚ
A flick of the wrist, looking at the face of his watch. The mention of the Universal Championâs birth name gets a surprisingly strong amount of cheers.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚor maybe I got it wrong. Maybe itâs youâŚJaredâŚ
A mock shake of said wrist. Aggressive, stabbing taps. Making mention the Dragonslayer dwarfs the cheers offered for FLAMBERGE, showing exactly how partisan they are.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚscratch that. MaybeâŚjust maybeâŚitâs youâŚJonathanâŚChristopherâŚHall.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Oh, THAT one isnât getting a single attaboy. Youngblood drops the wrist, his face a scowl, his chin tucked and his eyes peering up.
Brandon Youngblood: All three of youâŚI got a lot of ground to cover. And unlike for you? My time isnât running out.
He straightens himself, aggressively prowling to the center of the ring, taking ownership of the squared circle.
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚthis first time out, itâs resolutionsâŚitâs declarationsâŚitâs making statements. And for the last two years, a lot of you have taken a lot more rope than you, by rights, should have. Youâve had more time, more space, more shine. Last yearâŚAce Network put billboards all across AmericaâŚinserts in magazinesâŚads on videosâŚThe Future Is Here. Hayes Hanlon and Nate Colton. The faces of PRIME. The holders of the top two championships in ALL of sports. Hungry young studs, everything was there for them.
His right hand clasps the top rope toward hardcam.
Brandon Youngblood: You see those billboards now?
A snarl of disgust.
Brandon Youngblood: NoâŚnow itâs glueâŚand vending machinesâŚand pinkâŚand redâŚnecksâŚlove. New year. New printâŚ
His voice trails off before exploding with ferocity.
Brandon Youngblood: Same bullshit!
There is resonance with what he is saying to this crowd. Surely it has to do with the messenger.
Brandon Youngblood: The marketing and the glitz, the glamor, the sold out arenasâŚthe sold out STADIUMSâŚit doesnât happen if there isnât someone to be the pillar. To be the standard. To grind and fight while everyone else gets the chance to be shinierâŚto be the sexier pickâŚ
Disdain.
Brandon Youngblood: But this? It all stands because of the work I accomplished.
At each each point, he moves, refusing to stay still, raw unfiltered thought and energy pouring out.
Brandon Youngblood: WhatâŚam I supposed to stand here and brood, and kick rocks, and worry if what I say or what I do is best for PRIME in the eyes of my peers? That I have to worry about morale? NewsflashâŚyou been watching the product? You got a locker room full of wolves, and a bunch of sheep who look at their shoes playing the tortured bit. Fine. Two years. I gave YOU ALL two years to raise the banner. To be the hero. BecauseâŚunlike a bunch of you dipshitsâŚBrandon Youngblood has legitimate blood on his hands. Heâs the outlaw known for storming through the town, leaving nothing behind.
Once again, center. His chin up. His eyes narrowed.
Brandon Youngblood: But since you all donât have the gutsâŚtwo yearsâŚIâll BE the goddamn hero PRIME needs.
This statement brings loud roars from the crowd.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Ivan. Cecilworth. Whoever else. EVERYONE else. Iâm coming into 2024 putting the target on my back I shouldnât have to. And so many people say you donât want to be like themâŚbut hellâŚyou ALL should want to be me.
A malicious smile.
Brandon Youngblood: The Red Era, huh Ivan? PRIME had banners and everything. And what did the reign of Ivan Stanislav amount to? Three months sitting on your assâŚhealing up because this ONE ARMED Diamond took a piece of you youâll NEVER get back. Three months to heal. To get better. To prepare. And just like everyone else in the ReVival era to be Universal ChampionâŚsave oneâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
They know who âthe other isâ. Straight out of the carton.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚoh Iâll get to his assâŚ
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Brandon Youngblood: You can win the belt, but you canât keep it. And thatâs the thing. The PRIME Universal Championship. The most coveted championship is sportsâŚ
He is nodding at the thought. The declaration. Because of its importance, not just to him, but to everyone who fights in the sport of wrestling. For what they desire. For what they covet.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Farthington. BecauseâŚhellâŚyou stood up in San Diego last summer, slapping the plate of the 5 Star trying to make the world believe that it was the pinnacle of all sports. The powers out thereâŚthey wanted to take the special boy championship and make the argument that itâs the one a, the one b, to the Universal. One defense. A bunch of tags. Couldâve stood above and beyondâŚbut there you were in the AlmasyâŚfighting your way up the ladder to get to the peakâŚand to get a shot at what comes with it.
A little chuckle.
Brandon Youngblood: YeahâŚI lost to you. One arm and I lost to you. But this thingâŚ
He lifts his left arm up to chest level, then out.
Brandon Youngblood: Itâs good now.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
All fun and games, but the tone changes. More stoic. More sincere.
Brandon Youngblood: Make no mistakeâŚCecilworth. Thereâs only a few people the end of this line comes down to. And in the endâŚI will come for you. Not for your title. For you. For EVERYTHING you are. For everything YOU represent in the sport of professional wrestling. Because youâre the only other one who knowsâŚ
The intensity and tone of voice shifts back to the aggression it carried moments before.
Brandon Youngblood: Which is kind of funnyâŚIâm out here throwing stones at the pinnacle of the sportâŚand as I am doing soâŚI got this little dogâŚyipping at my anklesâŚtelling the world that nothing mattersâŚthat itâs all chaos and that they cared but now they donât care even thoughâŚshitâŚdid Anna Daniels ever ACTUALLY care?
His nostrils flare.
Brandon Youngblood: Two years ago in the halls of the MGM Grand Garden Arena, we came face to face, and the whole thing was about the fight that was going to go down between me and you. PresentâŚto future. You were a rising star. Feared.
A deep exhale as he grasps again at the top rope.
Brandon Youngblood: And howâs that gone since?
Straightening back, he paces from hardcam to the opposite end of the ring.
Brandon Youngblood: You asked me when I was going to stop being a bitch and fight you. You shouldâve been asking yourself how you could go out and beat Paxton Ray for the Intense Championship yet still flop around like a fish out of water. You want a fight. Letâs do it. You name the time, you name the place before Culture Shock. Because on this race course, Iâm SICK of waiting for you to catch up from the laps Iâve run around your dumb ass.
A finger stabbing toward the canvas punctuates his call.
Brandon Youngblood: Time and place. Has to be before Culture Shock because after? Thatâs when the time is up for FLAMBERGE, or Jared Sykes, or Jonathan-Christopher Hall. Because after Culture Shock comes and goes? Thatâs when all the Golden Tickets run out. Thatâs when the dance partners arenât known months ahead of time. But Iâll give you a spoilerâŚwhoever it isâŚwhichever one it isâŚthe Universal ChampionshipâŚMY Universal ChampionshipâŚis making its way back home starting in the summer just like always. So enjoy it. Savor it. Because at the end of the lineâŚitâs me ready to end the borrowed time youâre living on.
Stern. Foreboding. This isnât a threat to him. Itâs reality. Something felt through every part, every synapse. The gravelly tone returns as he continues, circling back to âThe Otherâ mentioned previously.
Brandon Youngblood: Like youâŚJiles.
Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOH YEAAAAAAAAH! OHHHHHH HELL YEAH!
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚyou get a special one. Because you and me? Itâs been done. Lindsay Troy gave you the Hanlon treatmentâŚor maybe he got the Jiles treatmentâŚchance after chanceâŚgive your little belly a few rubsâŚbecause poor wittle Cancer Jiles LOST the 2022 Almasy and LOST the Golden Ticket and PRIME felt the need to squeeze blood from the stone and make you and me the unstoppable force versus the immovable object. You kicked me in my goddamn face. CongratulationsâŚyouâve done it before.
Growling.
Brandon Youngblood: Fettuccine alfredoâŚworking to get that trending like cold sores.
Nothing but vengefulness.
Brandon Youngblood: It doesnât change the fact that you couldnât beat me. And it doesnât change the fact that, after you put all your eggs in the Golden Ticket basket, that you think taking a stab at Old Reliable is going to give you the boost you need to carpe diem or live laugh love or whatever the shit it is that you need to fill yourself up after that spotlight just isnât shining down on you like you think it should.
Malignant disdain. Born from a rivalry never wanted, never reciprocated truly. And he still refuses it, but the cracks, no matter how he tries to hide them, are showing.
Brandon Youngblood: Spotlights on a cockroach do one thing; they fry them, Jiles. I got to get all my ducks in a row before we get past Culture Shock. Before I start being a slave to the contenders list. You got nothing to offer meâŚsave this one little slotâŚ
Anticipation.
Brandon Youngblood: Wells Fargo Arena.
Richard Parker: Yes.
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42.
Richard Parker: Yes!
Brandon Youngblood: Philadelphia.
Richard Parker: OH MY HOYT YES!
Brandon Youngblood: It ainât COOLympus, but then againâŚCOOLympus donât exist anymore. Not after you went up against The Tower. But PhillyâŚitâs where you come from. Where you were born. Raised. HellâŚthey might even love you there. They probably do. And they can love you all the more when I put an end to me and you, once and for allâŚin YOUR hometown, Jiles.
Nick Stuart: Did we just get next weekâs main eventâŚ
Richard Parker: YES WE DID, NICK! YES BY HOYT GOD YES WE DID! AND CANCER JILES IS A DEAD MAN! BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD IS GOING TO GET HIS HANDS ON HIM AND BREAK HIM IN HALF!
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42. Youngblood. Jiles. For the last time. For the FINAL time. Because when I done beating your ass down in Philly, then you trulyâŚTRULYâŚhave nothing I ever want. I donât run charities for crumbs. I donâtâ
âWHEN MY BACKâS TO THE WALLLLL!!!!!â
I!!
WILL!!
CON!!
QUER!!
âDaggersâ hits the speakers, and the boos come flowing. Interrupting the Tower of Babelâs monologue, Hayes Hanlon steps out onto the entrance ramp, mic in hand. Black dress shirt unbuttoned a couple, sleeves rolled up. âStache on point, and dark eyes connecting with Youngbloodâs.
The music fades slowly, leaving the boos from Buffalo, New York. Hayes, true to form, takes his time before lifting the mic to his mouth.
Hayes Hanlon: Man, did you always talk this much?
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Home Run Hayes ignores the jeers, and opens a palm to the crowd, lifting an eyebrow.
Hayes Hanlon: Are you enjoying this, Buffalo? Is this what you shoveled six feet of snow to get here for? To listen to Big Bad Suplex Daddy stroke his Big Bad ego? Because man, watching the Bills shit the bed on Sunday would be a better use of your paychecks.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hayes Hanlon: I donât think thatâs why theyâre here, Youngblood. Youâre dropping a lot of names out here, but theyâre the wrong ones! Nobody wants to hear you say a word about Cecilworth FarthingtonâŚ
Another volley of boos as Hayes takes a step down the ramp, the arena displeased at the mention of the Financier.
Hayes Hanlon: Yeah man, we get it. âThe drummer from Def Leppardâs only got one arm.â We get it. But that doesnât change the fact that eeeeveryone here watched him take your neck in the second. Round.
He pauses on the ramp, then lowers his palm to the floor, gesturing for everyone to calm down.
Hayes Hanlon: But hey, I get it, man. He got me, too. But moving on, noooobody here wants to hear you bark at Anna Daniels. And I gotta ask, YoungbloodâŚdid she actually have you fooled?
Hammerinâ Hayes takes a few more steps, pointing a finger at the fellow two-time Champ.
Hayes Hanlon: That she was actually some kind of threat? What gave you that impression? Do YOU believe in (using quotation fingers) âTime Lords?â Man, I hope not, but if itâs all true, apparently theyâre more interested in selling t-shirts than having a winning record. Oh waitwaitwait, I forgot. nOnE oF thAt MaAaTteeRs and weâre all just dIsaPpooOintmeNts. Buddy, youâre eons beyond Anna Daniels. Youâre wasting your breath.
Youngblood keeps those deep set eyes trained on the young Event Horizon as he reaches the steps.
Hayes Hanlon: And Big Red? They donât wanna hear about it! Because you couldnât beat him either! You know who could? FLAMBERGE.
Two more steps, and heâs at the edge of the apron.
Hayes Hanlon: And ME.
A pause, the dull rumble from Buffalo refusing to let up. Meanwhile, Hayes holds up two fingers, and mouths the word âtwice.â
He then steps through the ropes, and is smart to keep his distance, pacing from one corner to another, head turned to keep his eyes on PRIMEâs Diamond.
Hayes Hanlon: And maaaaaann, you had to go and put our buddy Cancer in your mouth again. The King of COOLympus. The mountain that never existed in the first place. The guy who just canât beat Brandon Youngblood. OR Hayes. Freakinâ. Hanlon.
Hayes stops and turns his chest to Youngblood, holding his arms out wide.
Hayes Hanlon: But heâs your guy? Heâs your target? Man, itâs just miss after miss after miss after miss. Because out of every name youâve mentioned so far? Thereâs only ONE that should matter to you right nowâŚ
The Event Horizon holds a hard stare, and slowly turns his index finger towards his own chest, and mouths the word âme.â
The staredown remains strong and fiery against the noise of the Buffalo crowd, until Hanlon breaks it.
Hayes Hanlon: And when you did mention my name, you referred to âThe Hanlon Treatment.â So I gotta ask, bud. What IS the âHanlon Treatmentâ exactly?
Hayes takes an adventurous step forward, head cock-eyed and glaring.
Hayes Hanlon: Because if by âThe Hanlon Treatment,â you mean âmanagement doing everything they can to tear the belt off of me,â then you hit the nail on the freakinâ head!
Another wave of heavy boos. Youngblood can barely keep himself from snorting in amusement, but the face strewn across the Event Horizon is deathly serious.
Hayes Hanlon: These folks may have forgot, but I remember ReVival 26 DAMN well. I remember you stepping out of Lindsay Troyâs office, cracking your knuckles and damn near drooling. What went on behind that door, Youngblood? Is that when you pitched a fit for another shot at the Universal Title? Right after Ivan threw me THROUGH THE FUCKING CAGE?? WAS THAT THE âHANLON TREATMENTâ??
And now, Hayes is close, maybe a foot or two from Youngbloodâs jutting jaw. Neither relents, hot fumes pushing through their nostrils.
Hayes Hanlon: Bet you felt reeaalll good about that.
And then, Hayes steps away, shaking his head, and gestures to the crowd.
Hayes Hanlon: Youâve got emâ all fooled, man, I know it. You can talk yourself up about being the pillar. The Tower. PRIMEâs hero! But I KNOW better! Because I WATCHED you, man! Growing up! And while everyone here will remember the Tower of BabelâŚ
In a flash, Hayes spins back toward Mr. Fuck Around and Find Out.
Hayes Hanlon: I remember the PARIAH!!!
And with that statement, he can take it no longer.
Brandon Youngblood: AND I REMEMBER YOU ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDERS, HAYES!
Heâs quaking with rage.
Brandon Youngblood: I REMEMBER YOU SITTING IN MADISON SQUARE GARDEN! Caesar is smoking cigarettes and Iâm there too and youâre bouncing off those walls about to go against Jiles and YOU WANTING US THERE! FOR YOU!
The stabbing finger doesnât touch Hanlon, but if it were another inch, it damn sure would.
Brandon Youngblood: You EARNED THE GODDAMN WORLD and HERE YOU ARE! Coming down here after it allâ
Hayes Hanlon: I EARNED THE WORLD, AND YOU COULDNâT FUCKING WAIT TO TAKE IT FROM ME!
Brandon Youngblood: LOOK IN MY EYES RIGHT NOW! YOU SAY PARIAH! YOU KNOW ME! YOU KNOW WHAT I AM! WHAT I DO! I NEAR PARALYZED YOUR HERO TO GET A TASTE OF THE UNIVERSAL! BUT I DIDNâT DO THAT TO YOU!
Stern.
Brandon Youngblood: I just FOUGHT you. After you asked me WHY I didnât make you the Next Diamond. Why I gave that to Nate Colton. And you remember what I said that night? Do you? DO YOU?!
Spit flying from his maw.
Brandon Youngblood: Because YOU HAVE a chance TO BE BETTER THAN US ALL!
A sneer.
Brandon Youngblood: I waited NINE MONTHS to fight for that championship Hayes. It wasnât personal. Not even when you got shot back to compete for it RIGHT AFTER losing it. Not to you. Not to the kid. To the system. But you want it to be personal?
Nose to nose.
Brandon Youngblood: Because now? Itâs personal.
Nose to nose barely describes it. Itâs soul to soul. Rage to rage. To Hanlonâs credit, he doesnât flinch, and spews the same flame from his nose that pours out of Youngbloodâs.
After a long, long pause amongst the roars of Buffalo, Hanlon calms his voice, finds space for the microphone.
Hayes Hanlon: You say I have a chance to be better?
Boldly, Home Run Hayes presses his forehead into Youngbloodâs, and seethes into the mic.
Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, I already am.
He pushes off, and right on cue, âDaggersâ returns to the speakers, slamming the arena with metal and noise. A dull thud from the microphone reverberates as it hits the mat, and Hayes backs away toward the ropes, stepping through and hopping to the ground, backpedaling up the ramp and keeping those hard, dark eyes set on the Tower of Babelâs.
Nick Stuart: My GOD! My GOD! Hanlon and YoungbloodâŚthey justâŚ
Richard Parker: Oh theyâre on fire. ButâŚI meanâŚfirst things firstâŚare we going to see Jiles and Youngblood at 42? And THEN we MIGHT just get a rematch of one of the greatest bouts in PRIME history?!
Youngblood, for his part, seethes in stoic measure, eyes locked on Hanlon.
If this was the appetizerâŚ
Think what the meal could possibly be.
We cut backstage.
From commercial, we return, a single shot up close of spectators on one of the ends of the entrance ramp. A low murmur runs through the KeyBank Arena crowd, unaware of what to expect next.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
The murmur quickly changes to arms raised in the air, practically everyone in attendance getting to their feet in anticipation for one of the surliest, perpetually intense stars to ever grace a wrestling ring. The camera cut quickly shifts to a wide shot from the foot of the stage, Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surging through the arena. There are no blue or white strobes, the house lights remaining at full.
Then, Mr. Fuck Around And Find Out powers through the curtain.
Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd!
The appearance of the Suplex Daddy sends the fans into absolute raucous cheers. Dressed casually, white henley with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, jeans, a black banded watch on the wrist, black shitkicking boots, The Tower of Babel powerwalks, his eyes trained forward, the hallmark oppressive scowl of intensity etched like stone across his face.
Richard Parker: This entranceâŚeverytimeâŚEVERYTIMEâŚit gives me a headache! Get me thicker earplugs!
Nick Stuart: I tell you one thingâŚthis manâŚheâs not here to compete tonight, and frankly, at the end of last year, he shouldnât have been. A torn tricep. Dislocated shoulder. And he wrestled at Colossus mere weeks after a surgery nobody knew aboutâ
Richard Parker: And couldâve lost his arm!
Nick Stuart: Didnât matter. Tony Gamble picked a fight, and he sure got one in New Orleans!
Youngbloodâs shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, quickly down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring like a stirring bull. As if on cue, one of the ringside attendants gets near the ring apron, holding out a microphone.
The Diamond rips it away, his head drawn upward as he continues his pacing.
Richard Parker: He looks POSITIVELY irate. And after what happened with him and Cancer Jiles at Colossus, I canât blame him. Disgusting alfredo sauce and all. Disgusting.
Nick Stuart: Forceful as ever. Looking ready as ever.
His music fading, the crowd continuing to cheer, after a few moments, the volume lowers, and as it does, the pacing stops. Itâs then that The Diamond begins to speak.
Brandon Youngblood: New year. ReVival, year three. PRIMEâs back. AndâŚJULIEN! The clock is tickingâŚ
A flick of the wrist, looking at the face of his watch. The mention of the Universal Championâs birth name gets a surprisingly strong amount of cheers.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚor maybe I got it wrong. Maybe itâs youâŚJaredâŚ
A mock shake of said wrist. Aggressive, stabbing taps. Making mention the Dragonslayer dwarfs the cheers offered for FLAMBERGE, showing exactly how partisan they are.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚscratch that. MaybeâŚjust maybeâŚitâs youâŚJonathanâŚChristopherâŚHall.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Oh, THAT one isnât getting a single attaboy. Youngblood drops the wrist, his face a scowl, his chin tucked and his eyes peering up.
Brandon Youngblood: All three of youâŚI got a lot of ground to cover. And unlike for you? My time isnât running out.
He straightens himself, aggressively prowling to the center of the ring, taking ownership of the squared circle.
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚthis first time out, itâs resolutionsâŚitâs declarationsâŚitâs making statements. And for the last two years, a lot of you have taken a lot more rope than you, by rights, should have. Youâve had more time, more space, more shine. Last yearâŚAce Network put billboards all across AmericaâŚinserts in magazinesâŚads on videosâŚThe Future Is Here. Hayes Hanlon and Nate Colton. The faces of PRIME. The holders of the top two championships in ALL of sports. Hungry young studs, everything was there for them.
His right hand clasps the top rope toward hardcam.
Brandon Youngblood: You see those billboards now?
A snarl of disgust.
Brandon Youngblood: NoâŚnow itâs glueâŚand vending machinesâŚand pinkâŚand redâŚnecksâŚlove. New year. New printâŚ
His voice trails off before exploding with ferocity.
Brandon Youngblood: Same bullshit!
There is resonance with what he is saying to this crowd. Surely it has to do with the messenger.
Brandon Youngblood: The marketing and the glitz, the glamor, the sold out arenasâŚthe sold out STADIUMSâŚit doesnât happen if there isnât someone to be the pillar. To be the standard. To grind and fight while everyone else gets the chance to be shinierâŚto be the sexier pickâŚ
Disdain.
Brandon Youngblood: But this? It all stands because of the work I accomplished.
At each each point, he moves, refusing to stay still, raw unfiltered thought and energy pouring out.
Brandon Youngblood: WhatâŚam I supposed to stand here and brood, and kick rocks, and worry if what I say or what I do is best for PRIME in the eyes of my peers? That I have to worry about morale? NewsflashâŚyou been watching the product? You got a locker room full of wolves, and a bunch of sheep who look at their shoes playing the tortured bit. Fine. Two years. I gave YOU ALL two years to raise the banner. To be the hero. BecauseâŚunlike a bunch of you dipshitsâŚBrandon Youngblood has legitimate blood on his hands. Heâs the outlaw known for storming through the town, leaving nothing behind.
Once again, center. His chin up. His eyes narrowed.
Brandon Youngblood: But since you all donât have the gutsâŚtwo yearsâŚIâll BE the goddamn hero PRIME needs.
This statement brings loud roars from the crowd.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Ivan. Cecilworth. Whoever else. EVERYONE else. Iâm coming into 2024 putting the target on my back I shouldnât have to. And so many people say you donât want to be like themâŚbut hellâŚyou ALL should want to be me.
A malicious smile.
Brandon Youngblood: The Red Era, huh Ivan? PRIME had banners and everything. And what did the reign of Ivan Stanislav amount to? Three months sitting on your assâŚhealing up because this ONE ARMED Diamond took a piece of you youâll NEVER get back. Three months to heal. To get better. To prepare. And just like everyone else in the ReVival era to be Universal ChampionâŚsave oneâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
They know who âthe other isâ. Straight out of the carton.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚoh Iâll get to his assâŚ
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Brandon Youngblood: You can win the belt, but you canât keep it. And thatâs the thing. The PRIME Universal Championship. The most coveted championship is sportsâŚ
He is nodding at the thought. The declaration. Because of its importance, not just to him, but to everyone who fights in the sport of wrestling. For what they desire. For what they covet.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Farthington. BecauseâŚhellâŚyou stood up in San Diego last summer, slapping the plate of the 5 Star trying to make the world believe that it was the pinnacle of all sports. The powers out thereâŚthey wanted to take the special boy championship and make the argument that itâs the one a, the one b, to the Universal. One defense. A bunch of tags. Couldâve stood above and beyondâŚbut there you were in the AlmasyâŚfighting your way up the ladder to get to the peakâŚand to get a shot at what comes with it.
A little chuckle.
Brandon Youngblood: YeahâŚI lost to you. One arm and I lost to you. But this thingâŚ
He lifts his left arm up to chest level, then out.
Brandon Youngblood: Itâs good now.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
All fun and games, but the tone changes. More stoic. More sincere.
Brandon Youngblood: Make no mistakeâŚCecilworth. Thereâs only a few people the end of this line comes down to. And in the endâŚI will come for you. Not for your title. For you. For EVERYTHING you are. For everything YOU represent in the sport of professional wrestling. Because youâre the only other one who knowsâŚ
The intensity and tone of voice shifts back to the aggression it carried moments before.
Brandon Youngblood: Which is kind of funnyâŚIâm out here throwing stones at the pinnacle of the sportâŚand as I am doing soâŚI got this little dogâŚyipping at my anklesâŚtelling the world that nothing mattersâŚthat itâs all chaos and that they cared but now they donât care even thoughâŚshitâŚdid Anna Daniels ever ACTUALLY care?
His nostrils flare.
Brandon Youngblood: Two years ago in the halls of the MGM Grand Garden Arena, we came face to face, and the whole thing was about the fight that was going to go down between me and you. PresentâŚto future. You were a rising star. Feared.
A deep exhale as he grasps again at the top rope.
Brandon Youngblood: And howâs that gone since?
Straightening back, he paces from hardcam to the opposite end of the ring.
Brandon Youngblood: You asked me when I was going to stop being a bitch and fight you. You shouldâve been asking yourself how you could go out and beat Paxton Ray for the Intense Championship yet still flop around like a fish out of water. You want a fight. Letâs do it. You name the time, you name the place before Culture Shock. Because on this race course, Iâm SICK of waiting for you to catch up from the laps Iâve run around your dumb ass.
A finger stabbing toward the canvas punctuates his call.
Brandon Youngblood: Time and place. Has to be before Culture Shock because after? Thatâs when the time is up for FLAMBERGE, or Jared Sykes, or Jonathan-Christopher Hall. Because after Culture Shock comes and goes? Thatâs when all the Golden Tickets run out. Thatâs when the dance partners arenât known months ahead of time. But Iâll give you a spoilerâŚwhoever it isâŚwhichever one it isâŚthe Universal ChampionshipâŚMY Universal ChampionshipâŚis making its way back home starting in the summer just like always. So enjoy it. Savor it. Because at the end of the lineâŚitâs me ready to end the borrowed time youâre living on.
Stern. Foreboding. This isnât a threat to him. Itâs reality. Something felt through every part, every synapse. The gravelly tone returns as he continues, circling back to âThe Otherâ mentioned previously.
Brandon Youngblood: Like youâŚJiles.
Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOH YEAAAAAAAAH! OHHHHHH HELL YEAH!
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚyou get a special one. Because you and me? Itâs been done. Lindsay Troy gave you the Hanlon treatmentâŚor maybe he got the Jiles treatmentâŚchance after chanceâŚgive your little belly a few rubsâŚbecause poor wittle Cancer Jiles LOST the 2022 Almasy and LOST the Golden Ticket and PRIME felt the need to squeeze blood from the stone and make you and me the unstoppable force versus the immovable object. You kicked me in my goddamn face. CongratulationsâŚyouâve done it before.
Growling.
Brandon Youngblood: Fettuccine alfredoâŚworking to get that trending like cold sores.
Nothing but vengefulness.
Brandon Youngblood: It doesnât change the fact that you couldnât beat me. And it doesnât change the fact that, after you put all your eggs in the Golden Ticket basket, that you think taking a stab at Old Reliable is going to give you the boost you need to carpe diem or live laugh love or whatever the shit it is that you need to fill yourself up after that spotlight just isnât shining down on you like you think it should.
Malignant disdain. Born from a rivalry never wanted, never reciprocated truly. And he still refuses it, but the cracks, no matter how he tries to hide them, are showing.
Brandon Youngblood: Spotlights on a cockroach do one thing; they fry them, Jiles. I got to get all my ducks in a row before we get past Culture Shock. Before I start being a slave to the contenders list. You got nothing to offer meâŚsave this one little slotâŚ
Anticipation.
Brandon Youngblood: Wells Fargo Arena.
Richard Parker: Yes.
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42.
Richard Parker: Yes!
Brandon Youngblood: Philadelphia.
Richard Parker: OH MY HOYT YES!
Brandon Youngblood: It ainât COOLympus, but then againâŚCOOLympus donât exist anymore. Not after you went up against The Tower. But PhillyâŚitâs where you come from. Where you were born. Raised. HellâŚthey might even love you there. They probably do. And they can love you all the more when I put an end to me and you, once and for allâŚin YOUR hometown, Jiles.
Nick Stuart: Did we just get next weekâs main eventâŚ
Richard Parker: YES WE DID, NICK! YES BY HOYT GOD YES WE DID! AND CANCER JILES IS A DEAD MAN! BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD IS GOING TO GET HIS HANDS ON HIM AND BREAK HIM IN HALF!
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42. Youngblood. Jiles. For the last time. For the FINAL time. Because when I done beating your ass down in Philly, then you trulyâŚTRULYâŚhave nothing I ever want. I donât run charities for crumbs. I donâtâ
âWHEN MY BACKâS TO THE WALLLLL!!!!!â
I!!
WILL!!
CON!!
QUER!!
âDaggersâ hits the speakers, and the boos come flowing. Interrupting the Tower of Babelâs monologue, Hayes Hanlon steps out onto the entrance ramp, mic in hand. Black dress shirt unbuttoned a couple, sleeves rolled up. âStache on point, and dark eyes connecting with Youngbloodâs.
The music fades slowly, leaving the boos from Buffalo, New York. Hayes, true to form, takes his time before lifting the mic to his mouth.
Hayes Hanlon: Man, did you always talk this much?
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Home Run Hayes ignores the jeers, and opens a palm to the crowd, lifting an eyebrow.
Hayes Hanlon: Are you enjoying this, Buffalo? Is this what you shoveled six feet of snow to get here for? To listen to Big Bad Suplex Daddy stroke his Big Bad ego? Because man, watching the Bills shit the bed on Sunday would be a better use of your paychecks.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hayes Hanlon: I donât think thatâs why theyâre here, Youngblood. Youâre dropping a lot of names out here, but theyâre the wrong ones! Nobody wants to hear you say a word about Cecilworth FarthingtonâŚ
Another volley of boos as Hayes takes a step down the ramp, the arena displeased at the mention of the Financier.
Hayes Hanlon: Yeah man, we get it. âThe drummer from Def Leppardâs only got one arm.â We get it. But that doesnât change the fact that eeeeveryone here watched him take your neck in the second. Round.
He pauses on the ramp, then lowers his palm to the floor, gesturing for everyone to calm down.
Hayes Hanlon: But hey, I get it, man. He got me, too. But moving on, noooobody here wants to hear you bark at Anna Daniels. And I gotta ask, YoungbloodâŚdid she actually have you fooled?
Hammerinâ Hayes takes a few more steps, pointing a finger at the fellow two-time Champ.
Hayes Hanlon: That she was actually some kind of threat? What gave you that impression? Do YOU believe in (using quotation fingers) âTime Lords?â Man, I hope not, but if itâs all true, apparently theyâre more interested in selling t-shirts than having a winning record. Oh waitwaitwait, I forgot. nOnE oF thAt MaAaTteeRs and weâre all just dIsaPpooOintmeNts. Buddy, youâre eons beyond Anna Daniels. Youâre wasting your breath.
Youngblood keeps those deep set eyes trained on the young Event Horizon as he reaches the steps.
Hayes Hanlon: And Big Red? They donât wanna hear about it! Because you couldnât beat him either! You know who could? FLAMBERGE.
Two more steps, and heâs at the edge of the apron.
Hayes Hanlon: And ME.
A pause, the dull rumble from Buffalo refusing to let up. Meanwhile, Hayes holds up two fingers, and mouths the word âtwice.â
He then steps through the ropes, and is smart to keep his distance, pacing from one corner to another, head turned to keep his eyes on PRIMEâs Diamond.
Hayes Hanlon: And maaaaaann, you had to go and put our buddy Cancer in your mouth again. The King of COOLympus. The mountain that never existed in the first place. The guy who just canât beat Brandon Youngblood. OR Hayes. Freakinâ. Hanlon.
Hayes stops and turns his chest to Youngblood, holding his arms out wide.
Hayes Hanlon: But heâs your guy? Heâs your target? Man, itâs just miss after miss after miss after miss. Because out of every name youâve mentioned so far? Thereâs only ONE that should matter to you right nowâŚ
The Event Horizon holds a hard stare, and slowly turns his index finger towards his own chest, and mouths the word âme.â
The staredown remains strong and fiery against the noise of the Buffalo crowd, until Hanlon breaks it.
Hayes Hanlon: And when you did mention my name, you referred to âThe Hanlon Treatment.â So I gotta ask, bud. What IS the âHanlon Treatmentâ exactly?
Hayes takes an adventurous step forward, head cock-eyed and glaring.
Hayes Hanlon: Because if by âThe Hanlon Treatment,â you mean âmanagement doing everything they can to tear the belt off of me,â then you hit the nail on the freakinâ head!
Another wave of heavy boos. Youngblood can barely keep himself from snorting in amusement, but the face strewn across the Event Horizon is deathly serious.
Hayes Hanlon: These folks may have forgot, but I remember ReVival 26 DAMN well. I remember you stepping out of Lindsay Troyâs office, cracking your knuckles and damn near drooling. What went on behind that door, Youngblood? Is that when you pitched a fit for another shot at the Universal Title? Right after Ivan threw me THROUGH THE FUCKING CAGE?? WAS THAT THE âHANLON TREATMENTâ??
And now, Hayes is close, maybe a foot or two from Youngbloodâs jutting jaw. Neither relents, hot fumes pushing through their nostrils.
Hayes Hanlon: Bet you felt reeaalll good about that.
And then, Hayes steps away, shaking his head, and gestures to the crowd.
Hayes Hanlon: Youâve got emâ all fooled, man, I know it. You can talk yourself up about being the pillar. The Tower. PRIMEâs hero! But I KNOW better! Because I WATCHED you, man! Growing up! And while everyone here will remember the Tower of BabelâŚ
In a flash, Hayes spins back toward Mr. Fuck Around and Find Out.
Hayes Hanlon: I remember the PARIAH!!!
And with that statement, he can take it no longer.
Brandon Youngblood: AND I REMEMBER YOU ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDERS, HAYES!
Heâs quaking with rage.
Brandon Youngblood: I REMEMBER YOU SITTING IN MADISON SQUARE GARDEN! Caesar is smoking cigarettes and Iâm there too and youâre bouncing off those walls about to go against Jiles and YOU WANTING US THERE! FOR YOU!
The stabbing finger doesnât touch Hanlon, but if it were another inch, it damn sure would.
Brandon Youngblood: You EARNED THE GODDAMN WORLD and HERE YOU ARE! Coming down here after it allâ
Hayes Hanlon: I EARNED THE WORLD, AND YOU COULDNâT FUCKING WAIT TO TAKE IT FROM ME!
Brandon Youngblood: LOOK IN MY EYES RIGHT NOW! YOU SAY PARIAH! YOU KNOW ME! YOU KNOW WHAT I AM! WHAT I DO! I NEAR PARALYZED YOUR HERO TO GET A TASTE OF THE UNIVERSAL! BUT I DIDNâT DO THAT TO YOU!
Stern.
Brandon Youngblood: I just FOUGHT you. After you asked me WHY I didnât make you the Next Diamond. Why I gave that to Nate Colton. And you remember what I said that night? Do you? DO YOU?!
Spit flying from his maw.
Brandon Youngblood: Because YOU HAVE a chance TO BE BETTER THAN US ALL!
A sneer.
Brandon Youngblood: I waited NINE MONTHS to fight for that championship Hayes. It wasnât personal. Not even when you got shot back to compete for it RIGHT AFTER losing it. Not to you. Not to the kid. To the system. But you want it to be personal?
Nose to nose.
Brandon Youngblood: Because now? Itâs personal.
Nose to nose barely describes it. Itâs soul to soul. Rage to rage. To Hanlonâs credit, he doesnât flinch, and spews the same flame from his nose that pours out of Youngbloodâs.
After a long, long pause amongst the roars of Buffalo, Hanlon calms his voice, finds space for the microphone.
Hayes Hanlon: You say I have a chance to be better?
Boldly, Home Run Hayes presses his forehead into Youngbloodâs, and seethes into the mic.
Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, I already am.
He pushes off, and right on cue, âDaggersâ returns to the speakers, slamming the arena with metal and noise. A dull thud from the microphone reverberates as it hits the mat, and Hayes backs away toward the ropes, stepping through and hopping to the ground, backpedaling up the ramp and keeping those hard, dark eyes set on the Tower of Babelâs.
Nick Stuart: My GOD! My GOD! Hanlon and YoungbloodâŚthey justâŚ
Richard Parker: Oh theyâre on fire. ButâŚI meanâŚfirst things firstâŚare we going to see Jiles and Youngblood at 42? And THEN we MIGHT just get a rematch of one of the greatest bouts in PRIME history?!
Youngblood, for his part, seethes in stoic measure, eyes locked on Hanlon.
If this was the appetizerâŚ
Think what the meal could possibly be.
We cut backstage.
From commercial, we return, a single shot up close of spectators on one of the ends of the entrance ramp. A low murmur runs through the KeyBank Arena crowd, unaware of what to expect next.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
The murmur quickly changes to arms raised in the air, practically everyone in attendance getting to their feet in anticipation for one of the surliest, perpetually intense stars to ever grace a wrestling ring. The camera cut quickly shifts to a wide shot from the foot of the stage, Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surging through the arena. There are no blue or white strobes, the house lights remaining at full.
Then, Mr. Fuck Around And Find Out powers through the curtain.
Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd!
The appearance of the Suplex Daddy sends the fans into absolute raucous cheers. Dressed casually, white henley with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, jeans, a black banded watch on the wrist, black shitkicking boots, The Tower of Babel powerwalks, his eyes trained forward, the hallmark oppressive scowl of intensity etched like stone across his face.
Richard Parker: This entranceâŚeverytimeâŚEVERYTIMEâŚit gives me a headache! Get me thicker earplugs!
Nick Stuart: I tell you one thingâŚthis manâŚheâs not here to compete tonight, and frankly, at the end of last year, he shouldnât have been. A torn tricep. Dislocated shoulder. And he wrestled at Colossus mere weeks after a surgery nobody knew aboutâ
Richard Parker: And couldâve lost his arm!
Nick Stuart: Didnât matter. Tony Gamble picked a fight, and he sure got one in New Orleans!
Youngbloodâs shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, quickly down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring like a stirring bull. As if on cue, one of the ringside attendants gets near the ring apron, holding out a microphone.
The Diamond rips it away, his head drawn upward as he continues his pacing.
Richard Parker: He looks POSITIVELY irate. And after what happened with him and Cancer Jiles at Colossus, I canât blame him. Disgusting alfredo sauce and all. Disgusting.
Nick Stuart: Forceful as ever. Looking ready as ever.
His music fading, the crowd continuing to cheer, after a few moments, the volume lowers, and as it does, the pacing stops. Itâs then that The Diamond begins to speak.
Brandon Youngblood: New year. ReVival, year three. PRIMEâs back. AndâŚJULIEN! The clock is tickingâŚ
A flick of the wrist, looking at the face of his watch. The mention of the Universal Championâs birth name gets a surprisingly strong amount of cheers.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚor maybe I got it wrong. Maybe itâs youâŚJaredâŚ
A mock shake of said wrist. Aggressive, stabbing taps. Making mention the Dragonslayer dwarfs the cheers offered for FLAMBERGE, showing exactly how partisan they are.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚscratch that. MaybeâŚjust maybeâŚitâs youâŚJonathanâŚChristopherâŚHall.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Oh, THAT one isnât getting a single attaboy. Youngblood drops the wrist, his face a scowl, his chin tucked and his eyes peering up.
Brandon Youngblood: All three of youâŚI got a lot of ground to cover. And unlike for you? My time isnât running out.
He straightens himself, aggressively prowling to the center of the ring, taking ownership of the squared circle.
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚthis first time out, itâs resolutionsâŚitâs declarationsâŚitâs making statements. And for the last two years, a lot of you have taken a lot more rope than you, by rights, should have. Youâve had more time, more space, more shine. Last yearâŚAce Network put billboards all across AmericaâŚinserts in magazinesâŚads on videosâŚThe Future Is Here. Hayes Hanlon and Nate Colton. The faces of PRIME. The holders of the top two championships in ALL of sports. Hungry young studs, everything was there for them.
His right hand clasps the top rope toward hardcam.
Brandon Youngblood: You see those billboards now?
A snarl of disgust.
Brandon Youngblood: NoâŚnow itâs glueâŚand vending machinesâŚand pinkâŚand redâŚnecksâŚlove. New year. New printâŚ
His voice trails off before exploding with ferocity.
Brandon Youngblood: Same bullshit!
There is resonance with what he is saying to this crowd. Surely it has to do with the messenger.
Brandon Youngblood: The marketing and the glitz, the glamor, the sold out arenasâŚthe sold out STADIUMSâŚit doesnât happen if there isnât someone to be the pillar. To be the standard. To grind and fight while everyone else gets the chance to be shinierâŚto be the sexier pickâŚ
Disdain.
Brandon Youngblood: But this? It all stands because of the work I accomplished.
At each each point, he moves, refusing to stay still, raw unfiltered thought and energy pouring out.
Brandon Youngblood: WhatâŚam I supposed to stand here and brood, and kick rocks, and worry if what I say or what I do is best for PRIME in the eyes of my peers? That I have to worry about morale? NewsflashâŚyou been watching the product? You got a locker room full of wolves, and a bunch of sheep who look at their shoes playing the tortured bit. Fine. Two years. I gave YOU ALL two years to raise the banner. To be the hero. BecauseâŚunlike a bunch of you dipshitsâŚBrandon Youngblood has legitimate blood on his hands. Heâs the outlaw known for storming through the town, leaving nothing behind.
Once again, center. His chin up. His eyes narrowed.
Brandon Youngblood: But since you all donât have the gutsâŚtwo yearsâŚIâll BE the goddamn hero PRIME needs.
This statement brings loud roars from the crowd.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Ivan. Cecilworth. Whoever else. EVERYONE else. Iâm coming into 2024 putting the target on my back I shouldnât have to. And so many people say you donât want to be like themâŚbut hellâŚyou ALL should want to be me.
A malicious smile.
Brandon Youngblood: The Red Era, huh Ivan? PRIME had banners and everything. And what did the reign of Ivan Stanislav amount to? Three months sitting on your assâŚhealing up because this ONE ARMED Diamond took a piece of you youâll NEVER get back. Three months to heal. To get better. To prepare. And just like everyone else in the ReVival era to be Universal ChampionâŚsave oneâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
They know who âthe other isâ. Straight out of the carton.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚoh Iâll get to his assâŚ
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Brandon Youngblood: You can win the belt, but you canât keep it. And thatâs the thing. The PRIME Universal Championship. The most coveted championship is sportsâŚ
He is nodding at the thought. The declaration. Because of its importance, not just to him, but to everyone who fights in the sport of wrestling. For what they desire. For what they covet.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs right, Farthington. BecauseâŚhellâŚyou stood up in San Diego last summer, slapping the plate of the 5 Star trying to make the world believe that it was the pinnacle of all sports. The powers out thereâŚthey wanted to take the special boy championship and make the argument that itâs the one a, the one b, to the Universal. One defense. A bunch of tags. Couldâve stood above and beyondâŚbut there you were in the AlmasyâŚfighting your way up the ladder to get to the peakâŚand to get a shot at what comes with it.
A little chuckle.
Brandon Youngblood: YeahâŚI lost to you. One arm and I lost to you. But this thingâŚ
He lifts his left arm up to chest level, then out.
Brandon Youngblood: Itâs good now.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
All fun and games, but the tone changes. More stoic. More sincere.
Brandon Youngblood: Make no mistakeâŚCecilworth. Thereâs only a few people the end of this line comes down to. And in the endâŚI will come for you. Not for your title. For you. For EVERYTHING you are. For everything YOU represent in the sport of professional wrestling. Because youâre the only other one who knowsâŚ
The intensity and tone of voice shifts back to the aggression it carried moments before.
Brandon Youngblood: Which is kind of funnyâŚIâm out here throwing stones at the pinnacle of the sportâŚand as I am doing soâŚI got this little dogâŚyipping at my anklesâŚtelling the world that nothing mattersâŚthat itâs all chaos and that they cared but now they donât care even thoughâŚshitâŚdid Anna Daniels ever ACTUALLY care?
His nostrils flare.
Brandon Youngblood: Two years ago in the halls of the MGM Grand Garden Arena, we came face to face, and the whole thing was about the fight that was going to go down between me and you. PresentâŚto future. You were a rising star. Feared.
A deep exhale as he grasps again at the top rope.
Brandon Youngblood: And howâs that gone since?
Straightening back, he paces from hardcam to the opposite end of the ring.
Brandon Youngblood: You asked me when I was going to stop being a bitch and fight you. You shouldâve been asking yourself how you could go out and beat Paxton Ray for the Intense Championship yet still flop around like a fish out of water. You want a fight. Letâs do it. You name the time, you name the place before Culture Shock. Because on this race course, Iâm SICK of waiting for you to catch up from the laps Iâve run around your dumb ass.
A finger stabbing toward the canvas punctuates his call.
Brandon Youngblood: Time and place. Has to be before Culture Shock because after? Thatâs when the time is up for FLAMBERGE, or Jared Sykes, or Jonathan-Christopher Hall. Because after Culture Shock comes and goes? Thatâs when all the Golden Tickets run out. Thatâs when the dance partners arenât known months ahead of time. But Iâll give you a spoilerâŚwhoever it isâŚwhichever one it isâŚthe Universal ChampionshipâŚMY Universal ChampionshipâŚis making its way back home starting in the summer just like always. So enjoy it. Savor it. Because at the end of the lineâŚitâs me ready to end the borrowed time youâre living on.
Stern. Foreboding. This isnât a threat to him. Itâs reality. Something felt through every part, every synapse. The gravelly tone returns as he continues, circling back to âThe Otherâ mentioned previously.
Brandon Youngblood: Like youâŚJiles.
Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOH YEAAAAAAAAH! OHHHHHH HELL YEAH!
Brandon Youngblood: SeeâŚyou get a special one. Because you and me? Itâs been done. Lindsay Troy gave you the Hanlon treatmentâŚor maybe he got the Jiles treatmentâŚchance after chanceâŚgive your little belly a few rubsâŚbecause poor wittle Cancer Jiles LOST the 2022 Almasy and LOST the Golden Ticket and PRIME felt the need to squeeze blood from the stone and make you and me the unstoppable force versus the immovable object. You kicked me in my goddamn face. CongratulationsâŚyouâve done it before.
Growling.
Brandon Youngblood: Fettuccine alfredoâŚworking to get that trending like cold sores.
Nothing but vengefulness.
Brandon Youngblood: It doesnât change the fact that you couldnât beat me. And it doesnât change the fact that, after you put all your eggs in the Golden Ticket basket, that you think taking a stab at Old Reliable is going to give you the boost you need to carpe diem or live laugh love or whatever the shit it is that you need to fill yourself up after that spotlight just isnât shining down on you like you think it should.
Malignant disdain. Born from a rivalry never wanted, never reciprocated truly. And he still refuses it, but the cracks, no matter how he tries to hide them, are showing.
Brandon Youngblood: Spotlights on a cockroach do one thing; they fry them, Jiles. I got to get all my ducks in a row before we get past Culture Shock. Before I start being a slave to the contenders list. You got nothing to offer meâŚsave this one little slotâŚ
Anticipation.
Brandon Youngblood: Wells Fargo Arena.
Richard Parker: Yes.
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42.
Richard Parker: Yes!
Brandon Youngblood: Philadelphia.
Richard Parker: OH MY HOYT YES!
Brandon Youngblood: It ainât COOLympus, but then againâŚCOOLympus donât exist anymore. Not after you went up against The Tower. But PhillyâŚitâs where you come from. Where you were born. Raised. HellâŚthey might even love you there. They probably do. And they can love you all the more when I put an end to me and you, once and for allâŚin YOUR hometown, Jiles.
Nick Stuart: Did we just get next weekâs main eventâŚ
Richard Parker: YES WE DID, NICK! YES BY HOYT GOD YES WE DID! AND CANCER JILES IS A DEAD MAN! BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD IS GOING TO GET HIS HANDS ON HIM AND BREAK HIM IN HALF!
Brandon Youngblood: ReVival 42. Youngblood. Jiles. For the last time. For the FINAL time. Because when I done beating your ass down in Philly, then you trulyâŚTRULYâŚhave nothing I ever want. I donât run charities for crumbs. I donâtâ
âWHEN MY BACKâS TO THE WALLLLL!!!!!â
I!!
WILL!!
CON!!
QUER!!
âDaggersâ hits the speakers, and the boos come flowing. Interrupting the Tower of Babelâs monologue, Hayes Hanlon steps out onto the entrance ramp, mic in hand. Black dress shirt unbuttoned a couple, sleeves rolled up. âStache on point, and dark eyes connecting with Youngbloodâs.
The music fades slowly, leaving the boos from Buffalo, New York. Hayes, true to form, takes his time before lifting the mic to his mouth.
Hayes Hanlon: Man, did you always talk this much?
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Home Run Hayes ignores the jeers, and opens a palm to the crowd, lifting an eyebrow.
Hayes Hanlon: Are you enjoying this, Buffalo? Is this what you shoveled six feet of snow to get here for? To listen to Big Bad Suplex Daddy stroke his Big Bad ego? Because man, watching the Bills shit the bed on Sunday would be a better use of your paychecks.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hayes Hanlon: I donât think thatâs why theyâre here, Youngblood. Youâre dropping a lot of names out here, but theyâre the wrong ones! Nobody wants to hear you say a word about Cecilworth FarthingtonâŚ
Another volley of boos as Hayes takes a step down the ramp, the arena displeased at the mention of the Financier.
Hayes Hanlon: Yeah man, we get it. âThe drummer from Def Leppardâs only got one arm.â We get it. But that doesnât change the fact that eeeeveryone here watched him take your neck in the second. Round.
He pauses on the ramp, then lowers his palm to the floor, gesturing for everyone to calm down.
Hayes Hanlon: But hey, I get it, man. He got me, too. But moving on, noooobody here wants to hear you bark at Anna Daniels. And I gotta ask, YoungbloodâŚdid she actually have you fooled?
Hammerinâ Hayes takes a few more steps, pointing a finger at the fellow two-time Champ.
Hayes Hanlon: That she was actually some kind of threat? What gave you that impression? Do YOU believe in (using quotation fingers) âTime Lords?â Man, I hope not, but if itâs all true, apparently theyâre more interested in selling t-shirts than having a winning record. Oh waitwaitwait, I forgot. nOnE oF thAt MaAaTteeRs and weâre all just dIsaPpooOintmeNts. Buddy, youâre eons beyond Anna Daniels. Youâre wasting your breath.
Youngblood keeps those deep set eyes trained on the young Event Horizon as he reaches the steps.
Hayes Hanlon: And Big Red? They donât wanna hear about it! Because you couldnât beat him either! You know who could? FLAMBERGE.
Two more steps, and heâs at the edge of the apron.
Hayes Hanlon: And ME.
A pause, the dull rumble from Buffalo refusing to let up. Meanwhile, Hayes holds up two fingers, and mouths the word âtwice.â
He then steps through the ropes, and is smart to keep his distance, pacing from one corner to another, head turned to keep his eyes on PRIMEâs Diamond.
Hayes Hanlon: And maaaaaann, you had to go and put our buddy Cancer in your mouth again. The King of COOLympus. The mountain that never existed in the first place. The guy who just canât beat Brandon Youngblood. OR Hayes. Freakinâ. Hanlon.
Hayes stops and turns his chest to Youngblood, holding his arms out wide.
Hayes Hanlon: But heâs your guy? Heâs your target? Man, itâs just miss after miss after miss after miss. Because out of every name youâve mentioned so far? Thereâs only ONE that should matter to you right nowâŚ
The Event Horizon holds a hard stare, and slowly turns his index finger towards his own chest, and mouths the word âme.â
The staredown remains strong and fiery against the noise of the Buffalo crowd, until Hanlon breaks it.
Hayes Hanlon: And when you did mention my name, you referred to âThe Hanlon Treatment.â So I gotta ask, bud. What IS the âHanlon Treatmentâ exactly?
Hayes takes an adventurous step forward, head cock-eyed and glaring.
Hayes Hanlon: Because if by âThe Hanlon Treatment,â you mean âmanagement doing everything they can to tear the belt off of me,â then you hit the nail on the freakinâ head!
Another wave of heavy boos. Youngblood can barely keep himself from snorting in amusement, but the face strewn across the Event Horizon is deathly serious.
Hayes Hanlon: These folks may have forgot, but I remember ReVival 26 DAMN well. I remember you stepping out of Lindsay Troyâs office, cracking your knuckles and damn near drooling. What went on behind that door, Youngblood? Is that when you pitched a fit for another shot at the Universal Title? Right after Ivan threw me THROUGH THE FUCKING CAGE?? WAS THAT THE âHANLON TREATMENTâ??
And now, Hayes is close, maybe a foot or two from Youngbloodâs jutting jaw. Neither relents, hot fumes pushing through their nostrils.
Hayes Hanlon: Bet you felt reeaalll good about that.
And then, Hayes steps away, shaking his head, and gestures to the crowd.
Hayes Hanlon: Youâve got emâ all fooled, man, I know it. You can talk yourself up about being the pillar. The Tower. PRIMEâs hero! But I KNOW better! Because I WATCHED you, man! Growing up! And while everyone here will remember the Tower of BabelâŚ
In a flash, Hayes spins back toward Mr. Fuck Around and Find Out.
Hayes Hanlon: I remember the PARIAH!!!
And with that statement, he can take it no longer.
Brandon Youngblood: AND I REMEMBER YOU ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDERS, HAYES!
Heâs quaking with rage.
Brandon Youngblood: I REMEMBER YOU SITTING IN MADISON SQUARE GARDEN! Caesar is smoking cigarettes and Iâm there too and youâre bouncing off those walls about to go against Jiles and YOU WANTING US THERE! FOR YOU!
The stabbing finger doesnât touch Hanlon, but if it were another inch, it damn sure would.
Brandon Youngblood: You EARNED THE GODDAMN WORLD and HERE YOU ARE! Coming down here after it allâ
Hayes Hanlon: I EARNED THE WORLD, AND YOU COULDNâT FUCKING WAIT TO TAKE IT FROM ME!
Brandon Youngblood: LOOK IN MY EYES RIGHT NOW! YOU SAY PARIAH! YOU KNOW ME! YOU KNOW WHAT I AM! WHAT I DO! I NEAR PARALYZED YOUR HERO TO GET A TASTE OF THE UNIVERSAL! BUT I DIDNâT DO THAT TO YOU!
Stern.
Brandon Youngblood: I just FOUGHT you. After you asked me WHY I didnât make you the Next Diamond. Why I gave that to Nate Colton. And you remember what I said that night? Do you? DO YOU?!
Spit flying from his maw.
Brandon Youngblood: Because YOU HAVE a chance TO BE BETTER THAN US ALL!
A sneer.
Brandon Youngblood: I waited NINE MONTHS to fight for that championship Hayes. It wasnât personal. Not even when you got shot back to compete for it RIGHT AFTER losing it. Not to you. Not to the kid. To the system. But you want it to be personal?
Nose to nose.
Brandon Youngblood: Because now? Itâs personal.
Nose to nose barely describes it. Itâs soul to soul. Rage to rage. To Hanlonâs credit, he doesnât flinch, and spews the same flame from his nose that pours out of Youngbloodâs.
After a long, long pause amongst the roars of Buffalo, Hanlon calms his voice, finds space for the microphone.
Hayes Hanlon: You say I have a chance to be better?
Boldly, Home Run Hayes presses his forehead into Youngbloodâs, and seethes into the mic.
Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, I already am.
He pushes off, and right on cue, âDaggersâ returns to the speakers, slamming the arena with metal and noise. A dull thud from the microphone reverberates as it hits the mat, and Hayes backs away toward the ropes, stepping through and hopping to the ground, backpedaling up the ramp and keeping those hard, dark eyes set on the Tower of Babelâs.
Nick Stuart: My GOD! My GOD! Hanlon and YoungbloodâŚthey justâŚ
Richard Parker: Oh theyâre on fire. ButâŚI meanâŚfirst things firstâŚare we going to see Jiles and Youngblood at 42? And THEN we MIGHT just get a rematch of one of the greatest bouts in PRIME history?!
Youngblood, for his part, seethes in stoic measure, eyes locked on Hanlon.
If this was the appetizerâŚ
Think what the meal could possibly be.
We cut backstage.
In the backstage hallway of the KeyBank Center walks a tiny little woman with a purpose. The PRETTY PINKŠ dress is clearly in focus and the wandering puppy dog behind her trails, as he is also dressed in his PRETTY PINKŠ âI HEART VICKIEâ branded robe.
Vickie Hall: Come along, Jonathan-Christopher. This has been nipping at the insides of my brain for a couple of weeks.
As Vickie moves down the hallway, her face becomes more disjointed and twitchy. Itâs clear this thought, whatever it is, has started to not only ânipâ at her brain, like she mentioned, but itâs displaying an entirely different demeanor. Not one of confidence and certainly, like she displayed to Ivan Stanislav and co. a short period ago. This isnât even the same sweltering arrogance she channeled after witnessing her recent management successes â the partner of the new number one contender to the Universal Championship and her, the one who will lead a team into War the night thereafter. No. This look⌠this twitch across the top of her right eyelid and left lower lip⌠is something sinister, evil and definitely spiteful.
She arrives at the end of the hallway. Jonathan-Christopher quickly catches up and looks at the formidable steel door they stand in front of. The camera pans over. The nameplate readsâŚ
LINDSAY TROY.
Vickie rolls her shoulders back, straightens out her neck, cracks her knuckles and takes in a deep breath.
Sheâs about to reach for the door handle but then why would she? With her Mr. Burnâs-like strength and all. Plus, itâs her partnerâs job to help her feel secure.
Vickie Hall: Dear Jonathan-Christopher, why has this door not opened yet?
She knocks and then watches as the Forever Man struggles to open the door. Itâs not his fault that heâs having trouble; the Steel Door OâDoom is the way it is for a reason, which is the majority of the roster gets on her last damn nerve and she doesnât want yâall to bother her.
Also, Ivan broke her door down once. Never again.
Vickie Hall: Can you⌠work a little harder?
Vickieâs Honey Bunches of Oats sure is trying his best, however heâs not having any luck.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Iâm trying, baby. I really am! Itâs harder to crack than the tournament bracket!
Vickieâs eye twitches in annoyance. Just as sheâs about to cause a scene, the door swings open and Lindsay Troy stands there, surprised.
Lindsay Troy: Oh. This isâŚunexpected.
The Woman of Wonder immediately brushes past her boss and enters the office. Itâs not that sheâs being rude, itâs that she doesnât have the manners to understand you have to wait for a cue before entering.
Lindsay watches her breeze inside and glance around the office.
Lindsay Troy: (to Vickie) Just come inside, why donât you.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: OK.
The Lady of the Hour looks back at JCH and motions for him to come inside, which he does. As soon as Lindsay starts walking over, Vickie starts in.
Vickie Hall: Hi pink lilâ sis. Youâre such an inspiration. Listen, love what youâve done with your office today in the majestic and romantic city of BUFFALO, NEW YORK. Anyway, I wanted to let you know over the holidays it wasnât as fun for me as youâd think. Yes, Jonathan-Christopher won the Almasy Tournament and while it was a year overdue, it was such a joyous occasion.
Vickie stands firmly in front of Troyâs desk, as Lindsay sits behind it. The North Kaelrean flag that The Herald left earlier in the night has been putâŚ.somewhere âsafe.â Meanwhile, Jonathan-Christopher hovers behind, in the doorway, making sure Vickie can capture Troyâs entire attention and he isnât used as a distraction.
The PRETTY PINKŠ woman presents a frowny face and places her hands on her hips.
Vickie Hall: But then the awards show took place and Iâm all like wondering what happened to my Manager of the Year Award.
Another frowny face.
Vickie Hall: Alexis Russellan? I donât even know who that is (awkward chuckle). Itâs like I lost to a ghost or something.
Vickie hangs her head. Her tiny body trembles with anxiety.
Vickie Hall: So I was wondering⌠because your hair looks so righteous and divine today, what about that recount on the voting process?
Lindsay stares at Vickie. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
Lindsay Troy: Are you serious?
Vickie Hall: Of course Iâm serious!
Lindsay Troy: Vickie⌠(a chuckle slips out) Please leave. And the answerâs no.
Vickie Hall: (quickly replying) Thank you for your time.
The Woman of Wonder spins back around towards the entrance. Jonathan-Christopher slides to the side for Vickie to exit. At first, the sad face Vickie displays suggests she needs to be consoled by her man. Yet once Jonathan-Christopher reaches his right arm out to rub her back-
She snaps her head upright. Her eyes bug out of her head. Sheâs practically seething towards her Amazing Life Partner as they stand in the hallway.
Vickie Hall: Easy for you to not back me up, Mr. Almasy Winner? Gosh golly, what kind of an ego have you developed!?
Jonathan-Christopher is so shocked and hurt by this⌠he lowers his hand off her back. He also lowers his head. He doesnât know what to say.
Vickie Hall: Youâre supposed to be defending me in there! (Huff) I need a man with a backbone who can stand up for his lady when she is mistreated. Itâs all unfair!
Jonathan-Christopher mutters an âIâm sorry, baby.â
Vickie Hall: Sorry? Sorry!? I am reeling! I am hurting badly! I tried to get through it earlier today but I canât. You won your tournament; I lost mine. Itâs like you donât even careâŚ
Jonathan-Christopher is about to speak but heâs cut off as Vickie storms past him and down the hall. He follows behind, hoping to catch up but she is rather quick.
Vickie Hall: (while running away) I require security. I am not receiving security now, am I? I was screwed out of my award. Screwed! You didnât speak up to Lindsay and now Iâll never get my accolades!
Vickie starts crying. She turns the corner and vanishes⌠leaving Jonathan-Christopher standing there, reaching out in disappointment that he didnât do more.
ReVival goes elsewhere.
In the backstage hallway of the KeyBank Center walks a tiny little woman with a purpose. The PRETTY PINKŠ dress is clearly in focus and the wandering puppy dog behind her trails, as he is also dressed in his PRETTY PINKŠ âI HEART VICKIEâ branded robe.
Vickie Hall: Come along, Jonathan-Christopher. This has been nipping at the insides of my brain for a couple of weeks.
As Vickie moves down the hallway, her face becomes more disjointed and twitchy. Itâs clear this thought, whatever it is, has started to not only ânipâ at her brain, like she mentioned, but itâs displaying an entirely different demeanor. Not one of confidence and certainly, like she displayed to Ivan Stanislav and co. a short period ago. This isnât even the same sweltering arrogance she channeled after witnessing her recent management successes â the partner of the new number one contender to the Universal Championship and her, the one who will lead a team into War the night thereafter. No. This look⌠this twitch across the top of her right eyelid and left lower lip⌠is something sinister, evil and definitely spiteful.
She arrives at the end of the hallway. Jonathan-Christopher quickly catches up and looks at the formidable steel door they stand in front of. The camera pans over. The nameplate readsâŚ
LINDSAY TROY.
Vickie rolls her shoulders back, straightens out her neck, cracks her knuckles and takes in a deep breath.
Sheâs about to reach for the door handle but then why would she? With her Mr. Burnâs-like strength and all. Plus, itâs her partnerâs job to help her feel secure.
Vickie Hall: Dear Jonathan-Christopher, why has this door not opened yet?
She knocks and then watches as the Forever Man struggles to open the door. Itâs not his fault that heâs having trouble; the Steel Door OâDoom is the way it is for a reason, which is the majority of the roster gets on her last damn nerve and she doesnât want yâall to bother her.
Also, Ivan broke her door down once. Never again.
Vickie Hall: Can you⌠work a little harder?
Vickieâs Honey Bunches of Oats sure is trying his best, however heâs not having any luck.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Iâm trying, baby. I really am! Itâs harder to crack than the tournament bracket!
Vickieâs eye twitches in annoyance. Just as sheâs about to cause a scene, the door swings open and Lindsay Troy stands there, surprised.
Lindsay Troy: Oh. This isâŚunexpected.
The Woman of Wonder immediately brushes past her boss and enters the office. Itâs not that sheâs being rude, itâs that she doesnât have the manners to understand you have to wait for a cue before entering.
Lindsay watches her breeze inside and glance around the office.
Lindsay Troy: (to Vickie) Just come inside, why donât you.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: OK.
The Lady of the Hour looks back at JCH and motions for him to come inside, which he does. As soon as Lindsay starts walking over, Vickie starts in.
Vickie Hall: Hi pink lilâ sis. Youâre such an inspiration. Listen, love what youâve done with your office today in the majestic and romantic city of BUFFALO, NEW YORK. Anyway, I wanted to let you know over the holidays it wasnât as fun for me as youâd think. Yes, Jonathan-Christopher won the Almasy Tournament and while it was a year overdue, it was such a joyous occasion.
Vickie stands firmly in front of Troyâs desk, as Lindsay sits behind it. The North Kaelrean flag that The Herald left earlier in the night has been putâŚ.somewhere âsafe.â Meanwhile, Jonathan-Christopher hovers behind, in the doorway, making sure Vickie can capture Troyâs entire attention and he isnât used as a distraction.
The PRETTY PINKŠ woman presents a frowny face and places her hands on her hips.
Vickie Hall: But then the awards show took place and Iâm all like wondering what happened to my Manager of the Year Award.
Another frowny face.
Vickie Hall: Alexis Russellan? I donât even know who that is (awkward chuckle). Itâs like I lost to a ghost or something.
Vickie hangs her head. Her tiny body trembles with anxiety.
Vickie Hall: So I was wondering⌠because your hair looks so righteous and divine today, what about that recount on the voting process?
Lindsay stares at Vickie. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
Lindsay Troy: Are you serious?
Vickie Hall: Of course Iâm serious!
Lindsay Troy: Vickie⌠(a chuckle slips out) Please leave. And the answerâs no.
Vickie Hall: (quickly replying) Thank you for your time.
The Woman of Wonder spins back around towards the entrance. Jonathan-Christopher slides to the side for Vickie to exit. At first, the sad face Vickie displays suggests she needs to be consoled by her man. Yet once Jonathan-Christopher reaches his right arm out to rub her back-
She snaps her head upright. Her eyes bug out of her head. Sheâs practically seething towards her Amazing Life Partner as they stand in the hallway.
Vickie Hall: Easy for you to not back me up, Mr. Almasy Winner? Gosh golly, what kind of an ego have you developed!?
Jonathan-Christopher is so shocked and hurt by this⌠he lowers his hand off her back. He also lowers his head. He doesnât know what to say.
Vickie Hall: Youâre supposed to be defending me in there! (Huff) I need a man with a backbone who can stand up for his lady when she is mistreated. Itâs all unfair!
Jonathan-Christopher mutters an âIâm sorry, baby.â
Vickie Hall: Sorry? Sorry!? I am reeling! I am hurting badly! I tried to get through it earlier today but I canât. You won your tournament; I lost mine. Itâs like you donât even careâŚ
Jonathan-Christopher is about to speak but heâs cut off as Vickie storms past him and down the hall. He follows behind, hoping to catch up but she is rather quick.
Vickie Hall: (while running away) I require security. I am not receiving security now, am I? I was screwed out of my award. Screwed! You didnât speak up to Lindsay and now Iâll never get my accolades!
Vickie starts crying. She turns the corner and vanishes⌠leaving Jonathan-Christopher standing there, reaching out in disappointment that he didnât do more.
ReVival goes elsewhere.
In the backstage hallway of the KeyBank Center walks a tiny little woman with a purpose. The PRETTY PINKŠ dress is clearly in focus and the wandering puppy dog behind her trails, as he is also dressed in his PRETTY PINKŠ âI HEART VICKIEâ branded robe.
Vickie Hall: Come along, Jonathan-Christopher. This has been nipping at the insides of my brain for a couple of weeks.
As Vickie moves down the hallway, her face becomes more disjointed and twitchy. Itâs clear this thought, whatever it is, has started to not only ânipâ at her brain, like she mentioned, but itâs displaying an entirely different demeanor. Not one of confidence and certainly, like she displayed to Ivan Stanislav and co. a short period ago. This isnât even the same sweltering arrogance she channeled after witnessing her recent management successes â the partner of the new number one contender to the Universal Championship and her, the one who will lead a team into War the night thereafter. No. This look⌠this twitch across the top of her right eyelid and left lower lip⌠is something sinister, evil and definitely spiteful.
She arrives at the end of the hallway. Jonathan-Christopher quickly catches up and looks at the formidable steel door they stand in front of. The camera pans over. The nameplate readsâŚ
LINDSAY TROY.
Vickie rolls her shoulders back, straightens out her neck, cracks her knuckles and takes in a deep breath.
Sheâs about to reach for the door handle but then why would she? With her Mr. Burnâs-like strength and all. Plus, itâs her partnerâs job to help her feel secure.
Vickie Hall: Dear Jonathan-Christopher, why has this door not opened yet?
She knocks and then watches as the Forever Man struggles to open the door. Itâs not his fault that heâs having trouble; the Steel Door OâDoom is the way it is for a reason, which is the majority of the roster gets on her last damn nerve and she doesnât want yâall to bother her.
Also, Ivan broke her door down once. Never again.
Vickie Hall: Can you⌠work a little harder?
Vickieâs Honey Bunches of Oats sure is trying his best, however heâs not having any luck.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Iâm trying, baby. I really am! Itâs harder to crack than the tournament bracket!
Vickieâs eye twitches in annoyance. Just as sheâs about to cause a scene, the door swings open and Lindsay Troy stands there, surprised.
Lindsay Troy: Oh. This isâŚunexpected.
The Woman of Wonder immediately brushes past her boss and enters the office. Itâs not that sheâs being rude, itâs that she doesnât have the manners to understand you have to wait for a cue before entering.
Lindsay watches her breeze inside and glance around the office.
Lindsay Troy: (to Vickie) Just come inside, why donât you.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: OK.
The Lady of the Hour looks back at JCH and motions for him to come inside, which he does. As soon as Lindsay starts walking over, Vickie starts in.
Vickie Hall: Hi pink lilâ sis. Youâre such an inspiration. Listen, love what youâve done with your office today in the majestic and romantic city of BUFFALO, NEW YORK. Anyway, I wanted to let you know over the holidays it wasnât as fun for me as youâd think. Yes, Jonathan-Christopher won the Almasy Tournament and while it was a year overdue, it was such a joyous occasion.
Vickie stands firmly in front of Troyâs desk, as Lindsay sits behind it. The North Kaelrean flag that The Herald left earlier in the night has been putâŚ.somewhere âsafe.â Meanwhile, Jonathan-Christopher hovers behind, in the doorway, making sure Vickie can capture Troyâs entire attention and he isnât used as a distraction.
The PRETTY PINKŠ woman presents a frowny face and places her hands on her hips.
Vickie Hall: But then the awards show took place and Iâm all like wondering what happened to my Manager of the Year Award.
Another frowny face.
Vickie Hall: Alexis Russellan? I donât even know who that is (awkward chuckle). Itâs like I lost to a ghost or something.
Vickie hangs her head. Her tiny body trembles with anxiety.
Vickie Hall: So I was wondering⌠because your hair looks so righteous and divine today, what about that recount on the voting process?
Lindsay stares at Vickie. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
Lindsay Troy: Are you serious?
Vickie Hall: Of course Iâm serious!
Lindsay Troy: Vickie⌠(a chuckle slips out) Please leave. And the answerâs no.
Vickie Hall: (quickly replying) Thank you for your time.
The Woman of Wonder spins back around towards the entrance. Jonathan-Christopher slides to the side for Vickie to exit. At first, the sad face Vickie displays suggests she needs to be consoled by her man. Yet once Jonathan-Christopher reaches his right arm out to rub her back-
She snaps her head upright. Her eyes bug out of her head. Sheâs practically seething towards her Amazing Life Partner as they stand in the hallway.
Vickie Hall: Easy for you to not back me up, Mr. Almasy Winner? Gosh golly, what kind of an ego have you developed!?
Jonathan-Christopher is so shocked and hurt by this⌠he lowers his hand off her back. He also lowers his head. He doesnât know what to say.
Vickie Hall: Youâre supposed to be defending me in there! (Huff) I need a man with a backbone who can stand up for his lady when she is mistreated. Itâs all unfair!
Jonathan-Christopher mutters an âIâm sorry, baby.â
Vickie Hall: Sorry? Sorry!? I am reeling! I am hurting badly! I tried to get through it earlier today but I canât. You won your tournament; I lost mine. Itâs like you donât even careâŚ
Jonathan-Christopher is about to speak but heâs cut off as Vickie storms past him and down the hall. He follows behind, hoping to catch up but she is rather quick.
Vickie Hall: (while running away) I require security. I am not receiving security now, am I? I was screwed out of my award. Screwed! You didnât speak up to Lindsay and now Iâll never get my accolades!
Vickie starts crying. She turns the corner and vanishes⌠leaving Jonathan-Christopher standing there, reaching out in disappointment that he didnât do more.
ReVival goes elsewhere.
Earlier todayâŚ
ReVivalâs broadcast switches over to a pre-taped package, opening with a tight shot on Niagara Falls, mere miles from the Keybank Arena. The cascade roars deafeningly, giant chunks of ice flowing with a titanic downpour and disappearing into the mist filled basin below.
âNothing quite beats the majesty of a real natural wonderâŚâ
The shot pulls out to reveal the speaker, leaning against the rail and observing the view. He turns to face the camera, smiling with the sly and sinister charisma of Francisco Scaramanga.
Kerry Kuroyama: Thereâs something about the silence and serenity of this cold, white, wintery vista that brings a calm to the raging storm in my heart. A reminder that there are more precious and fulfilling things we can do with the time we have on this earth, aside from being forced to sit and watch tonightâs helping of in-ring mediocrity of PRIMEâs C and D-listers.
Boom boomâŚ
Two thumps off a taiko drum accompany The shot goes freeze-frame and the color drops to black and white for a beat. Words appear at the bottom of the frame, specifically in the Edo SZ font.
KERRY KUROYAMA
PATRIARCH OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
Heâs speaking to someone else, still off-camera.
Kerry Kuroyama: You know, when you originally suggested we make this little Buffalo excursion, in the middle of winter, with literal feet of lake effect snowfall piling up around us, I was beginning to think that maybeâjuuuuuust maybeâyouâd finally lost your mind.
Seriously, who books huge events in Buffalo in the middle of winter?
In any case, trudging through the snow to enter the shot is Kerryâs Vae Victis associate and dubious âbest friendâ, Scott Hunter.
Boom boomâŚ
Again, the drums hit. Again, the shot freezes and goes black and white. Again, words appear.
SCOTT HUNTER
LIEUTENANT ADVISOR OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
The Emerald Apex nods to something behind PRIMEâs one and only GREAT Scott.
Kerry Kuroyama: I have to ask, though⌠whatâs with the barrels?
Scott Hunter: I thought it would be obvious. The only way to redeem yourself after a disappointing loss. That is how all of the great warriors of old managed it, you know, like Hercules, Odysseus, Sonny Bono. You know, menâs men. So of course, with Niagara Falls so nearby, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity. You will, of course of course, climb into one of these barrels and take it over the falls. Be careful though, because there is a very large gorilla at the top who will be throwing more barrels at you. If you save the princess, you win! Unfortunately I donât see any ladders around here to let you climb to the top, but we can probably make due.
Kerry quietly ponders this explanation, but somehow doesnât seem to have much trouble with it.
Kerry Kuroyama: The fireballs are what I usually have issues with, but I appreciate the concern, Scott. But while weâre on the topic of games, thereâs something I wanted to pick your brain onâŚ
Scott grabs at his head, concerned.
Kerry Kuroyama: Donât worry, I consider myself something of a neurosurgeon, because I cure people of stupidity and ego by dropping them on their heads. Really though, I wanted to know your thoughts on this Wargames situation on the horizon.
Scott Hunter: I really liked that movie. Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy as teenagers who hack into government computers??? Classic!
Kerry Kuroyama: Good point, Scott. Though consequently, not unlike a government supercomputer trying to beat itself playing Tic Tac Toe, we find ourselves at a bit of an impasse. And if weâre not careful, you and I may find ourselves on an island of our own, spending the time flying toy pterodactyls, or some shit.
Scott Hunter: (excited) Is there one of those nearby?!?
Kerry Kuroyama: Not sure⌠is that de Leon kid still hanging around? But my point is, thereâs little we actually know about these Wargames. And, as baffling as it may seem considering who we are and whom we represent, neither one of us has been named captain.
Scott Hunter: Donât worry about that. You are a shoo-in. I sent a very detailed letter to Lindsay Troy describing all of your captaining skills, and some of your Tenille skills, and how love will keep us together, any old kind of weather. And when youâre choosing a captain, thatâs what you want really.
The Pacific Blitzkrieg grimaces.
Kerry Kuroyama: They already named the Captains. I wasnât one of them.
Scott Hunter: Oh.
Kerry Kuroyama: (shrugging) It would have been nice to walk into Culture Shock beneath the Vae Victis banner, representing the greatest collective of professional wrestlers ever produced by the sport. Be as it may, we may be forced to subordinate ourselves to someone elseâs leadership.
His eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly.
Kerry Kuroyama: Why, thereâs even a possibility that we may find ourselves on opposite sides.
Scott Hunter: (laughing) Thatâs silly. Who would do such a thing⌠again. It was rude enough the first time, but this time it would just be an outright outrage out there.
Kerry Kuroyama: I know, right? Which is why itâs important that we be on our game in the coming weeks. We need to prove to this company that the undeniably dashing and dangerous duo of Kuroyama and Hunter will be the difference makers at Culture Shock.
Scott Hunter: I like the sound of that. Stay here, Iâll get the barrels set up.
Kerry smiles. Nods.
Kerry Kuroyama: Knew I could count on you, aniki.
Scott hoofs it through the snow to get to work while Kuroyama turns his attention back to the roaring falls behind them. As he does, the broadcast fades back to the life feed in the arena.
Earlier todayâŚ
ReVivalâs broadcast switches over to a pre-taped package, opening with a tight shot on Niagara Falls, mere miles from the Keybank Arena. The cascade roars deafeningly, giant chunks of ice flowing with a titanic downpour and disappearing into the mist filled basin below.
âNothing quite beats the majesty of a real natural wonderâŚâ
The shot pulls out to reveal the speaker, leaning against the rail and observing the view. He turns to face the camera, smiling with the sly and sinister charisma of Francisco Scaramanga.
Kerry Kuroyama: Thereâs something about the silence and serenity of this cold, white, wintery vista that brings a calm to the raging storm in my heart. A reminder that there are more precious and fulfilling things we can do with the time we have on this earth, aside from being forced to sit and watch tonightâs helping of in-ring mediocrity of PRIMEâs C and D-listers.
Boom boomâŚ
Two thumps off a taiko drum accompany The shot goes freeze-frame and the color drops to black and white for a beat. Words appear at the bottom of the frame, specifically in the Edo SZ font.
KERRY KUROYAMA
PATRIARCH OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
Heâs speaking to someone else, still off-camera.
Kerry Kuroyama: You know, when you originally suggested we make this little Buffalo excursion, in the middle of winter, with literal feet of lake effect snowfall piling up around us, I was beginning to think that maybeâjuuuuuust maybeâyouâd finally lost your mind.
Seriously, who books huge events in Buffalo in the middle of winter?
In any case, trudging through the snow to enter the shot is Kerryâs Vae Victis associate and dubious âbest friendâ, Scott Hunter.
Boom boomâŚ
Again, the drums hit. Again, the shot freezes and goes black and white. Again, words appear.
SCOTT HUNTER
LIEUTENANT ADVISOR OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
The Emerald Apex nods to something behind PRIMEâs one and only GREAT Scott.
Kerry Kuroyama: I have to ask, though⌠whatâs with the barrels?
Scott Hunter: I thought it would be obvious. The only way to redeem yourself after a disappointing loss. That is how all of the great warriors of old managed it, you know, like Hercules, Odysseus, Sonny Bono. You know, menâs men. So of course, with Niagara Falls so nearby, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity. You will, of course of course, climb into one of these barrels and take it over the falls. Be careful though, because there is a very large gorilla at the top who will be throwing more barrels at you. If you save the princess, you win! Unfortunately I donât see any ladders around here to let you climb to the top, but we can probably make due.
Kerry quietly ponders this explanation, but somehow doesnât seem to have much trouble with it.
Kerry Kuroyama: The fireballs are what I usually have issues with, but I appreciate the concern, Scott. But while weâre on the topic of games, thereâs something I wanted to pick your brain onâŚ
Scott grabs at his head, concerned.
Kerry Kuroyama: Donât worry, I consider myself something of a neurosurgeon, because I cure people of stupidity and ego by dropping them on their heads. Really though, I wanted to know your thoughts on this Wargames situation on the horizon.
Scott Hunter: I really liked that movie. Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy as teenagers who hack into government computers??? Classic!
Kerry Kuroyama: Good point, Scott. Though consequently, not unlike a government supercomputer trying to beat itself playing Tic Tac Toe, we find ourselves at a bit of an impasse. And if weâre not careful, you and I may find ourselves on an island of our own, spending the time flying toy pterodactyls, or some shit.
Scott Hunter: (excited) Is there one of those nearby?!?
Kerry Kuroyama: Not sure⌠is that de Leon kid still hanging around? But my point is, thereâs little we actually know about these Wargames. And, as baffling as it may seem considering who we are and whom we represent, neither one of us has been named captain.
Scott Hunter: Donât worry about that. You are a shoo-in. I sent a very detailed letter to Lindsay Troy describing all of your captaining skills, and some of your Tenille skills, and how love will keep us together, any old kind of weather. And when youâre choosing a captain, thatâs what you want really.
The Pacific Blitzkrieg grimaces.
Kerry Kuroyama: They already named the Captains. I wasnât one of them.
Scott Hunter: Oh.
Kerry Kuroyama: (shrugging) It would have been nice to walk into Culture Shock beneath the Vae Victis banner, representing the greatest collective of professional wrestlers ever produced by the sport. Be as it may, we may be forced to subordinate ourselves to someone elseâs leadership.
His eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly.
Kerry Kuroyama: Why, thereâs even a possibility that we may find ourselves on opposite sides.
Scott Hunter: (laughing) Thatâs silly. Who would do such a thing⌠again. It was rude enough the first time, but this time it would just be an outright outrage out there.
Kerry Kuroyama: I know, right? Which is why itâs important that we be on our game in the coming weeks. We need to prove to this company that the undeniably dashing and dangerous duo of Kuroyama and Hunter will be the difference makers at Culture Shock.
Scott Hunter: I like the sound of that. Stay here, Iâll get the barrels set up.
Kerry smiles. Nods.
Kerry Kuroyama: Knew I could count on you, aniki.
Scott hoofs it through the snow to get to work while Kuroyama turns his attention back to the roaring falls behind them. As he does, the broadcast fades back to the life feed in the arena.
Earlier todayâŚ
ReVivalâs broadcast switches over to a pre-taped package, opening with a tight shot on Niagara Falls, mere miles from the Keybank Arena. The cascade roars deafeningly, giant chunks of ice flowing with a titanic downpour and disappearing into the mist filled basin below.
âNothing quite beats the majesty of a real natural wonderâŚâ
The shot pulls out to reveal the speaker, leaning against the rail and observing the view. He turns to face the camera, smiling with the sly and sinister charisma of Francisco Scaramanga.
Kerry Kuroyama: Thereâs something about the silence and serenity of this cold, white, wintery vista that brings a calm to the raging storm in my heart. A reminder that there are more precious and fulfilling things we can do with the time we have on this earth, aside from being forced to sit and watch tonightâs helping of in-ring mediocrity of PRIMEâs C and D-listers.
Boom boomâŚ
Two thumps off a taiko drum accompany The shot goes freeze-frame and the color drops to black and white for a beat. Words appear at the bottom of the frame, specifically in the Edo SZ font.
KERRY KUROYAMA
PATRIARCH OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
Heâs speaking to someone else, still off-camera.
Kerry Kuroyama: You know, when you originally suggested we make this little Buffalo excursion, in the middle of winter, with literal feet of lake effect snowfall piling up around us, I was beginning to think that maybeâjuuuuuust maybeâyouâd finally lost your mind.
Seriously, who books huge events in Buffalo in the middle of winter?
In any case, trudging through the snow to enter the shot is Kerryâs Vae Victis associate and dubious âbest friendâ, Scott Hunter.
Boom boomâŚ
Again, the drums hit. Again, the shot freezes and goes black and white. Again, words appear.
SCOTT HUNTER
LIEUTENANT ADVISOR OF THE KUROYAMA FAMILY,
A VAE VICTIS SUBSIDIARY
The Emerald Apex nods to something behind PRIMEâs one and only GREAT Scott.
Kerry Kuroyama: I have to ask, though⌠whatâs with the barrels?
Scott Hunter: I thought it would be obvious. The only way to redeem yourself after a disappointing loss. That is how all of the great warriors of old managed it, you know, like Hercules, Odysseus, Sonny Bono. You know, menâs men. So of course, with Niagara Falls so nearby, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity. You will, of course of course, climb into one of these barrels and take it over the falls. Be careful though, because there is a very large gorilla at the top who will be throwing more barrels at you. If you save the princess, you win! Unfortunately I donât see any ladders around here to let you climb to the top, but we can probably make due.
Kerry quietly ponders this explanation, but somehow doesnât seem to have much trouble with it.
Kerry Kuroyama: The fireballs are what I usually have issues with, but I appreciate the concern, Scott. But while weâre on the topic of games, thereâs something I wanted to pick your brain onâŚ
Scott grabs at his head, concerned.
Kerry Kuroyama: Donât worry, I consider myself something of a neurosurgeon, because I cure people of stupidity and ego by dropping them on their heads. Really though, I wanted to know your thoughts on this Wargames situation on the horizon.
Scott Hunter: I really liked that movie. Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy as teenagers who hack into government computers??? Classic!
Kerry Kuroyama: Good point, Scott. Though consequently, not unlike a government supercomputer trying to beat itself playing Tic Tac Toe, we find ourselves at a bit of an impasse. And if weâre not careful, you and I may find ourselves on an island of our own, spending the time flying toy pterodactyls, or some shit.
Scott Hunter: (excited) Is there one of those nearby?!?
Kerry Kuroyama: Not sure⌠is that de Leon kid still hanging around? But my point is, thereâs little we actually know about these Wargames. And, as baffling as it may seem considering who we are and whom we represent, neither one of us has been named captain.
Scott Hunter: Donât worry about that. You are a shoo-in. I sent a very detailed letter to Lindsay Troy describing all of your captaining skills, and some of your Tenille skills, and how love will keep us together, any old kind of weather. And when youâre choosing a captain, thatâs what you want really.
The Pacific Blitzkrieg grimaces.
Kerry Kuroyama: They already named the Captains. I wasnât one of them.
Scott Hunter: Oh.
Kerry Kuroyama: (shrugging) It would have been nice to walk into Culture Shock beneath the Vae Victis banner, representing the greatest collective of professional wrestlers ever produced by the sport. Be as it may, we may be forced to subordinate ourselves to someone elseâs leadership.
His eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly.
Kerry Kuroyama: Why, thereâs even a possibility that we may find ourselves on opposite sides.
Scott Hunter: (laughing) Thatâs silly. Who would do such a thing⌠again. It was rude enough the first time, but this time it would just be an outright outrage out there.
Kerry Kuroyama: I know, right? Which is why itâs important that we be on our game in the coming weeks. We need to prove to this company that the undeniably dashing and dangerous duo of Kuroyama and Hunter will be the difference makers at Culture Shock.
Scott Hunter: I like the sound of that. Stay here, Iâll get the barrels set up.
Kerry smiles. Nods.
Kerry Kuroyama: Knew I could count on you, aniki.
Scott hoofs it through the snow to get to work while Kuroyama turns his attention back to the roaring falls behind them. As he does, the broadcast fades back to the life feed in the arena.
The building is plunged into darkness as the lights go out in the arena to a flurry of excited whoops and cheers from the audience. A few seconds pass before the air fills with the rumbling of drums and a visceral guitar tone. White light fills the mouth of the entranceway suddenly, pulsing rhythmically in time to the drumbeat and illuminating thick plumes of fog pouring down to the floor and spilling across the stage.
YYEEAAHHH!!
As Lemmy belts out a mechanical roar a massive silhouette appears in the ether and the cheers become frenzied throughout the arena. âKingdom of the Wormâ by MotĂśrhead kicks everyoneâs lungs right in the balls for several seconds before the looming figure starts to shift, growing larger in the entranceway as the house lights begin flashing electric blue.
You remember, You remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, Youth trust gone forever.
The cameraman on stage gets down low, aiming the shot high towards the great shade as it bleeds through the smoke out onto the stage proper, gazing hypnotically at the ring whilst softly mouthing the lyrics as wisps of smoke dissipate around him. The crowd erupts at the sight of the giant, drawing his gaze as he stops at the top of the ramp and looks the audience over while Vince Howardâs voice cuts clear through the noise, prompting him to close his eyes, bow his head and splay his hands out before him.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, standing seven feet two inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and seventy pounds, he is the former two-time Universal Champion and the twentieth inductee into the PRIME Hall of FameâŚthe Murder ShowâŚHHHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!
The giant raises his hands up and clenches them into fists, thrusting both arms down with a breaking gesture as he snaps his head back and unleashes a guttural roar met with equal passion from the fans. He tenses his thick flaccid neck and arms and they bulge taut with solid muscle and ropey veins until he relaxes and starts pacing down the ramp towards the ring while the electric storm continues to broil around the darkened arena.
See only the master, risen, risen,
After all the silence, all of him laughing
After all the strangers, beaten, driven,
Try to place all things, in a certain rhythm
Do as the book told you see the pages torn,
Make the spell upon them, in human form,
So we come to call it, the great & awesome dance,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of Romance.
The giant stops at the foot of the ring and gives the canvas a fond pat before reaching up with both hands to grab the top rope. Pulling himself up onto the apron he gives the crowd another quick stoic glance before wiping his feet and flinging one leg after the other over into the ring. A large spotlight finds the giant as he enters with a stomp that continues across the ring as he raises both arms and leans into the ropes on the opposite side, bellowing back out at the crowd with wide wild eyes.
You remember, You remember his face,
You remember what I am, I remember only weeping,
I remember only sleeping, I remember tearing flesh,
I can only taste the devil, Your tears when you cry,
Hessian paces around the ring presenting himself to the fans on each side with a roar and a double arm raise before turning to hardcam and approaching the centre of the ring. A wide shot smoothly closes in on the cold mean gaze of the Murder Show as he locks eyes on everyone watching at home and throws his arms up, roaring right down the camera and into homes around the world as we zoom out with an added rippling shockwave effect. âKingdom of the Wormâ cuts off early with the closing line:
ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!
The crowd unleash another thunderous wave of applause and echo the line back as the giant grins and heads to his corner as the lights settle in the arena once more.
The opening chords of Chevelle âs âComfortable Liarâ ring out, signaling the imminent arrival of SeĂĄn OâNeill. After a few seconds, OâNeill emerges on the entrance way and takes a second to scan the crowd, he makes no effort to hide the look of disdain showing on his face, before starting for the ring.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland⌠weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds⌠SUURREEAALLL SEAN OâNEILLLLLL!
As usual, the announcement is met with a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Ignoring the reception, OâNeill vaults over the top-rope to enter the ring. Moving into the middle of the ring he looks up to the rafters of the arena whilst spreading his arms straight out to each side.
As he lowers his head, OâNeill smirks at some private joke before moving into the corner where he stretches out on the ring-ropes and rolls his shoulders and wrists, as he gets ready to lock up.
DING DING
Two legends of the sport, different suns that illuminated the world of PRIME at separate times. Their courses are now set for a direct collision here in front of the roaring fans at ReVival 41. The entire arena is on its feet watching in grave anticipation to see who will strike the first blow. Warriors circling one another, one a King Cobra and the other a Wooly Mammoth. Neither moves in an urgent matter, the years of experience both mean wear showing in their moderate approach.
Richard Parker: OâNeill looks like heâs got a touch of the fawn knees. Heâs had a rough beat thus far in PRIME, losing to Rob Williams in a hairline finish at ReVival 39. Heâs seasoned, though. As long as The Murder Express doesnât run him over this should be a great match.
Nick Stuart: And here we go! The two men lock up and surprisingly, OâNeill is overpowering Hessian early, pressing him into the corner. Looks like Hessian is a little gun shy back in the squared circle.
OâNeill hits a few quick strikes and Hessian fires back with a series of his own. OâNeill tries to whip Hessian into the ropes, but the Murder Show manages to block it effortlessly. Instead, he yanks OâNeill into him and connects with a shoulder to the jaw of Sea. OâNeill stumbles away as Hessian hunts him down and slams his meaty right hand into the upper back of his opponent. OâNeill spins around and fires off a series of rights before hitting Hessian with a rolling cradle.
1âŚÂ
Spectators close to the ring will say that OâNeill actually caught air from the force of Hessianâs kickout. OâNeill rolls when he lands, sliding to the outside to collect himself.
Nick Stuart: Hessian graciously steps back, allowing OâNeill to slide back in the ring.
Richard Parker: Heâs just keeping the pump primed, making sure he doesnât burn out too quickly. OâNeill is a tactician.
Nick Stuart: Hessian charges for a lock up but OâNeill side steps, letting the Murder Express run right into the turnbuckle. OâNeill rolls Hessian up into a small package.
Richard Parker: Shock and awe!
Before Barlow can even get down to the mat for a count, Hessian has overpowered OâNeill. Hessian throws graciousness to the wind and delivers a fury of kicks to OâNeill. OâNeill clutches at his ribs like something may be in a place it wasnât intended to be. The fans erupt as Hessian pulls OâNeill up by his hair and grasps one of his basketball-palming hands around his throat.
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill up in the air! That has to be eight or nine feet above the ground.
Richard Parker: He can probably see his flat from here.
A resounding BAM echoes as Hessian drives OâNeill into the mat. Before his brain can triage what hurts most Hessian is pulling him up. Wrapping a giant arm around the smaller manâs shoulder, Hessian easily lifts OâNeill fully vertical. They stay there a moment in an oddly picturesque scene, as if holding for a photograph.
THUD
Nick Stuart: HUGE Hessplex!
Richard Parker: Itâs a good thing Lindsay Troy employs only the best to build the PRIME ring or those two would be laying in a pile of rubble. Hessian is just running away with this thing.
Nick Stuart: The Murder Express is to his feet first. He shows just how monstrous he is by wrapping a hand around the top of OâNeillâs skull and pulling him off the ground. He maneuvers himself behind OâNeill and reaches around to lock in a sleeper. Hallelujah Mountains!
Richard Parker: Looking pretty grim for OâNeill.
Ragdolls have shown more life than OâNeill in this moment. His body sways unnaturally under the pressure and force of the colossal Hessian. Ashley Barlow stands in front of the men trying to gauge if OâNeill is actually deceased. Hessian slows the swinging so Barlow can grab ahold of the irishmanâs hand for the symbolic hand drop and this is just the window OâNeill has been waiting for. He reaches behind his head and locks a thumb in each of Hessianâs eyes, pressing with all the might one in this situation can muster, which isnât much. It appears to be enough, though, as Hessian begins to relent long enough for OâNeillâs feet to touch the ground.
Nick Stuart: Zero respect from OâNeill as he tries to gouge out the eyes of the two time Universal Champ.
Richard Parker: By any means necessary!
Nick Stuart: Hessian is losing steam on the sleeper hold now as OâNeill grabs two handfuls of Hessianâs hair. Theyâre both falling now.
A jawbreaker opens a cheek inside Hessianâs mouth and he steps back, holding his hand up to see how bad the bleeding is. OâNeill capitalizes with blitzkrieg precision, executing a perfect drop toe hold. With the big man on his stomach OâNeill grabs a tree trunk er.. leg, and leans back into a half crab. He pushes his knee into Hessianâs back.
Richard Parker: You can tell OâNeill is really pushing the limits of his physical capacity here. If one of those blood vessels in his head pops we might watch a live aneurysm.
Nick Stuart: Thats⌠thatâs not even how that works. Ashley Barlow is down by the big manâs face now, making sure he doesnât tap.
Time stands still for Hessian. He claws at the mat, trying to pry himself from the grips of Sean OâNeill. Every which way Hessian wiggles, OâNeill follows adeptly. You can sense the confidence building in OâNeill at this point. This could be it.
Nick Stuart: Hessian is crawling towards the ropes, but itâs taking him a VERY long time.
Richard Parker: Heâd better hurry, before zee germans arrive.
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: Itâs a line from a movie. Snatch.
Nick Stuart: We canât say that on TV.
Richard Parker: Itâs⌠nevermind, Nick.
The fans are chanting now, âHessian! Hessian! Hessian!â. The Murder Express is feeding on the energy. OâNeill shakes his head side to side at nobody in particular. His eyes widen as he feels Hessian picking up the pace, mere inches from the rope now.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill realizes Hessian must be close to the rope and lets go and begins laying boots to the weakened right leg of Hessian.
Richard Parker: And he slides out of the ring as Hessian pulls himself to his feet. Smart move.
A verbal exchange begins between the two men, Hessian standing at the edge of the ring looking down and OâNeill close by on the outside. Whatever theyâre saying has Hessian quite upset. OâNeill turns to smirk at the fans, holding his hands up as if he has won the verbal battle.
Nick Stuart: Oh no, Hessianâs angry! He leans down over the ropes and grabs OâNeill by the throat from behind. The sheer power of that man is unreal.
Richard Parker: Toot toot, all aboard the Hess Express!
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill right up overhead.
The crowd oohâs and ahhâs at the remarkable power Hessian exhibits, holding OâNeill high above the ring and walking around. OâNeill shakes his hands and head as if heâs trying to plead his case that itâs not necessary to deliver him to the ground. He fails and thereâs a bounce to his landing that makes it even worse somehow.
Richard Parker: Boy, he landed funny.
Nick Stuart: He might be dead and youâre laughing at the way he landed? Do you always laugh when people get hurt?
Richard Parker: Heh, yes.
Hessian takes his time getting OâNeill to his feet. Heâs ring worthy, but still getting his footing. As the match has gone on he has really hit his stride.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is rifling through his trunks.
Richard Parker: Itâs a stress response mechanism. Totally natural.
Nick Stuart: Hessian grabs a hold of OâNeill and OH NO! IRISH MIST! He sprayed a mysterious substance into Hessianâs face!
Richard Parker: Given his âriflingâ, that was bound to happen.
Nick Stuart refuses to dignify that with a response. OâNeill delivers a fierce European uppercut, following it up with a snapmare. Between the mist in his eyes and the 1-2 combo, the lights are getting dim for Hessian.
Nick Stuart: There it is! OâNeill is moving in to lock in Tir Na Nog!
Richard Parker: No way, Hessian is too damn big. Thatâs a wide berth.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is struggling to lock it in. Look! Hessian is fighting back now, pushing himself up off the mat.
Life can change in an instant and it does for Sean OâNeill. From riding high to being thrust 7 feet in the air and ultimately right onto his skull in a violent Hellevator. Hessian drops in for the pin and Ashley Barlow counts.
1
2
3
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: One incredible bout between two elder statesmen of the sport.
We cut toâŚ
The building is plunged into darkness as the lights go out in the arena to a flurry of excited whoops and cheers from the audience. A few seconds pass before the air fills with the rumbling of drums and a visceral guitar tone. White light fills the mouth of the entranceway suddenly, pulsing rhythmically in time to the drumbeat and illuminating thick plumes of fog pouring down to the floor and spilling across the stage.
YYEEAAHHH!!
As Lemmy belts out a mechanical roar a massive silhouette appears in the ether and the cheers become frenzied throughout the arena. âKingdom of the Wormâ by MotĂśrhead kicks everyoneâs lungs right in the balls for several seconds before the looming figure starts to shift, growing larger in the entranceway as the house lights begin flashing electric blue.
You remember, You remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, Youth trust gone forever.
The cameraman on stage gets down low, aiming the shot high towards the great shade as it bleeds through the smoke out onto the stage proper, gazing hypnotically at the ring whilst softly mouthing the lyrics as wisps of smoke dissipate around him. The crowd erupts at the sight of the giant, drawing his gaze as he stops at the top of the ramp and looks the audience over while Vince Howardâs voice cuts clear through the noise, prompting him to close his eyes, bow his head and splay his hands out before him.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, standing seven feet two inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and seventy pounds, he is the former two-time Universal Champion and the twentieth inductee into the PRIME Hall of FameâŚthe Murder ShowâŚHHHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!
The giant raises his hands up and clenches them into fists, thrusting both arms down with a breaking gesture as he snaps his head back and unleashes a guttural roar met with equal passion from the fans. He tenses his thick flaccid neck and arms and they bulge taut with solid muscle and ropey veins until he relaxes and starts pacing down the ramp towards the ring while the electric storm continues to broil around the darkened arena.
See only the master, risen, risen,
After all the silence, all of him laughing
After all the strangers, beaten, driven,
Try to place all things, in a certain rhythm
Do as the book told you see the pages torn,
Make the spell upon them, in human form,
So we come to call it, the great & awesome dance,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of Romance.
The giant stops at the foot of the ring and gives the canvas a fond pat before reaching up with both hands to grab the top rope. Pulling himself up onto the apron he gives the crowd another quick stoic glance before wiping his feet and flinging one leg after the other over into the ring. A large spotlight finds the giant as he enters with a stomp that continues across the ring as he raises both arms and leans into the ropes on the opposite side, bellowing back out at the crowd with wide wild eyes.
You remember, You remember his face,
You remember what I am, I remember only weeping,
I remember only sleeping, I remember tearing flesh,
I can only taste the devil, Your tears when you cry,
Hessian paces around the ring presenting himself to the fans on each side with a roar and a double arm raise before turning to hardcam and approaching the centre of the ring. A wide shot smoothly closes in on the cold mean gaze of the Murder Show as he locks eyes on everyone watching at home and throws his arms up, roaring right down the camera and into homes around the world as we zoom out with an added rippling shockwave effect. âKingdom of the Wormâ cuts off early with the closing line:
ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!
The crowd unleash another thunderous wave of applause and echo the line back as the giant grins and heads to his corner as the lights settle in the arena once more.
The opening chords of Chevelle âs âComfortable Liarâ ring out, signaling the imminent arrival of SeĂĄn OâNeill. After a few seconds, OâNeill emerges on the entrance way and takes a second to scan the crowd, he makes no effort to hide the look of disdain showing on his face, before starting for the ring.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland⌠weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds⌠SUURREEAALLL SEAN OâNEILLLLLL!
As usual, the announcement is met with a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Ignoring the reception, OâNeill vaults over the top-rope to enter the ring. Moving into the middle of the ring he looks up to the rafters of the arena whilst spreading his arms straight out to each side.
As he lowers his head, OâNeill smirks at some private joke before moving into the corner where he stretches out on the ring-ropes and rolls his shoulders and wrists, as he gets ready to lock up.
DING DING
Two legends of the sport, different suns that illuminated the world of PRIME at separate times. Their courses are now set for a direct collision here in front of the roaring fans at ReVival 41. The entire arena is on its feet watching in grave anticipation to see who will strike the first blow. Warriors circling one another, one a King Cobra and the other a Wooly Mammoth. Neither moves in an urgent matter, the years of experience both mean wear showing in their moderate approach.
Richard Parker: OâNeill looks like heâs got a touch of the fawn knees. Heâs had a rough beat thus far in PRIME, losing to Rob Williams in a hairline finish at ReVival 39. Heâs seasoned, though. As long as The Murder Express doesnât run him over this should be a great match.
Nick Stuart: And here we go! The two men lock up and surprisingly, OâNeill is overpowering Hessian early, pressing him into the corner. Looks like Hessian is a little gun shy back in the squared circle.
OâNeill hits a few quick strikes and Hessian fires back with a series of his own. OâNeill tries to whip Hessian into the ropes, but the Murder Show manages to block it effortlessly. Instead, he yanks OâNeill into him and connects with a shoulder to the jaw of Sea. OâNeill stumbles away as Hessian hunts him down and slams his meaty right hand into the upper back of his opponent. OâNeill spins around and fires off a series of rights before hitting Hessian with a rolling cradle.
1âŚÂ
Spectators close to the ring will say that OâNeill actually caught air from the force of Hessianâs kickout. OâNeill rolls when he lands, sliding to the outside to collect himself.
Nick Stuart: Hessian graciously steps back, allowing OâNeill to slide back in the ring.
Richard Parker: Heâs just keeping the pump primed, making sure he doesnât burn out too quickly. OâNeill is a tactician.
Nick Stuart: Hessian charges for a lock up but OâNeill side steps, letting the Murder Express run right into the turnbuckle. OâNeill rolls Hessian up into a small package.
Richard Parker: Shock and awe!
Before Barlow can even get down to the mat for a count, Hessian has overpowered OâNeill. Hessian throws graciousness to the wind and delivers a fury of kicks to OâNeill. OâNeill clutches at his ribs like something may be in a place it wasnât intended to be. The fans erupt as Hessian pulls OâNeill up by his hair and grasps one of his basketball-palming hands around his throat.
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill up in the air! That has to be eight or nine feet above the ground.
Richard Parker: He can probably see his flat from here.
A resounding BAM echoes as Hessian drives OâNeill into the mat. Before his brain can triage what hurts most Hessian is pulling him up. Wrapping a giant arm around the smaller manâs shoulder, Hessian easily lifts OâNeill fully vertical. They stay there a moment in an oddly picturesque scene, as if holding for a photograph.
THUD
Nick Stuart: HUGE Hessplex!
Richard Parker: Itâs a good thing Lindsay Troy employs only the best to build the PRIME ring or those two would be laying in a pile of rubble. Hessian is just running away with this thing.
Nick Stuart: The Murder Express is to his feet first. He shows just how monstrous he is by wrapping a hand around the top of OâNeillâs skull and pulling him off the ground. He maneuvers himself behind OâNeill and reaches around to lock in a sleeper. Hallelujah Mountains!
Richard Parker: Looking pretty grim for OâNeill.
Ragdolls have shown more life than OâNeill in this moment. His body sways unnaturally under the pressure and force of the colossal Hessian. Ashley Barlow stands in front of the men trying to gauge if OâNeill is actually deceased. Hessian slows the swinging so Barlow can grab ahold of the irishmanâs hand for the symbolic hand drop and this is just the window OâNeill has been waiting for. He reaches behind his head and locks a thumb in each of Hessianâs eyes, pressing with all the might one in this situation can muster, which isnât much. It appears to be enough, though, as Hessian begins to relent long enough for OâNeillâs feet to touch the ground.
Nick Stuart: Zero respect from OâNeill as he tries to gouge out the eyes of the two time Universal Champ.
Richard Parker: By any means necessary!
Nick Stuart: Hessian is losing steam on the sleeper hold now as OâNeill grabs two handfuls of Hessianâs hair. Theyâre both falling now.
A jawbreaker opens a cheek inside Hessianâs mouth and he steps back, holding his hand up to see how bad the bleeding is. OâNeill capitalizes with blitzkrieg precision, executing a perfect drop toe hold. With the big man on his stomach OâNeill grabs a tree trunk er.. leg, and leans back into a half crab. He pushes his knee into Hessianâs back.
Richard Parker: You can tell OâNeill is really pushing the limits of his physical capacity here. If one of those blood vessels in his head pops we might watch a live aneurysm.
Nick Stuart: Thats⌠thatâs not even how that works. Ashley Barlow is down by the big manâs face now, making sure he doesnât tap.
Time stands still for Hessian. He claws at the mat, trying to pry himself from the grips of Sean OâNeill. Every which way Hessian wiggles, OâNeill follows adeptly. You can sense the confidence building in OâNeill at this point. This could be it.
Nick Stuart: Hessian is crawling towards the ropes, but itâs taking him a VERY long time.
Richard Parker: Heâd better hurry, before zee germans arrive.
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: Itâs a line from a movie. Snatch.
Nick Stuart: We canât say that on TV.
Richard Parker: Itâs⌠nevermind, Nick.
The fans are chanting now, âHessian! Hessian! Hessian!â. The Murder Express is feeding on the energy. OâNeill shakes his head side to side at nobody in particular. His eyes widen as he feels Hessian picking up the pace, mere inches from the rope now.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill realizes Hessian must be close to the rope and lets go and begins laying boots to the weakened right leg of Hessian.
Richard Parker: And he slides out of the ring as Hessian pulls himself to his feet. Smart move.
A verbal exchange begins between the two men, Hessian standing at the edge of the ring looking down and OâNeill close by on the outside. Whatever theyâre saying has Hessian quite upset. OâNeill turns to smirk at the fans, holding his hands up as if he has won the verbal battle.
Nick Stuart: Oh no, Hessianâs angry! He leans down over the ropes and grabs OâNeill by the throat from behind. The sheer power of that man is unreal.
Richard Parker: Toot toot, all aboard the Hess Express!
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill right up overhead.
The crowd oohâs and ahhâs at the remarkable power Hessian exhibits, holding OâNeill high above the ring and walking around. OâNeill shakes his hands and head as if heâs trying to plead his case that itâs not necessary to deliver him to the ground. He fails and thereâs a bounce to his landing that makes it even worse somehow.
Richard Parker: Boy, he landed funny.
Nick Stuart: He might be dead and youâre laughing at the way he landed? Do you always laugh when people get hurt?
Richard Parker: Heh, yes.
Hessian takes his time getting OâNeill to his feet. Heâs ring worthy, but still getting his footing. As the match has gone on he has really hit his stride.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is rifling through his trunks.
Richard Parker: Itâs a stress response mechanism. Totally natural.
Nick Stuart: Hessian grabs a hold of OâNeill and OH NO! IRISH MIST! He sprayed a mysterious substance into Hessianâs face!
Richard Parker: Given his âriflingâ, that was bound to happen.
Nick Stuart refuses to dignify that with a response. OâNeill delivers a fierce European uppercut, following it up with a snapmare. Between the mist in his eyes and the 1-2 combo, the lights are getting dim for Hessian.
Nick Stuart: There it is! OâNeill is moving in to lock in Tir Na Nog!
Richard Parker: No way, Hessian is too damn big. Thatâs a wide berth.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is struggling to lock it in. Look! Hessian is fighting back now, pushing himself up off the mat.
Life can change in an instant and it does for Sean OâNeill. From riding high to being thrust 7 feet in the air and ultimately right onto his skull in a violent Hellevator. Hessian drops in for the pin and Ashley Barlow counts.
1
2
3
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: One incredible bout between two elder statesmen of the sport.
We cut toâŚ
The building is plunged into darkness as the lights go out in the arena to a flurry of excited whoops and cheers from the audience. A few seconds pass before the air fills with the rumbling of drums and a visceral guitar tone. White light fills the mouth of the entranceway suddenly, pulsing rhythmically in time to the drumbeat and illuminating thick plumes of fog pouring down to the floor and spilling across the stage.
YYEEAAHHH!!
As Lemmy belts out a mechanical roar a massive silhouette appears in the ether and the cheers become frenzied throughout the arena. âKingdom of the Wormâ by MotĂśrhead kicks everyoneâs lungs right in the balls for several seconds before the looming figure starts to shift, growing larger in the entranceway as the house lights begin flashing electric blue.
You remember, You remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, Youth trust gone forever.
The cameraman on stage gets down low, aiming the shot high towards the great shade as it bleeds through the smoke out onto the stage proper, gazing hypnotically at the ring whilst softly mouthing the lyrics as wisps of smoke dissipate around him. The crowd erupts at the sight of the giant, drawing his gaze as he stops at the top of the ramp and looks the audience over while Vince Howardâs voice cuts clear through the noise, prompting him to close his eyes, bow his head and splay his hands out before him.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, standing seven feet two inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and seventy pounds, he is the former two-time Universal Champion and the twentieth inductee into the PRIME Hall of FameâŚthe Murder ShowâŚHHHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!
The giant raises his hands up and clenches them into fists, thrusting both arms down with a breaking gesture as he snaps his head back and unleashes a guttural roar met with equal passion from the fans. He tenses his thick flaccid neck and arms and they bulge taut with solid muscle and ropey veins until he relaxes and starts pacing down the ramp towards the ring while the electric storm continues to broil around the darkened arena.
See only the master, risen, risen,
After all the silence, all of him laughing
After all the strangers, beaten, driven,
Try to place all things, in a certain rhythm
Do as the book told you see the pages torn,
Make the spell upon them, in human form,
So we come to call it, the great & awesome dance,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of Romance.
The giant stops at the foot of the ring and gives the canvas a fond pat before reaching up with both hands to grab the top rope. Pulling himself up onto the apron he gives the crowd another quick stoic glance before wiping his feet and flinging one leg after the other over into the ring. A large spotlight finds the giant as he enters with a stomp that continues across the ring as he raises both arms and leans into the ropes on the opposite side, bellowing back out at the crowd with wide wild eyes.
You remember, You remember his face,
You remember what I am, I remember only weeping,
I remember only sleeping, I remember tearing flesh,
I can only taste the devil, Your tears when you cry,
Hessian paces around the ring presenting himself to the fans on each side with a roar and a double arm raise before turning to hardcam and approaching the centre of the ring. A wide shot smoothly closes in on the cold mean gaze of the Murder Show as he locks eyes on everyone watching at home and throws his arms up, roaring right down the camera and into homes around the world as we zoom out with an added rippling shockwave effect. âKingdom of the Wormâ cuts off early with the closing line:
ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!
The crowd unleash another thunderous wave of applause and echo the line back as the giant grins and heads to his corner as the lights settle in the arena once more.
The opening chords of Chevelle âs âComfortable Liarâ ring out, signaling the imminent arrival of SeĂĄn OâNeill. After a few seconds, OâNeill emerges on the entrance way and takes a second to scan the crowd, he makes no effort to hide the look of disdain showing on his face, before starting for the ring.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland⌠weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds⌠SUURREEAALLL SEAN OâNEILLLLLL!
As usual, the announcement is met with a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Ignoring the reception, OâNeill vaults over the top-rope to enter the ring. Moving into the middle of the ring he looks up to the rafters of the arena whilst spreading his arms straight out to each side.
As he lowers his head, OâNeill smirks at some private joke before moving into the corner where he stretches out on the ring-ropes and rolls his shoulders and wrists, as he gets ready to lock up.
DING DING
Two legends of the sport, different suns that illuminated the world of PRIME at separate times. Their courses are now set for a direct collision here in front of the roaring fans at ReVival 41. The entire arena is on its feet watching in grave anticipation to see who will strike the first blow. Warriors circling one another, one a King Cobra and the other a Wooly Mammoth. Neither moves in an urgent matter, the years of experience both mean wear showing in their moderate approach.
Richard Parker: OâNeill looks like heâs got a touch of the fawn knees. Heâs had a rough beat thus far in PRIME, losing to Rob Williams in a hairline finish at ReVival 39. Heâs seasoned, though. As long as The Murder Express doesnât run him over this should be a great match.
Nick Stuart: And here we go! The two men lock up and surprisingly, OâNeill is overpowering Hessian early, pressing him into the corner. Looks like Hessian is a little gun shy back in the squared circle.
OâNeill hits a few quick strikes and Hessian fires back with a series of his own. OâNeill tries to whip Hessian into the ropes, but the Murder Show manages to block it effortlessly. Instead, he yanks OâNeill into him and connects with a shoulder to the jaw of Sea. OâNeill stumbles away as Hessian hunts him down and slams his meaty right hand into the upper back of his opponent. OâNeill spins around and fires off a series of rights before hitting Hessian with a rolling cradle.
1âŚÂ
Spectators close to the ring will say that OâNeill actually caught air from the force of Hessianâs kickout. OâNeill rolls when he lands, sliding to the outside to collect himself.
Nick Stuart: Hessian graciously steps back, allowing OâNeill to slide back in the ring.
Richard Parker: Heâs just keeping the pump primed, making sure he doesnât burn out too quickly. OâNeill is a tactician.
Nick Stuart: Hessian charges for a lock up but OâNeill side steps, letting the Murder Express run right into the turnbuckle. OâNeill rolls Hessian up into a small package.
Richard Parker: Shock and awe!
Before Barlow can even get down to the mat for a count, Hessian has overpowered OâNeill. Hessian throws graciousness to the wind and delivers a fury of kicks to OâNeill. OâNeill clutches at his ribs like something may be in a place it wasnât intended to be. The fans erupt as Hessian pulls OâNeill up by his hair and grasps one of his basketball-palming hands around his throat.
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill up in the air! That has to be eight or nine feet above the ground.
Richard Parker: He can probably see his flat from here.
A resounding BAM echoes as Hessian drives OâNeill into the mat. Before his brain can triage what hurts most Hessian is pulling him up. Wrapping a giant arm around the smaller manâs shoulder, Hessian easily lifts OâNeill fully vertical. They stay there a moment in an oddly picturesque scene, as if holding for a photograph.
THUD
Nick Stuart: HUGE Hessplex!
Richard Parker: Itâs a good thing Lindsay Troy employs only the best to build the PRIME ring or those two would be laying in a pile of rubble. Hessian is just running away with this thing.
Nick Stuart: The Murder Express is to his feet first. He shows just how monstrous he is by wrapping a hand around the top of OâNeillâs skull and pulling him off the ground. He maneuvers himself behind OâNeill and reaches around to lock in a sleeper. Hallelujah Mountains!
Richard Parker: Looking pretty grim for OâNeill.
Ragdolls have shown more life than OâNeill in this moment. His body sways unnaturally under the pressure and force of the colossal Hessian. Ashley Barlow stands in front of the men trying to gauge if OâNeill is actually deceased. Hessian slows the swinging so Barlow can grab ahold of the irishmanâs hand for the symbolic hand drop and this is just the window OâNeill has been waiting for. He reaches behind his head and locks a thumb in each of Hessianâs eyes, pressing with all the might one in this situation can muster, which isnât much. It appears to be enough, though, as Hessian begins to relent long enough for OâNeillâs feet to touch the ground.
Nick Stuart: Zero respect from OâNeill as he tries to gouge out the eyes of the two time Universal Champ.
Richard Parker: By any means necessary!
Nick Stuart: Hessian is losing steam on the sleeper hold now as OâNeill grabs two handfuls of Hessianâs hair. Theyâre both falling now.
A jawbreaker opens a cheek inside Hessianâs mouth and he steps back, holding his hand up to see how bad the bleeding is. OâNeill capitalizes with blitzkrieg precision, executing a perfect drop toe hold. With the big man on his stomach OâNeill grabs a tree trunk er.. leg, and leans back into a half crab. He pushes his knee into Hessianâs back.
Richard Parker: You can tell OâNeill is really pushing the limits of his physical capacity here. If one of those blood vessels in his head pops we might watch a live aneurysm.
Nick Stuart: Thats⌠thatâs not even how that works. Ashley Barlow is down by the big manâs face now, making sure he doesnât tap.
Time stands still for Hessian. He claws at the mat, trying to pry himself from the grips of Sean OâNeill. Every which way Hessian wiggles, OâNeill follows adeptly. You can sense the confidence building in OâNeill at this point. This could be it.
Nick Stuart: Hessian is crawling towards the ropes, but itâs taking him a VERY long time.
Richard Parker: Heâd better hurry, before zee germans arrive.
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: Itâs a line from a movie. Snatch.
Nick Stuart: We canât say that on TV.
Richard Parker: Itâs⌠nevermind, Nick.
The fans are chanting now, âHessian! Hessian! Hessian!â. The Murder Express is feeding on the energy. OâNeill shakes his head side to side at nobody in particular. His eyes widen as he feels Hessian picking up the pace, mere inches from the rope now.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill realizes Hessian must be close to the rope and lets go and begins laying boots to the weakened right leg of Hessian.
Richard Parker: And he slides out of the ring as Hessian pulls himself to his feet. Smart move.
A verbal exchange begins between the two men, Hessian standing at the edge of the ring looking down and OâNeill close by on the outside. Whatever theyâre saying has Hessian quite upset. OâNeill turns to smirk at the fans, holding his hands up as if he has won the verbal battle.
Nick Stuart: Oh no, Hessianâs angry! He leans down over the ropes and grabs OâNeill by the throat from behind. The sheer power of that man is unreal.
Richard Parker: Toot toot, all aboard the Hess Express!
Nick Stuart: Hessian lifts OâNeill right up overhead.
The crowd oohâs and ahhâs at the remarkable power Hessian exhibits, holding OâNeill high above the ring and walking around. OâNeill shakes his hands and head as if heâs trying to plead his case that itâs not necessary to deliver him to the ground. He fails and thereâs a bounce to his landing that makes it even worse somehow.
Richard Parker: Boy, he landed funny.
Nick Stuart: He might be dead and youâre laughing at the way he landed? Do you always laugh when people get hurt?
Richard Parker: Heh, yes.
Hessian takes his time getting OâNeill to his feet. Heâs ring worthy, but still getting his footing. As the match has gone on he has really hit his stride.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is rifling through his trunks.
Richard Parker: Itâs a stress response mechanism. Totally natural.
Nick Stuart: Hessian grabs a hold of OâNeill and OH NO! IRISH MIST! He sprayed a mysterious substance into Hessianâs face!
Richard Parker: Given his âriflingâ, that was bound to happen.
Nick Stuart refuses to dignify that with a response. OâNeill delivers a fierce European uppercut, following it up with a snapmare. Between the mist in his eyes and the 1-2 combo, the lights are getting dim for Hessian.
Nick Stuart: There it is! OâNeill is moving in to lock in Tir Na Nog!
Richard Parker: No way, Hessian is too damn big. Thatâs a wide berth.
Nick Stuart: OâNeill is struggling to lock it in. Look! Hessian is fighting back now, pushing himself up off the mat.
Life can change in an instant and it does for Sean OâNeill. From riding high to being thrust 7 feet in the air and ultimately right onto his skull in a violent Hellevator. Hessian drops in for the pin and Ashley Barlow counts.
1
2
3
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: One incredible bout between two elder statesmen of the sport.
We cut toâŚ
Here we go.
The end of the night.
The last seg before the main.
I wonder what this could be about?
Or, how annoyed will George be afterwards?
The Cromb.
Inside LTâs office, the Lady of the Hour sits behind her desk, tapping a pen and checking her watch. If a person didnât know better, they might think she was waiting for someone. And if that person read Rumor Mills today, that might have caught wind of the possibility of a new signing as a result of a talent exchange between PRIME and Bang! Pro Wrestling.
Of course, rumors are rumors. But sometimesâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Ugh, where is he?
âŚthere is some truth to them.
Her phone dings to let her know of an incoming text. She types an acknowledgment, then stands and walks to the door. A moment or two later, thereâs a knock, and as she pulls the steel door open a look of genuine surprise and happiness materializes on her face.
Lindsay Troy: Well, arenât you a sight for sore eyes.
Voice: Good to see ya too, bruh. Whatâs it been, thirteen years?
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
In the doorway stands âThe Flyinâ Hawaiianâ Bryan Dawkins, the one-time friend of PRIMEâs President and CEO. Dawkins dons what we can only assume is a brand new PRIME hoodie that was picked up at the PRIMEporium on the way into the building and some very colorful, loud Hawaiian board shorts. Out of nowhere, a pineapple materializes from behind his back.
A gift for the boss.
Lindsay Troy: (smiling) Some things never change.
Dawkins, now sporting that shit-eating grin for which he once became famous, goes in for a hug which LT accepts. After entering the room, he sets the pineapple on the desk and plops down in one of her plush leather chairs, making himself at home.
Lindsay Troy: I canât believe youâre the one Inoue sent. I just competed at Clash of Aces a few weeks ago and had no idea you were even under contract there.
Bryan Dawkins: Well, Inoue likes to keep her cards close, ya know?
Lindsay Troy: So do I, thatâs why she and I get along. That, and weâre trolls.
Bryan Dawkins: Ya always were the smart one of the group.
Of course Lindsay knows this. Then again, when said group includes Chandler Tsonda and Tyler RayneâŚwell, no more needs to be said. Dawkins peers around the room, seemingly looking for something. Perhaps nostalgiaâs setting in.
Bryan Dawkins: Everythingâs different now, ya? Only names I recognize are yours and Tsondaâs. No Shakur. No Snow. No High Flyer. Saw Damâs still here and Wadeâs still Wade. Guess thatâs what happens when ya spend over a decade halfway across the world.
Lindsay sits on the corner of her desk, no doubt thinking back to the ReVolution era. Memories of PTI segments that resulted in instant Cease and Desist notices fill her brain.
Lindsay Troy: The faces are different, but the game hasnât changed. You obviously know that, since you never stopped playing.
Bryan Dawkins: YeahâŚwent to Bang! back in â12 and spent the rest of my time there. Wrestled A LOT. Grew up, ya? Had some interesting encounters. Ya know they wrestle kitchen appliances and bikes over there, bruh?
Lindsay Troy: I am familiar with the Homicycle, yesâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Everything was going well. Ya know, untilâŚ
Dawkins points at the elephant in the room, the series of scars that paint the Hawaiianâs left knee. Collateral damage from his last Bang! match with Akira Hanazawa.
Bryan Dawkins: Hanazawaâs a baaaaaaad bruh. This Hawaiianâs not so flyinâ anymore.
The Queen frowns, feeling like sheâs been duped.
Lindsay Troy: It would be like Inoue to peddle me damaged goodsâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Nah, nahâŚitâs been two years. Iâm good. When I was ready to come back, I knew ya brought the band back together. I asked Inoue if we could work out a deal, soâŚ
Dawkins opens his arms in Lindsayâs direction.
Bryan Dawkins: Here I am.
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
Again, that mischievous shit-eating grin is painted across his face. He always was a fan favorite.
Bryan Dawkins: Like I said, everythingâs different, ya? Including me. I appreciate all of this after the past couple years. So when the time came to get off the injured list, there was only one optionâŚPRIME.
The Queenâs expression softens a bit.
Bryan Dawkins: So bruhâŚya read the contract? Ya good on the terms?
Lindsay Troy: I read the contract. Canât say Iâm surprised.
Again, another grin from the Bruh.
Bryan Dawkins: So, a match on my first official show back. Fresh pineapple in the locker room at every showâŚ
Dawkinsâ voice trails off as he gets deathly serious.
Bryan Dawkins: NO blueberriesâŚ
The happiness returns.
Bryan Dawkins: We got a deal?
He extends his hand toward the boss, looking for a handshake to seal the deal. His old friend accepts the offer.
Lindsay Troy: We got a deal.
Bryan Dawkins: Where do I sign? And lemme get that pineapple. Canât let a good fresh one go to waste.
As the last seg of the night fades to black, the camera catches Dawkins putting pen to paper on that new PRIME contract. Now, if they could just find a knife to crack open that sweet, sweet fruit of the godsâŚ
Here we go.
The end of the night.
The last seg before the main.
I wonder what this could be about?
Or, how annoyed will George be afterwards?
The Cromb.
Inside LTâs office, the Lady of the Hour sits behind her desk, tapping a pen and checking her watch. If a person didnât know better, they might think she was waiting for someone. And if that person read Rumor Mills today, that might have caught wind of the possibility of a new signing as a result of a talent exchange between PRIME and Bang! Pro Wrestling.
Of course, rumors are rumors. But sometimesâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Ugh, where is he?
âŚthere is some truth to them.
Her phone dings to let her know of an incoming text. She types an acknowledgment, then stands and walks to the door. A moment or two later, thereâs a knock, and as she pulls the steel door open a look of genuine surprise and happiness materializes on her face.
Lindsay Troy: Well, arenât you a sight for sore eyes.
Voice: Good to see ya too, bruh. Whatâs it been, thirteen years?
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
In the doorway stands âThe Flyinâ Hawaiianâ Bryan Dawkins, the one-time friend of PRIMEâs President and CEO. Dawkins dons what we can only assume is a brand new PRIME hoodie that was picked up at the PRIMEporium on the way into the building and some very colorful, loud Hawaiian board shorts. Out of nowhere, a pineapple materializes from behind his back.
A gift for the boss.
Lindsay Troy: (smiling) Some things never change.
Dawkins, now sporting that shit-eating grin for which he once became famous, goes in for a hug which LT accepts. After entering the room, he sets the pineapple on the desk and plops down in one of her plush leather chairs, making himself at home.
Lindsay Troy: I canât believe youâre the one Inoue sent. I just competed at Clash of Aces a few weeks ago and had no idea you were even under contract there.
Bryan Dawkins: Well, Inoue likes to keep her cards close, ya know?
Lindsay Troy: So do I, thatâs why she and I get along. That, and weâre trolls.
Bryan Dawkins: Ya always were the smart one of the group.
Of course Lindsay knows this. Then again, when said group includes Chandler Tsonda and Tyler RayneâŚwell, no more needs to be said. Dawkins peers around the room, seemingly looking for something. Perhaps nostalgiaâs setting in.
Bryan Dawkins: Everythingâs different now, ya? Only names I recognize are yours and Tsondaâs. No Shakur. No Snow. No High Flyer. Saw Damâs still here and Wadeâs still Wade. Guess thatâs what happens when ya spend over a decade halfway across the world.
Lindsay sits on the corner of her desk, no doubt thinking back to the ReVolution era. Memories of PTI segments that resulted in instant Cease and Desist notices fill her brain.
Lindsay Troy: The faces are different, but the game hasnât changed. You obviously know that, since you never stopped playing.
Bryan Dawkins: YeahâŚwent to Bang! back in â12 and spent the rest of my time there. Wrestled A LOT. Grew up, ya? Had some interesting encounters. Ya know they wrestle kitchen appliances and bikes over there, bruh?
Lindsay Troy: I am familiar with the Homicycle, yesâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Everything was going well. Ya know, untilâŚ
Dawkins points at the elephant in the room, the series of scars that paint the Hawaiianâs left knee. Collateral damage from his last Bang! match with Akira Hanazawa.
Bryan Dawkins: Hanazawaâs a baaaaaaad bruh. This Hawaiianâs not so flyinâ anymore.
The Queen frowns, feeling like sheâs been duped.
Lindsay Troy: It would be like Inoue to peddle me damaged goodsâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Nah, nahâŚitâs been two years. Iâm good. When I was ready to come back, I knew ya brought the band back together. I asked Inoue if we could work out a deal, soâŚ
Dawkins opens his arms in Lindsayâs direction.
Bryan Dawkins: Here I am.
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
Again, that mischievous shit-eating grin is painted across his face. He always was a fan favorite.
Bryan Dawkins: Like I said, everythingâs different, ya? Including me. I appreciate all of this after the past couple years. So when the time came to get off the injured list, there was only one optionâŚPRIME.
The Queenâs expression softens a bit.
Bryan Dawkins: So bruhâŚya read the contract? Ya good on the terms?
Lindsay Troy: I read the contract. Canât say Iâm surprised.
Again, another grin from the Bruh.
Bryan Dawkins: So, a match on my first official show back. Fresh pineapple in the locker room at every showâŚ
Dawkinsâ voice trails off as he gets deathly serious.
Bryan Dawkins: NO blueberriesâŚ
The happiness returns.
Bryan Dawkins: We got a deal?
He extends his hand toward the boss, looking for a handshake to seal the deal. His old friend accepts the offer.
Lindsay Troy: We got a deal.
Bryan Dawkins: Where do I sign? And lemme get that pineapple. Canât let a good fresh one go to waste.
As the last seg of the night fades to black, the camera catches Dawkins putting pen to paper on that new PRIME contract. Now, if they could just find a knife to crack open that sweet, sweet fruit of the godsâŚ
Here we go.
The end of the night.
The last seg before the main.
I wonder what this could be about?
Or, how annoyed will George be afterwards?
The Cromb.
Inside LTâs office, the Lady of the Hour sits behind her desk, tapping a pen and checking her watch. If a person didnât know better, they might think she was waiting for someone. And if that person read Rumor Mills today, that might have caught wind of the possibility of a new signing as a result of a talent exchange between PRIME and Bang! Pro Wrestling.
Of course, rumors are rumors. But sometimesâŚ
Lindsay Troy: Ugh, where is he?
âŚthere is some truth to them.
Her phone dings to let her know of an incoming text. She types an acknowledgment, then stands and walks to the door. A moment or two later, thereâs a knock, and as she pulls the steel door open a look of genuine surprise and happiness materializes on her face.
Lindsay Troy: Well, arenât you a sight for sore eyes.
Voice: Good to see ya too, bruh. Whatâs it been, thirteen years?
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
In the doorway stands âThe Flyinâ Hawaiianâ Bryan Dawkins, the one-time friend of PRIMEâs President and CEO. Dawkins dons what we can only assume is a brand new PRIME hoodie that was picked up at the PRIMEporium on the way into the building and some very colorful, loud Hawaiian board shorts. Out of nowhere, a pineapple materializes from behind his back.
A gift for the boss.
Lindsay Troy: (smiling) Some things never change.
Dawkins, now sporting that shit-eating grin for which he once became famous, goes in for a hug which LT accepts. After entering the room, he sets the pineapple on the desk and plops down in one of her plush leather chairs, making himself at home.
Lindsay Troy: I canât believe youâre the one Inoue sent. I just competed at Clash of Aces a few weeks ago and had no idea you were even under contract there.
Bryan Dawkins: Well, Inoue likes to keep her cards close, ya know?
Lindsay Troy: So do I, thatâs why she and I get along. That, and weâre trolls.
Bryan Dawkins: Ya always were the smart one of the group.
Of course Lindsay knows this. Then again, when said group includes Chandler Tsonda and Tyler RayneâŚwell, no more needs to be said. Dawkins peers around the room, seemingly looking for something. Perhaps nostalgiaâs setting in.
Bryan Dawkins: Everythingâs different now, ya? Only names I recognize are yours and Tsondaâs. No Shakur. No Snow. No High Flyer. Saw Damâs still here and Wadeâs still Wade. Guess thatâs what happens when ya spend over a decade halfway across the world.
Lindsay sits on the corner of her desk, no doubt thinking back to the ReVolution era. Memories of PTI segments that resulted in instant Cease and Desist notices fill her brain.
Lindsay Troy: The faces are different, but the game hasnât changed. You obviously know that, since you never stopped playing.
Bryan Dawkins: YeahâŚwent to Bang! back in â12 and spent the rest of my time there. Wrestled A LOT. Grew up, ya? Had some interesting encounters. Ya know they wrestle kitchen appliances and bikes over there, bruh?
Lindsay Troy: I am familiar with the Homicycle, yesâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Everything was going well. Ya know, untilâŚ
Dawkins points at the elephant in the room, the series of scars that paint the Hawaiianâs left knee. Collateral damage from his last Bang! match with Akira Hanazawa.
Bryan Dawkins: Hanazawaâs a baaaaaaad bruh. This Hawaiianâs not so flyinâ anymore.
The Queen frowns, feeling like sheâs been duped.
Lindsay Troy: It would be like Inoue to peddle me damaged goodsâŚ
Bryan Dawkins: Nah, nahâŚitâs been two years. Iâm good. When I was ready to come back, I knew ya brought the band back together. I asked Inoue if we could work out a deal, soâŚ
Dawkins opens his arms in Lindsayâs direction.
Bryan Dawkins: Here I am.
RAAAAAHHHHHH!
Again, that mischievous shit-eating grin is painted across his face. He always was a fan favorite.
Bryan Dawkins: Like I said, everythingâs different, ya? Including me. I appreciate all of this after the past couple years. So when the time came to get off the injured list, there was only one optionâŚPRIME.
The Queenâs expression softens a bit.
Bryan Dawkins: So bruhâŚya read the contract? Ya good on the terms?
Lindsay Troy: I read the contract. Canât say Iâm surprised.
Again, another grin from the Bruh.
Bryan Dawkins: So, a match on my first official show back. Fresh pineapple in the locker room at every showâŚ
Dawkinsâ voice trails off as he gets deathly serious.
Bryan Dawkins: NO blueberriesâŚ
The happiness returns.
Bryan Dawkins: We got a deal?
He extends his hand toward the boss, looking for a handshake to seal the deal. His old friend accepts the offer.
Lindsay Troy: We got a deal.
Bryan Dawkins: Where do I sign? And lemme get that pineapple. Canât let a good fresh one go to waste.
As the last seg of the night fades to black, the camera catches Dawkins putting pen to paper on that new PRIME contract. Now, if they could just find a knife to crack open that sweet, sweet fruit of the godsâŚ
What the viewing audience sees is a monochromatic computer screen, fresh out of the 1980s. A blinking cursor gives way to words.
> GREETINGS PROFESSOR FALKEN
The cursor continues to blink until a response is keyed in.
> HELLO JOSHUA
> PLAY WG24INIT.BAT
We fade into a shot of an empty arena. At the center is a ring, and itâs surrounded by a cage. Because of both the lighting and the angle of the camera itâs impossible to tell whether itâs one ring or two. The arena is bathed in shadow, with the only light coming from the big screen over the entryway. That screen is what the lone figure in the ring is staring at. Inside the ring and filmed from behind at a low angle, Jared Sykes leans against the ropes nearest to it.
How do we know itâs him? Because his is the voice that accompanies this scene. Also, remember a few sentences ago where we noted that this was filmed from behind? Dead giveaway right there.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Civil War 2002. Three teams of three inside the cage.
The big screen begins to show clips from that night, and for a moment it takes over for the rest of the scene. In the lower corner of the screen are the words: Footage courtesy of the National Wrestling Council.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): The Uppermost Echelon sent JW Oswald, Ben Van Iten, and Colin Montgomery. Every one of them a former world champion.
We get a quick cut of each of those men, including the gaudiest Hawaiian shirt thatâs ever been committed to fabric.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): LCW sent three killers of their own. Lance Marshall. Damon Hayes. GD West.
Again, a quick shot of each of them.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Hawaii sent Eugene Robinson, Jeremy ThomasâŚ
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): âŚand a kid getting his first real break on the big stage.
The Jared of twenty-plus years ago might as well be a different person. There are no tattoos. There are no scars. His ring gear consisted of sneakers and cargo shorts, which were all the rage at the time. If thereâs one constant itâs the questionable hair choices, but frosted tips were very en vogue in those days.
A rapid-fire series of clips follow, including one of Lance Marshall driving Sykes face-first into the cage wall and busting him open. The shot left a scar thatâs still visible over his right eye.
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Sorry, it had to be said again.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Three teams. Nine men. The foundation and the future. Twenty years later, and the numbers might have changed, but the principle remains the same
The PRIMEview goes stark white, and the first name fades into view.
A N G L O
L U C H A D O R
Great American Nightmare 2022. Blood. So much blood. Itâs the logical result of what happens when you replace the ring ropes with barbed wire and set four of the most hardened grapplers against each other for the chance to become the first Intense Champion of the ReVival. Tonight the Anglo Luchador leaves the ring with a new, fresh set of wounds, and new scars to come later. A small price to pay for victory and validation.
UltraViolence 2022. A Cactus clothesline sends both champion and challenger crashing to the arena floor, one of the rare times when the Mask Of Malice was taken off his feet throughout his stint in PRIME. Chair after chair is sent flying through the air, each one chipping away at the armor of Balaam. Tonight the Luchador has a mission, a cause, and that makes him dangerous. Itâs what gives him the strength to power a man twice his size into the air, and send him thundering to the mat with the Japanese Ocean Cyclone.
ReVival 32. Respect. Friendship. The Universal Championship. These are the stakes for what could be the biggest fight of the Anglo Luchadorâs PRIME career. It may not be the ending that he wanted, but the match will serve as a reminder to the entire roster that the Son of The Shogun is a threat to capture gold any time heâs in the ring.
A D A M
E L L I S
Tropical Turmoil 2023. The kid from Warrensburg hooks both of Tristan-Crispin Gladhappyâs legs under his arms and steps over into that patented elevated crab. The Nuzzle Lord is trapped, and the only way for him to escape is to surrender.
ReVival 26. A right hand staggers Cecilworth Farthington, Financier of the Glueminati. A second punch lands, and when Cecilworth shoves Ellis away to create a little space itâs quickly filled by a superkick that lands flush on the jaw and drops the Financier to the canvas.
ReVival 23. The next clip comes with a disclaimer that the viewer should not, under any circumstances, try this at home. Thatâs because it features Ginny Van Lear pulling a shotgun and scaring the bejesus out of Matt Mills.
N A T E
C O L T O N
UltraViolence 2022. A seated FLAMBERGE suddenly finds his own neck compromised, as heâs suddenly trapped in the Colton Clutch. Heâs pulled to his feet, and then driven down by the Colton Clutch suplex. A moment later, The Next Diamondâs hand is raised in victory.
Colossus 2022. The other three men in the match â Brandon Youngblood, Rezin, and FLAMBERGE â will all have had their names etched in the history of the Universal Championship by the time this vignette airs, but on that night it was blue chip prodigy from Evansville with gold to his name. The Five Star championship is placed in his hands, and the crowd rises with him as he holds the belt aloft.
Culture Shock 2023. Nate Colton carries his Five Star championship to the ring. We cut to the aftermath, where heâs celebrating in the ring with his title intact. His opponent is now little more than an insignificant footnote in the annals of wrestling history.
C H A N D L E R
T S O N D A
Colossus 2008. The Model Citizen walks into Charlotte as the challenger. Heâll leave that night as the Universal Champion after a triple jump corkscrew moonsault â a move he calls the Model Citizen Redux â drives the last breath out of Devin Shakur.
Culture Shock 2023. After years away from the sport, The Sultan of Style makes a surprise appearance in the night two battle royale that would come to be known as âThe Murder Rumble.â The response from the crowd is loud enough to send vibrations through the backstage area.
UltraViolence 2023. Itâs been over a decade since Chandler Tsonda last held gold in PRIME, but tonight he walks through the curtain to meet an old foe, and a Hall of Fame peer in Tony Gamble. A Model Citizen moonsault to the outside of the ring connects. Another lands after Tonyâs been sent back into the ring. All it takes is three seconds for the Viet Viper to become a champion of the ReVival era.
B R A N D O N
Y O U N G B L O O D
Culture Shock 2022. Four grueling rounds have seen the field of thirty-two shrink down to the last two men. Tonight, the winner will steer the course of PRIME into the ReVival. Terminal Cancer connects, but itâs not enough. A salvo of three Randallplexes are launched in response, each one a statement. A lifelong journey is at last realized. The Tower stands steadfast at the core of PRIME, and woe betide all who dare climb it.
Great American Nightmare 2022. For his opponent, this is not the way the night was supposed to go, but not many people expect their shooting star press to be countered into a spinebuster so savage it fundamentally erases them from existence. The suplexes that follow are so fast, so vicious that we donât ever get to see the face of the victim. Itâs likely for the best. They probably liked some really shitty bands.
Tropical Turmoil 2023. Another summer, another opponent consigned to the ranks of the irrelevant, because no amount of angry sauce can save you from the Anger Golem. There will be no pizza parties, no parades. The biggest prize in professional wrestling stays where it belongs â under the banner of blue and white.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Six men. One team. From one generation to the next, they are the foundation and the future of this company⌠Of this sport.
A rapid fire series of clips plays across the PRIMEview, highlights of all six members of this team playing one after another.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): So bring your Convoy, assemble your Army, fire up the Factory, and gather your Bandits. On March 30th, you all find where the line is drawn. At Culture Shock there is only one outcome for everyone else inside that cageâŚ
The image fades as Jared moves away from the ropes and begins walking out of frame. We return to the monochromatic computer screen.
> THE ONLY WINNING MOVE IS NOT TO PLAY
With a heavy click, the monitor is turned off.
What the viewing audience sees is a monochromatic computer screen, fresh out of the 1980s. A blinking cursor gives way to words.
> GREETINGS PROFESSOR FALKEN
The cursor continues to blink until a response is keyed in.
> HELLO JOSHUA
> PLAY WG24INIT.BAT
We fade into a shot of an empty arena. At the center is a ring, and itâs surrounded by a cage. Because of both the lighting and the angle of the camera itâs impossible to tell whether itâs one ring or two. The arena is bathed in shadow, with the only light coming from the big screen over the entryway. That screen is what the lone figure in the ring is staring at. Inside the ring and filmed from behind at a low angle, Jared Sykes leans against the ropes nearest to it.
How do we know itâs him? Because his is the voice that accompanies this scene. Also, remember a few sentences ago where we noted that this was filmed from behind? Dead giveaway right there.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Civil War 2002. Three teams of three inside the cage.
The big screen begins to show clips from that night, and for a moment it takes over for the rest of the scene. In the lower corner of the screen are the words: Footage courtesy of the National Wrestling Council.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): The Uppermost Echelon sent JW Oswald, Ben Van Iten, and Colin Montgomery. Every one of them a former world champion.
We get a quick cut of each of those men, including the gaudiest Hawaiian shirt thatâs ever been committed to fabric.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): LCW sent three killers of their own. Lance Marshall. Damon Hayes. GD West.
Again, a quick shot of each of them.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Hawaii sent Eugene Robinson, Jeremy ThomasâŚ
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): âŚand a kid getting his first real break on the big stage.
The Jared of twenty-plus years ago might as well be a different person. There are no tattoos. There are no scars. His ring gear consisted of sneakers and cargo shorts, which were all the rage at the time. If thereâs one constant itâs the questionable hair choices, but frosted tips were very en vogue in those days.
A rapid-fire series of clips follow, including one of Lance Marshall driving Sykes face-first into the cage wall and busting him open. The shot left a scar thatâs still visible over his right eye.
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Sorry, it had to be said again.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Three teams. Nine men. The foundation and the future. Twenty years later, and the numbers might have changed, but the principle remains the same
The PRIMEview goes stark white, and the first name fades into view.
A N G L O
L U C H A D O R
Great American Nightmare 2022. Blood. So much blood. Itâs the logical result of what happens when you replace the ring ropes with barbed wire and set four of the most hardened grapplers against each other for the chance to become the first Intense Champion of the ReVival. Tonight the Anglo Luchador leaves the ring with a new, fresh set of wounds, and new scars to come later. A small price to pay for victory and validation.
UltraViolence 2022. A Cactus clothesline sends both champion and challenger crashing to the arena floor, one of the rare times when the Mask Of Malice was taken off his feet throughout his stint in PRIME. Chair after chair is sent flying through the air, each one chipping away at the armor of Balaam. Tonight the Luchador has a mission, a cause, and that makes him dangerous. Itâs what gives him the strength to power a man twice his size into the air, and send him thundering to the mat with the Japanese Ocean Cyclone.
ReVival 32. Respect. Friendship. The Universal Championship. These are the stakes for what could be the biggest fight of the Anglo Luchadorâs PRIME career. It may not be the ending that he wanted, but the match will serve as a reminder to the entire roster that the Son of The Shogun is a threat to capture gold any time heâs in the ring.
A D A M
E L L I S
Tropical Turmoil 2023. The kid from Warrensburg hooks both of Tristan-Crispin Gladhappyâs legs under his arms and steps over into that patented elevated crab. The Nuzzle Lord is trapped, and the only way for him to escape is to surrender.
ReVival 26. A right hand staggers Cecilworth Farthington, Financier of the Glueminati. A second punch lands, and when Cecilworth shoves Ellis away to create a little space itâs quickly filled by a superkick that lands flush on the jaw and drops the Financier to the canvas.
ReVival 23. The next clip comes with a disclaimer that the viewer should not, under any circumstances, try this at home. Thatâs because it features Ginny Van Lear pulling a shotgun and scaring the bejesus out of Matt Mills.
N A T E
C O L T O N
UltraViolence 2022. A seated FLAMBERGE suddenly finds his own neck compromised, as heâs suddenly trapped in the Colton Clutch. Heâs pulled to his feet, and then driven down by the Colton Clutch suplex. A moment later, The Next Diamondâs hand is raised in victory.
Colossus 2022. The other three men in the match â Brandon Youngblood, Rezin, and FLAMBERGE â will all have had their names etched in the history of the Universal Championship by the time this vignette airs, but on that night it was blue chip prodigy from Evansville with gold to his name. The Five Star championship is placed in his hands, and the crowd rises with him as he holds the belt aloft.
Culture Shock 2023. Nate Colton carries his Five Star championship to the ring. We cut to the aftermath, where heâs celebrating in the ring with his title intact. His opponent is now little more than an insignificant footnote in the annals of wrestling history.
C H A N D L E R
T S O N D A
Colossus 2008. The Model Citizen walks into Charlotte as the challenger. Heâll leave that night as the Universal Champion after a triple jump corkscrew moonsault â a move he calls the Model Citizen Redux â drives the last breath out of Devin Shakur.
Culture Shock 2023. After years away from the sport, The Sultan of Style makes a surprise appearance in the night two battle royale that would come to be known as âThe Murder Rumble.â The response from the crowd is loud enough to send vibrations through the backstage area.
UltraViolence 2023. Itâs been over a decade since Chandler Tsonda last held gold in PRIME, but tonight he walks through the curtain to meet an old foe, and a Hall of Fame peer in Tony Gamble. A Model Citizen moonsault to the outside of the ring connects. Another lands after Tonyâs been sent back into the ring. All it takes is three seconds for the Viet Viper to become a champion of the ReVival era.
B R A N D O N
Y O U N G B L O O D
Culture Shock 2022. Four grueling rounds have seen the field of thirty-two shrink down to the last two men. Tonight, the winner will steer the course of PRIME into the ReVival. Terminal Cancer connects, but itâs not enough. A salvo of three Randallplexes are launched in response, each one a statement. A lifelong journey is at last realized. The Tower stands steadfast at the core of PRIME, and woe betide all who dare climb it.
Great American Nightmare 2022. For his opponent, this is not the way the night was supposed to go, but not many people expect their shooting star press to be countered into a spinebuster so savage it fundamentally erases them from existence. The suplexes that follow are so fast, so vicious that we donât ever get to see the face of the victim. Itâs likely for the best. They probably liked some really shitty bands.
Tropical Turmoil 2023. Another summer, another opponent consigned to the ranks of the irrelevant, because no amount of angry sauce can save you from the Anger Golem. There will be no pizza parties, no parades. The biggest prize in professional wrestling stays where it belongs â under the banner of blue and white.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Six men. One team. From one generation to the next, they are the foundation and the future of this company⌠Of this sport.
A rapid fire series of clips plays across the PRIMEview, highlights of all six members of this team playing one after another.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): So bring your Convoy, assemble your Army, fire up the Factory, and gather your Bandits. On March 30th, you all find where the line is drawn. At Culture Shock there is only one outcome for everyone else inside that cageâŚ
The image fades as Jared moves away from the ropes and begins walking out of frame. We return to the monochromatic computer screen.
> THE ONLY WINNING MOVE IS NOT TO PLAY
With a heavy click, the monitor is turned off.
What the viewing audience sees is a monochromatic computer screen, fresh out of the 1980s. A blinking cursor gives way to words.
> GREETINGS PROFESSOR FALKEN
The cursor continues to blink until a response is keyed in.
> HELLO JOSHUA
> PLAY WG24INIT.BAT
We fade into a shot of an empty arena. At the center is a ring, and itâs surrounded by a cage. Because of both the lighting and the angle of the camera itâs impossible to tell whether itâs one ring or two. The arena is bathed in shadow, with the only light coming from the big screen over the entryway. That screen is what the lone figure in the ring is staring at. Inside the ring and filmed from behind at a low angle, Jared Sykes leans against the ropes nearest to it.
How do we know itâs him? Because his is the voice that accompanies this scene. Also, remember a few sentences ago where we noted that this was filmed from behind? Dead giveaway right there.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Civil War 2002. Three teams of three inside the cage.
The big screen begins to show clips from that night, and for a moment it takes over for the rest of the scene. In the lower corner of the screen are the words: Footage courtesy of the National Wrestling Council.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): The Uppermost Echelon sent JW Oswald, Ben Van Iten, and Colin Montgomery. Every one of them a former world champion.
We get a quick cut of each of those men, including the gaudiest Hawaiian shirt thatâs ever been committed to fabric.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): LCW sent three killers of their own. Lance Marshall. Damon Hayes. GD West.
Again, a quick shot of each of them.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Hawaii sent Eugene Robinson, Jeremy ThomasâŚ
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): âŚand a kid getting his first real break on the big stage.
The Jared of twenty-plus years ago might as well be a different person. There are no tattoos. There are no scars. His ring gear consisted of sneakers and cargo shorts, which were all the rage at the time. If thereâs one constant itâs the questionable hair choices, but frosted tips were very en vogue in those days.
A rapid-fire series of clips follow, including one of Lance Marshall driving Sykes face-first into the cage wall and busting him open. The shot left a scar thatâs still visible over his right eye.
Fuck Jeremy Thomas.
Sorry, it had to be said again.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Three teams. Nine men. The foundation and the future. Twenty years later, and the numbers might have changed, but the principle remains the same
The PRIMEview goes stark white, and the first name fades into view.
A N G L O
L U C H A D O R
Great American Nightmare 2022. Blood. So much blood. Itâs the logical result of what happens when you replace the ring ropes with barbed wire and set four of the most hardened grapplers against each other for the chance to become the first Intense Champion of the ReVival. Tonight the Anglo Luchador leaves the ring with a new, fresh set of wounds, and new scars to come later. A small price to pay for victory and validation.
UltraViolence 2022. A Cactus clothesline sends both champion and challenger crashing to the arena floor, one of the rare times when the Mask Of Malice was taken off his feet throughout his stint in PRIME. Chair after chair is sent flying through the air, each one chipping away at the armor of Balaam. Tonight the Luchador has a mission, a cause, and that makes him dangerous. Itâs what gives him the strength to power a man twice his size into the air, and send him thundering to the mat with the Japanese Ocean Cyclone.
ReVival 32. Respect. Friendship. The Universal Championship. These are the stakes for what could be the biggest fight of the Anglo Luchadorâs PRIME career. It may not be the ending that he wanted, but the match will serve as a reminder to the entire roster that the Son of The Shogun is a threat to capture gold any time heâs in the ring.
A D A M
E L L I S
Tropical Turmoil 2023. The kid from Warrensburg hooks both of Tristan-Crispin Gladhappyâs legs under his arms and steps over into that patented elevated crab. The Nuzzle Lord is trapped, and the only way for him to escape is to surrender.
ReVival 26. A right hand staggers Cecilworth Farthington, Financier of the Glueminati. A second punch lands, and when Cecilworth shoves Ellis away to create a little space itâs quickly filled by a superkick that lands flush on the jaw and drops the Financier to the canvas.
ReVival 23. The next clip comes with a disclaimer that the viewer should not, under any circumstances, try this at home. Thatâs because it features Ginny Van Lear pulling a shotgun and scaring the bejesus out of Matt Mills.
N A T E
C O L T O N
UltraViolence 2022. A seated FLAMBERGE suddenly finds his own neck compromised, as heâs suddenly trapped in the Colton Clutch. Heâs pulled to his feet, and then driven down by the Colton Clutch suplex. A moment later, The Next Diamondâs hand is raised in victory.
Colossus 2022. The other three men in the match â Brandon Youngblood, Rezin, and FLAMBERGE â will all have had their names etched in the history of the Universal Championship by the time this vignette airs, but on that night it was blue chip prodigy from Evansville with gold to his name. The Five Star championship is placed in his hands, and the crowd rises with him as he holds the belt aloft.
Culture Shock 2023. Nate Colton carries his Five Star championship to the ring. We cut to the aftermath, where heâs celebrating in the ring with his title intact. His opponent is now little more than an insignificant footnote in the annals of wrestling history.
C H A N D L E R
T S O N D A
Colossus 2008. The Model Citizen walks into Charlotte as the challenger. Heâll leave that night as the Universal Champion after a triple jump corkscrew moonsault â a move he calls the Model Citizen Redux â drives the last breath out of Devin Shakur.
Culture Shock 2023. After years away from the sport, The Sultan of Style makes a surprise appearance in the night two battle royale that would come to be known as âThe Murder Rumble.â The response from the crowd is loud enough to send vibrations through the backstage area.
UltraViolence 2023. Itâs been over a decade since Chandler Tsonda last held gold in PRIME, but tonight he walks through the curtain to meet an old foe, and a Hall of Fame peer in Tony Gamble. A Model Citizen moonsault to the outside of the ring connects. Another lands after Tonyâs been sent back into the ring. All it takes is three seconds for the Viet Viper to become a champion of the ReVival era.
B R A N D O N
Y O U N G B L O O D
Culture Shock 2022. Four grueling rounds have seen the field of thirty-two shrink down to the last two men. Tonight, the winner will steer the course of PRIME into the ReVival. Terminal Cancer connects, but itâs not enough. A salvo of three Randallplexes are launched in response, each one a statement. A lifelong journey is at last realized. The Tower stands steadfast at the core of PRIME, and woe betide all who dare climb it.
Great American Nightmare 2022. For his opponent, this is not the way the night was supposed to go, but not many people expect their shooting star press to be countered into a spinebuster so savage it fundamentally erases them from existence. The suplexes that follow are so fast, so vicious that we donât ever get to see the face of the victim. Itâs likely for the best. They probably liked some really shitty bands.
Tropical Turmoil 2023. Another summer, another opponent consigned to the ranks of the irrelevant, because no amount of angry sauce can save you from the Anger Golem. There will be no pizza parties, no parades. The biggest prize in professional wrestling stays where it belongs â under the banner of blue and white.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): Six men. One team. From one generation to the next, they are the foundation and the future of this company⌠Of this sport.
A rapid fire series of clips plays across the PRIMEview, highlights of all six members of this team playing one after another.
Jared Sykes (voiceover): So bring your Convoy, assemble your Army, fire up the Factory, and gather your Bandits. On March 30th, you all find where the line is drawn. At Culture Shock there is only one outcome for everyone else inside that cageâŚ
The image fades as Jared moves away from the ropes and begins walking out of frame. We return to the monochromatic computer screen.
> THE ONLY WINNING MOVE IS NOT TO PLAY
With a heavy click, the monitor is turned off.
Nick Stuart: Our main event tonight features two competitors who are NO strangers to bloodying their opponents, themselves, or a camera or three in order to win. And to make the stakes even higher? The vacant Intense Championship is on the line!
Richard Parker: Someoneâs gonna die. I just hope it isnât Max. You know. AGAIN. Thatâd be a real PR nightmare.
Nick Stuart: Yeesh, letâs hope it doesnât come to that. Itâs no secret that Maximillian Wilhelm Kael has been involved in some of the most brutal matches ever seen in professional wrestling, but this is the first time we get to see this side of The Unquestionable One work his bloody magic inside a PRIME ring.
Richard Parker: Letâs not forget that Paxton Ray is no stranger to the art of hardcore wrestling, either. Just look at his match against The Anglo Luchador at UltraViolence, and nearly a year ago when he tangled with Hall of Famer Nova at Culture Shock 2023. A match where he went IN the defending Intense Champion and walked out STILL Intense Champion. Thatâs not even counting his past exploits in bare-knuckle brawling!
Nick Stuart: Suffice to say, the PRIME Faithful should understand just howâ
Richard Parker: âinsane?!
Nick Stuart: Well, yeah. Andâ
Richard Parker: â totally bonkers these guys are when put into a match this violent in nature?
Nick Stuart: You said it, partner. This could be one for the ages, gents, and lets hope Grandma, the kids, and Uncle Pete and his pacemaker are put to bed right now, because this oneâs about to get underway!
The lights in the KeyBank Center flicker for a moment before they shut off completely with a loud..
BANG!
âUndergroundâ by Tom Waits and John Powell comes crashing over the booing crowd. Loud horns bellow angrily, smothering the crowdâs reaction with loud, abrasive sounding music. The Kaelsalvanian flag, whose three distinct colors are red, green and black, flutters proudly on the PRIME*View. The Herald marches out onto the stage wearing his garish Renaissance gear. As per usual he has a massive Max Kael banner which he waves proudly in the air.
Nick Stuart: Well, this is always, uh, interesting. A Max Kael entrance, that is.
Richard Parker: Shut it, Nick. Max Kael entrances are an experience, and every time you open your mouth youâre ruining mine!
The heavy, thrumming beat of the music is soon joined by the harsh, unyielding voice of Tom Waits.
âRattle big black bones in the danger zones.â
A shopping cart of weapons is shoved out onto the stage. It nearly runs over the Herald who scampers out of the way at the last moment.
âThereâs a rumblinâ groan down below.âÂ
The shopping cart is followed by the Unquestionable One himself, Maximilian Kael! He is dressed appropriately for a barbed wire ropes match. Instead of normal wrestling gear he is wearing black jeans tucked into a pair of shit kicker boots. He has a tactical vest over a black shirt with his arms fully wrapped in bandages.
âThereâs a big dark town, itâs a place Iâve found.â
Max pulls a large, God of War style battle ax from the shopping cart that has been wrapped in barbed wire. The crowd gasps and then cheers for the pure insanity of it. It doesnât stop there as Max produces lighter fluid from the cart! People start going crazy and the match hasnât even started yet!
âThereâs a World going on underground!âÂ
He pours lighter fluid on the ax then ignites it much to the roaring, bloodthirsty joy of the crowd! Max starts waving the ax around as fireworks start exploding out of it! The Lord of Kaelsalvania looks just as surprised as anyone else as the ax launches itself from his hand and explodes harmlessly some twenty feet up in the air. Is it part of the show? Is it a botch-a-mania clip?
Max and the Herald stare up at the place where the flaming ax had exploded for a few moments. They then share a look, shrugging before they continue with the entrance.
The Herald: STANDING at SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES.. Weighing EIGHTEEN AND A HALF underfed orphans! The Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Future Intense Champion, the
SEVE-..EIGHTH Canon Max of PRIME, the Unquestionable Kael, the Second of His Name, LONG MAY HE MAIM! He is UNQUESTIONABLY Maximillian Wilhelm KAEL!
Max instructs the Herald to take away his cart of weapons, now concerned that they all will explode. He then jogs down to the ring to make up for lost time by the exploding ax as the crowd boos the future lack of exploding weapons.
He carefully enters the ring doing his best to avoid the barbed wire ropes. He throws both of his arms into the air once he enters the ring, mean mugging the TV camera as the failure of the exploding ax is quickly brushed away by his abrasive ego.
âThey say itâs good to start a story with a tragedy.â
âFistfightâ by The Ballroom Thieves pumps through Buffalo as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton shakes his head with disgust as the fans boo him mercilessly. As if on cue, Chet Fleetwood, who had been walking behind our former Intense Champion, holds up a microphone, shouting.
Chet Fleetwood: CUT THE MUSIC!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
âFistfightâ fades away quickly as the fans boo Chet Fleetwood, who walks out with the same big book with the name âFLEETWOODâ on it that he had with him at Colossus.
Chet Fleetwood: Iâll take that, thank you very much. Now Iâm sure you all noticed that ratings and buy rates for Colossus spiked for the two minutes and thirty six seconds that I had the microphone, so sit down Vince. Youâre lucky I donât try to take your job.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Nick Stuart: Really?
Richard Parker: I donât think Chet has been watching PRIME very long. Or, at least, doesnât get the ACE Network. Vince is an institution!
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
Chet Fleetwood: Ooooh I like that. Keep chanting suckwads. AnywayâŚINTRODUUUUUCING⌠from Lafayette, LouisianaâŚweighing in at a studly, masculine, 255 lbs! They call him the Murder Gator, but I just call him my ticket to fameâŚ
Nick Stuart: Iâm surprised heâs admitting it.
Richard Parker: Iâm not.
Chet Fleetwood: Though youâre not worthy to receive him, I give to you⌠THE BAYOUUUUUUUUUU BUTCHER⌠PAXTOOOOOOOOOON RAAAAAAAY!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Paxton shakes his head at Chetâs over-the-top insults but continues toward the barbed-wire ring anyway. Staring and studying the barbed-wire ropes, Paxton nods his head as if to say âLetâs fucking do this.â.
Sliding under the bottom rope, narrowly escaping some barbs, Paxton gets into the ring, staring down Unquestionably Max.
Elvis Nixon looks at both competitors, and without further ado, he signals for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: Here we go!
Richard Parker: Hell yeah! Been looking forward to this one since I saw the bookings go out!
Once the bell sounds, Paxton goes right for Max, who falls back a bit. Drawing Paxton into the corner, The Unquestionable quickly goes behind Paxton, hoping to get the former Intense Champion to hurt himself amongst the barbed-wire. He stops himself from sledgehammering down onto the turnbuckle and barbed-wire, though, and simply turns around.
Nick Stuart: Max trying to get Paxton to damage himself with all that barbed-wire is actually a pretty sound strategy. I just donât know if Pax will fall for it.
Richard Parker: Yeah, I donât think he will. Despite this type of match seemingly being in favor of The Kaelstrom, this IS Paxton Rayâs wheelhouse.
Max is right there with a kick to the mid-section. He follows it up with a dropkick to the chin that sends spit (or maybe a tooth?) flying into the front row. With Pax reeling in the corner, Max spins and connects with a harsh roaring elbow right to the chin!
Then he connects with another!
And ANOTHER!
Nick Stuart: Max driving those Roaring Hellbows into Rayâs face, as quick and ferocious as possible!
Richard Parker: The Quick and Ferocious. Sounds like a wish-ordered version of Fast and the Furious.
Pax finally drops to the bottom turnbuckle, the barbed-wire scraping his back like a cheese grater. Backing up across the ring so that he is in the opposite corner, Max skips in the air to pick up momentum from an inert state. Full speed ahead he goes for a running knee strike, but the Bayou Butcher moves out of the way!
Maxâs knee connects with the barbed-wire, immediately ripping open the knees in the pair of jeans heâs dressed in for the brutal affair.
Nick Stuart: Well, Paxtonâs back looks like raw hamburger meat nowâŚ
Richard Parker: âŚand Max looks like heâs auditioning for a 90s grunge band.
Paxton looks extremely pissed off, feeling the brutal stinging sensation coming from his back. Grabbing Max by the underside of his chin, Paxton rips his shirt apart and delivers a scintillating open palm slap to the chest of Unquestionably Kael that reverberates throughout the Keybank Arena. Before Max can fall to his knees, Paxton wags his finger and brings him straight up to his feet again.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
The next smack echoes even LOUDER as the PRIME Faithful cry out with a squeamishly reactive âOOOOOH!â
Nick Stuart: Lord have MERCY!
Paxton reaches back one more time and delivers an even harder slap to Maxâs chest.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
Richard Parker: GOD! I think all of Buffalo heard that shot!
Max goes down to his knees from the impact of the open-palm smacks, clutching his chest. Paxton gives no respite, though, and grabs Max by his neck with both hands and choke lifts him to his feet. Grabbing the back of his head, he takes Max and chucks him haphazardly straight into the barbed-wire, cutting him up severely!
Nick Stuart: Yikes! What a bad landing for Maximilian.
Max lands awkwardly with his right leg becoming trapped between the top and middle ropes, causing him to dangle against the barbed wire. Paxton seizes the opportunity to lay the stomps into Maxâs mid-section, each kick brimming with malice. Finally, after several well-placed kicks, Maxâs leg becomes free and he falls to the mat.
Richard Parker: We knew this one wouldnât be pretty, but DAMN!
Paxton takes the back of his head and smothers his face into the barbed wire, slicing under his scalp and ripping his lip apart. With his head mired in the barbed wire, Pax backs up a few feet before plunging forward, smashing the back of his head with the sole of his boot, exacerbating the brutality left behind from the barbed wire.
Nick Stuart: This is ALREADY getting hard to watch.
Richard Parker: Oh look, Paxtonâs not done!
Pax backs up once again, and goes to drive his foot into the back of Maxâs head again. The Lord of Kaelsylvania pulls himself off of the barbed wire, though, causing the Murdergator to fully extend his leg across it, while trapping his other leg beneath the bottom rope, effectively crotching himself!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!
Max pulls Pax away from the ropes into position for a back suplex, but spins The Lafayette Bruiser into a Blue Thunder Bomb!
Nixon is right there for the count!
Nick Stuart: That was an impressive sequence there by Kael. Paxton could be in trouble here!
ONE!
TWO!
THR- Ray kicks out!
Richard Parker: Pax got stunned there! Look at all the blood on the mat from his back and the cuts in his legs!
Max is back to his feet, bleeding pretty much everywhere as well. The cut under his scalp seems to have worsened, creating the good ole crimson mask.
Nick Stuart: These guys are going to need a blood transfusion after this one!
Richard Parker: Well, theyâre not getting it from me. Iâm Type O⌠something?
Nick Stuart:Â How helpful.
Taking a moment, Max finally starts bringing Paxton to his feet, but Paxton turns the tables and lifts Pleasant up into the air as if heâs going for the pop-up european uppercut, Lafayette Lullaby. But on the landing, Paxton simply pushes down on Maxâs back, causing him to land abdomen first across the top ropeâs barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DISGUSTING LANDING!
Richard Parker: Look at him now! Pax is relentless!
Grabbing him by the legs, Paxton starts dragging Max across the barbed wire top rope. Parts of the barbed wire become unraveled as Kael is dragged across the rope from post to post. One of the pieces has even entangled itself in his hair, with the end of it ripping at his brow.
The camera pans to people in the audience becoming squeamish at the brutal sight, switching back and forth between whatâs happening live in front of them and replays on the PRIMEView.
Nick Stuart: Ugh. Iâm going to need a shower after this one. Yeesh.
Richard Parker: You and me BOTH.
Turning so that he positions Maxâs legs on top of both of Paxtonâs shoulders, the latter pulls down on the formerâs legs for an Alabama Slammer! The barbed wire that had been caught on Maxâs shirt, ripped apart the rest of it as he slammed into the hard part of the ring on his upper back/lower neck region.
Paxton doesnât bother going for a cover, though. Instead, he pulls Maxâs arms up into a full-nelson. Pushing him forward, Paxton makes sure that Maxâs mouth touches the barbed wire as he sits down, camel clutch style. Paxton wrenches back with the full-nelson clutch, as Maxâs tongue is being sliced up by the barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!
Richard Parker: I canât⌠watch this⌠Mother of GOD!!
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
Itâs music to Paxâs ears as he implores rather loudly for Nixon to ask him if he gives up.
Max refuses, pulling his tongue back from the barbed wire like the kid on the frozen pole in A Christmas Story. Continuing to wrench back, Paxton releases the pressure just enough to try and reposition himself, but thatâs all the window Max needs to slip through it and slides back, through Paxtonâs legs.
Nick Stuart: Max got out of it!
Richard Parker: I canât believe we ACTUALLY saw a submission attempt in this match!
Bleeding from the mouthâ and profusely from his head, stillâKael tries everything to keep Paxton away at this point. Max even begs off for a half-second before thinking better of it and going for the low blow⌠but Paxton squeezes his legs together and stops Kaelâs arm from meathooking him. Signaling for the end, Paxton crosses his own neck with his thumb in a slashing motion. The Murdergator goes for the Lafayette Lullaby, but on the way down, Kael jams his thumb into Paxtonâs eye!
Nick Stuart: MAX JAMMED THAT THUMB RIGHT IN HIS LEFT EYE!
Richard Parker: Talk about a tale of twisted irony!
Paxton is dazed, and while holding his damaged eye, The Mirikael Worker connects with successive Shibata-style headbutts to The Murdergator! At this point, it looks like the bridge of Murdergatorâs nose has been severely broken as it bends in an unnatural and violent way!
Nick Stuart: Ugh, I swear I heard the snap of Paxtonâs cartilage after those headbutts!
Richard Parker: Yeah that was- DREAMWEAVER!
Just after smashing Paxton with those headbutts, Max circles around him and delivers a standing lariat to the back of the Bayou Butcherâs head!
Nick Stuart: This oneâs over! That Dreamweaver mightâve knocked him out!
Kael rolls Ray over and covers him with a lateral press. The blood pours down his face and onto Paxtonâs body as he sticks his tongue out, intense with a carnal rage.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO! NO! PAXTON KICKED OUT! PAXTON KICKED OUT!
Nick Stuart: How the hell did he kick out of that?!
Richard Parker: I donât think he got the full extension of his arm, or maybe the blood loss has weakened him at this point, and thus the full impact of his patented Northern Lariat clothesline! It was more like a Dazeweaver!
Kael, upset that he didnât get the three-count, gets into Nixonâs face, who reiterates in no uncertain terms that he did NOT get the three!
Nick Stuart: Maximilian is taking his eye off the ball here! Never do that in a match against someone as dangerous as Paxton Ray!
Richard Parker: I agree. But, he didnât get all of it! Pax is STILL rocked from it, too!
Max tries to go for another Dreamweaver, but Paxton falls to the one knee, sending Kael flying into the barbed wire ropes! The momentum of the lariat sends Kael down and rolling into the bottom barbed-wire rope, catching his neck on the rough wire and barbs before falling to the outside!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
Nick Stuart: That was a HUGE misstep for Max Kael! Paxton Ray is still dazed, but he has a great opportunity here to recover from the half-powered Dreamweaver!
Richard Parker: Jesus Christ!! He couldâve cut his jugular from the force in which his neck hit that rope!
Slow to get to his feet, Max, uses the edge of the ring apron to hold himself up. Paxton, meanwhile, stands back up after being on one knee and sees exactly where his opponent has gone. Looking back at the barbed-wire ropes, then where Max is spotted⌠he shrugs.
Nick Stuart: No way. He is NOT going to do what I think heâs going to do here⌠is he?!
Richard Parker: Looks that way, Nick!
Backing into the barbed-wire ropes, he uses whatever recoil he can to run forward. Just when it seems like heâs going to go for an unconventional dive between the âropesâ, Max smashes a bag of glass across Paxtonâs face that explodes on impact!
Ray rolls around for a moment, yelling out in pain as Elvis Nixon immediately drops to his knees to check on the former Intense Champion. Max, blood pouring down his face for nearly the entirety of this match, holds the twist-tied top of the ripped apart garbage bag full of broken glass with a grin that could curl toes. Paxton is still down, covering his eyes and trying to pull out glass from his face.
Kael goes underneath the ring and pulls out a massive spool of barbed-wire, in which he begins to take a âstrandâ of it and wrap it around his arm.
Nick Stuart: IS HE WEAPONIZING HIS OWN ARM?!
Richard Parker: I think he knows how much blood heâs lost at this point. Thereâs no way he can get Murdergator down without something extra put into his Dreamweaver.
Sliding under the bottom rope, Max pulls the barbed-wire tight around his arm, cutting into his own arm from the tautness of it on his flesh. At this point, Paxton is getting to his feet, still pulling chunks of glass from different areas of his face. Kael rushes in on him⌠but he hears it!
Listening to Kaelâs steps crunching on the glass faster and faster, Paxton hunkers down, lifts Kael up into the air with frightening height and SWINGS WITH HIS ARM INTO AN UPPERCUT!
Nick Stuart: LAFAYETTE LULLABY!
Richard Parker: HE GOT HIM!
But he didnât.
With Paxton partially blinded, his big ole swinging arm glanced Maxâs face, allowing him to retreat into the turnbuckle. With Paxton realizing he missed, Max dashes forward with great speed, an arm outstretched, and SMASHES his barbed-wire arm against the neck and back of Paxtonâs head. Max collapses on top of Paxtonâs body, which just so happens to be flat on the mat.
Nick Stuart: MY GOD! MAX HIT PAX WITH ANOTHER DREAMWEAVER!
Richard Parker: This time he got all of it and THEN some.
Nixon slides into positionâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
The crowd erupts, not so much for who won the match, but because we have finally crowned a brand new Intense Champion in 2024.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match⌠and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION, MAXIMILIAM WILHEEEEEEEEELM KAAAAAAAEL!
Max Kael raises his arms in victory for a moment, before collapsing to the mat beside Paxton. Paxton is still picking small pieces of glass from his face as he rolls to his side. Holding the back of his neck, Paxton refuses Nixonâs help and is up on his own accord. Yelling obscenities, clearly aware of what just went down, Paxton rolls under the bottom rope and to the outside.
Nick Stuart: What a MESS! Piles of glass! Pools of blood! Spools of even MORE barbed-wire! Iâve never seen anything like what we just witnessed!! What an absolute WAR both competitors just went through!!!
Richard Parker: I think itâs very interesting that Pax was on his feet before the actual winner of this match. Max Kael mightâve won the match and championship, but he hardly looks like a winner right now.
Max finally rolls over, leaving behind a face imprint of blood on the mat. Laughing maniacally, Max holds his arms up as Elvis Nixon bends down to hand the Lord of Kaelsylvania his newly won Intense Championship. Joining a group of previous title holders that consists of names like Tony Gamble, Jonathan Rhine, and the late, great Seymour Almasy, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael holds it close to his chest and closes his eyes. The above camera spins in a slow spiral on its way down, capturing a Cheshire cat grin on Maxâs face. The camera zooms down from the heavens, dizzying all those who might be watching on the PRIME*View screen.
The camera inches closer and closer to our new championâs face where it finally stops spiraling and lowering as it fixates on his closed eyes.
But then they open, blood seeping into the corners from all of his nasty cuts surrounding his forehead and face.
FADE.
TO.
MEAT?!
Nick Stuart: Our main event tonight features two competitors who are NO strangers to bloodying their opponents, themselves, or a camera or three in order to win. And to make the stakes even higher? The vacant Intense Championship is on the line!
Richard Parker: Someoneâs gonna die. I just hope it isnât Max. You know. AGAIN. Thatâd be a real PR nightmare.
Nick Stuart: Yeesh, letâs hope it doesnât come to that. Itâs no secret that Maximillian Wilhelm Kael has been involved in some of the most brutal matches ever seen in professional wrestling, but this is the first time we get to see this side of The Unquestionable One work his bloody magic inside a PRIME ring.
Richard Parker: Letâs not forget that Paxton Ray is no stranger to the art of hardcore wrestling, either. Just look at his match against The Anglo Luchador at UltraViolence, and nearly a year ago when he tangled with Hall of Famer Nova at Culture Shock 2023. A match where he went IN the defending Intense Champion and walked out STILL Intense Champion. Thatâs not even counting his past exploits in bare-knuckle brawling!
Nick Stuart: Suffice to say, the PRIME Faithful should understand just howâ
Richard Parker: âinsane?!
Nick Stuart: Well, yeah. Andâ
Richard Parker: â totally bonkers these guys are when put into a match this violent in nature?
Nick Stuart: You said it, partner. This could be one for the ages, gents, and lets hope Grandma, the kids, and Uncle Pete and his pacemaker are put to bed right now, because this oneâs about to get underway!
The lights in the KeyBank Center flicker for a moment before they shut off completely with a loud..
BANG!
âUndergroundâ by Tom Waits and John Powell comes crashing over the booing crowd. Loud horns bellow angrily, smothering the crowdâs reaction with loud, abrasive sounding music. The Kaelsalvanian flag, whose three distinct colors are red, green and black, flutters proudly on the PRIME*View. The Herald marches out onto the stage wearing his garish Renaissance gear. As per usual he has a massive Max Kael banner which he waves proudly in the air.
Nick Stuart: Well, this is always, uh, interesting. A Max Kael entrance, that is.
Richard Parker: Shut it, Nick. Max Kael entrances are an experience, and every time you open your mouth youâre ruining mine!
The heavy, thrumming beat of the music is soon joined by the harsh, unyielding voice of Tom Waits.
âRattle big black bones in the danger zones.â
A shopping cart of weapons is shoved out onto the stage. It nearly runs over the Herald who scampers out of the way at the last moment.
âThereâs a rumblinâ groan down below.âÂ
The shopping cart is followed by the Unquestionable One himself, Maximilian Kael! He is dressed appropriately for a barbed wire ropes match. Instead of normal wrestling gear he is wearing black jeans tucked into a pair of shit kicker boots. He has a tactical vest over a black shirt with his arms fully wrapped in bandages.
âThereâs a big dark town, itâs a place Iâve found.â
Max pulls a large, God of War style battle ax from the shopping cart that has been wrapped in barbed wire. The crowd gasps and then cheers for the pure insanity of it. It doesnât stop there as Max produces lighter fluid from the cart! People start going crazy and the match hasnât even started yet!
âThereâs a World going on underground!âÂ
He pours lighter fluid on the ax then ignites it much to the roaring, bloodthirsty joy of the crowd! Max starts waving the ax around as fireworks start exploding out of it! The Lord of Kaelsalvania looks just as surprised as anyone else as the ax launches itself from his hand and explodes harmlessly some twenty feet up in the air. Is it part of the show? Is it a botch-a-mania clip?
Max and the Herald stare up at the place where the flaming ax had exploded for a few moments. They then share a look, shrugging before they continue with the entrance.
The Herald: STANDING at SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES.. Weighing EIGHTEEN AND A HALF underfed orphans! The Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Future Intense Champion, the
SEVE-..EIGHTH Canon Max of PRIME, the Unquestionable Kael, the Second of His Name, LONG MAY HE MAIM! He is UNQUESTIONABLY Maximillian Wilhelm KAEL!
Max instructs the Herald to take away his cart of weapons, now concerned that they all will explode. He then jogs down to the ring to make up for lost time by the exploding ax as the crowd boos the future lack of exploding weapons.
He carefully enters the ring doing his best to avoid the barbed wire ropes. He throws both of his arms into the air once he enters the ring, mean mugging the TV camera as the failure of the exploding ax is quickly brushed away by his abrasive ego.
âThey say itâs good to start a story with a tragedy.â
âFistfightâ by The Ballroom Thieves pumps through Buffalo as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton shakes his head with disgust as the fans boo him mercilessly. As if on cue, Chet Fleetwood, who had been walking behind our former Intense Champion, holds up a microphone, shouting.
Chet Fleetwood: CUT THE MUSIC!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
âFistfightâ fades away quickly as the fans boo Chet Fleetwood, who walks out with the same big book with the name âFLEETWOODâ on it that he had with him at Colossus.
Chet Fleetwood: Iâll take that, thank you very much. Now Iâm sure you all noticed that ratings and buy rates for Colossus spiked for the two minutes and thirty six seconds that I had the microphone, so sit down Vince. Youâre lucky I donât try to take your job.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Nick Stuart: Really?
Richard Parker: I donât think Chet has been watching PRIME very long. Or, at least, doesnât get the ACE Network. Vince is an institution!
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
Chet Fleetwood: Ooooh I like that. Keep chanting suckwads. AnywayâŚINTRODUUUUUCING⌠from Lafayette, LouisianaâŚweighing in at a studly, masculine, 255 lbs! They call him the Murder Gator, but I just call him my ticket to fameâŚ
Nick Stuart: Iâm surprised heâs admitting it.
Richard Parker: Iâm not.
Chet Fleetwood: Though youâre not worthy to receive him, I give to you⌠THE BAYOUUUUUUUUUU BUTCHER⌠PAXTOOOOOOOOOON RAAAAAAAY!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Paxton shakes his head at Chetâs over-the-top insults but continues toward the barbed-wire ring anyway. Staring and studying the barbed-wire ropes, Paxton nods his head as if to say âLetâs fucking do this.â.
Sliding under the bottom rope, narrowly escaping some barbs, Paxton gets into the ring, staring down Unquestionably Max.
Elvis Nixon looks at both competitors, and without further ado, he signals for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: Here we go!
Richard Parker: Hell yeah! Been looking forward to this one since I saw the bookings go out!
Once the bell sounds, Paxton goes right for Max, who falls back a bit. Drawing Paxton into the corner, The Unquestionable quickly goes behind Paxton, hoping to get the former Intense Champion to hurt himself amongst the barbed-wire. He stops himself from sledgehammering down onto the turnbuckle and barbed-wire, though, and simply turns around.
Nick Stuart: Max trying to get Paxton to damage himself with all that barbed-wire is actually a pretty sound strategy. I just donât know if Pax will fall for it.
Richard Parker: Yeah, I donât think he will. Despite this type of match seemingly being in favor of The Kaelstrom, this IS Paxton Rayâs wheelhouse.
Max is right there with a kick to the mid-section. He follows it up with a dropkick to the chin that sends spit (or maybe a tooth?) flying into the front row. With Pax reeling in the corner, Max spins and connects with a harsh roaring elbow right to the chin!
Then he connects with another!
And ANOTHER!
Nick Stuart: Max driving those Roaring Hellbows into Rayâs face, as quick and ferocious as possible!
Richard Parker: The Quick and Ferocious. Sounds like a wish-ordered version of Fast and the Furious.
Pax finally drops to the bottom turnbuckle, the barbed-wire scraping his back like a cheese grater. Backing up across the ring so that he is in the opposite corner, Max skips in the air to pick up momentum from an inert state. Full speed ahead he goes for a running knee strike, but the Bayou Butcher moves out of the way!
Maxâs knee connects with the barbed-wire, immediately ripping open the knees in the pair of jeans heâs dressed in for the brutal affair.
Nick Stuart: Well, Paxtonâs back looks like raw hamburger meat nowâŚ
Richard Parker: âŚand Max looks like heâs auditioning for a 90s grunge band.
Paxton looks extremely pissed off, feeling the brutal stinging sensation coming from his back. Grabbing Max by the underside of his chin, Paxton rips his shirt apart and delivers a scintillating open palm slap to the chest of Unquestionably Kael that reverberates throughout the Keybank Arena. Before Max can fall to his knees, Paxton wags his finger and brings him straight up to his feet again.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
The next smack echoes even LOUDER as the PRIME Faithful cry out with a squeamishly reactive âOOOOOH!â
Nick Stuart: Lord have MERCY!
Paxton reaches back one more time and delivers an even harder slap to Maxâs chest.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
Richard Parker: GOD! I think all of Buffalo heard that shot!
Max goes down to his knees from the impact of the open-palm smacks, clutching his chest. Paxton gives no respite, though, and grabs Max by his neck with both hands and choke lifts him to his feet. Grabbing the back of his head, he takes Max and chucks him haphazardly straight into the barbed-wire, cutting him up severely!
Nick Stuart: Yikes! What a bad landing for Maximilian.
Max lands awkwardly with his right leg becoming trapped between the top and middle ropes, causing him to dangle against the barbed wire. Paxton seizes the opportunity to lay the stomps into Maxâs mid-section, each kick brimming with malice. Finally, after several well-placed kicks, Maxâs leg becomes free and he falls to the mat.
Richard Parker: We knew this one wouldnât be pretty, but DAMN!
Paxton takes the back of his head and smothers his face into the barbed wire, slicing under his scalp and ripping his lip apart. With his head mired in the barbed wire, Pax backs up a few feet before plunging forward, smashing the back of his head with the sole of his boot, exacerbating the brutality left behind from the barbed wire.
Nick Stuart: This is ALREADY getting hard to watch.
Richard Parker: Oh look, Paxtonâs not done!
Pax backs up once again, and goes to drive his foot into the back of Maxâs head again. The Lord of Kaelsylvania pulls himself off of the barbed wire, though, causing the Murdergator to fully extend his leg across it, while trapping his other leg beneath the bottom rope, effectively crotching himself!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!
Max pulls Pax away from the ropes into position for a back suplex, but spins The Lafayette Bruiser into a Blue Thunder Bomb!
Nixon is right there for the count!
Nick Stuart: That was an impressive sequence there by Kael. Paxton could be in trouble here!
ONE!
TWO!
THR- Ray kicks out!
Richard Parker: Pax got stunned there! Look at all the blood on the mat from his back and the cuts in his legs!
Max is back to his feet, bleeding pretty much everywhere as well. The cut under his scalp seems to have worsened, creating the good ole crimson mask.
Nick Stuart: These guys are going to need a blood transfusion after this one!
Richard Parker: Well, theyâre not getting it from me. Iâm Type O⌠something?
Nick Stuart:Â How helpful.
Taking a moment, Max finally starts bringing Paxton to his feet, but Paxton turns the tables and lifts Pleasant up into the air as if heâs going for the pop-up european uppercut, Lafayette Lullaby. But on the landing, Paxton simply pushes down on Maxâs back, causing him to land abdomen first across the top ropeâs barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DISGUSTING LANDING!
Richard Parker: Look at him now! Pax is relentless!
Grabbing him by the legs, Paxton starts dragging Max across the barbed wire top rope. Parts of the barbed wire become unraveled as Kael is dragged across the rope from post to post. One of the pieces has even entangled itself in his hair, with the end of it ripping at his brow.
The camera pans to people in the audience becoming squeamish at the brutal sight, switching back and forth between whatâs happening live in front of them and replays on the PRIMEView.
Nick Stuart: Ugh. Iâm going to need a shower after this one. Yeesh.
Richard Parker: You and me BOTH.
Turning so that he positions Maxâs legs on top of both of Paxtonâs shoulders, the latter pulls down on the formerâs legs for an Alabama Slammer! The barbed wire that had been caught on Maxâs shirt, ripped apart the rest of it as he slammed into the hard part of the ring on his upper back/lower neck region.
Paxton doesnât bother going for a cover, though. Instead, he pulls Maxâs arms up into a full-nelson. Pushing him forward, Paxton makes sure that Maxâs mouth touches the barbed wire as he sits down, camel clutch style. Paxton wrenches back with the full-nelson clutch, as Maxâs tongue is being sliced up by the barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!
Richard Parker: I canât⌠watch this⌠Mother of GOD!!
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
Itâs music to Paxâs ears as he implores rather loudly for Nixon to ask him if he gives up.
Max refuses, pulling his tongue back from the barbed wire like the kid on the frozen pole in A Christmas Story. Continuing to wrench back, Paxton releases the pressure just enough to try and reposition himself, but thatâs all the window Max needs to slip through it and slides back, through Paxtonâs legs.
Nick Stuart: Max got out of it!
Richard Parker: I canât believe we ACTUALLY saw a submission attempt in this match!
Bleeding from the mouthâ and profusely from his head, stillâKael tries everything to keep Paxton away at this point. Max even begs off for a half-second before thinking better of it and going for the low blow⌠but Paxton squeezes his legs together and stops Kaelâs arm from meathooking him. Signaling for the end, Paxton crosses his own neck with his thumb in a slashing motion. The Murdergator goes for the Lafayette Lullaby, but on the way down, Kael jams his thumb into Paxtonâs eye!
Nick Stuart: MAX JAMMED THAT THUMB RIGHT IN HIS LEFT EYE!
Richard Parker: Talk about a tale of twisted irony!
Paxton is dazed, and while holding his damaged eye, The Mirikael Worker connects with successive Shibata-style headbutts to The Murdergator! At this point, it looks like the bridge of Murdergatorâs nose has been severely broken as it bends in an unnatural and violent way!
Nick Stuart: Ugh, I swear I heard the snap of Paxtonâs cartilage after those headbutts!
Richard Parker: Yeah that was- DREAMWEAVER!
Just after smashing Paxton with those headbutts, Max circles around him and delivers a standing lariat to the back of the Bayou Butcherâs head!
Nick Stuart: This oneâs over! That Dreamweaver mightâve knocked him out!
Kael rolls Ray over and covers him with a lateral press. The blood pours down his face and onto Paxtonâs body as he sticks his tongue out, intense with a carnal rage.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO! NO! PAXTON KICKED OUT! PAXTON KICKED OUT!
Nick Stuart: How the hell did he kick out of that?!
Richard Parker: I donât think he got the full extension of his arm, or maybe the blood loss has weakened him at this point, and thus the full impact of his patented Northern Lariat clothesline! It was more like a Dazeweaver!
Kael, upset that he didnât get the three-count, gets into Nixonâs face, who reiterates in no uncertain terms that he did NOT get the three!
Nick Stuart: Maximilian is taking his eye off the ball here! Never do that in a match against someone as dangerous as Paxton Ray!
Richard Parker: I agree. But, he didnât get all of it! Pax is STILL rocked from it, too!
Max tries to go for another Dreamweaver, but Paxton falls to the one knee, sending Kael flying into the barbed wire ropes! The momentum of the lariat sends Kael down and rolling into the bottom barbed-wire rope, catching his neck on the rough wire and barbs before falling to the outside!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
Nick Stuart: That was a HUGE misstep for Max Kael! Paxton Ray is still dazed, but he has a great opportunity here to recover from the half-powered Dreamweaver!
Richard Parker: Jesus Christ!! He couldâve cut his jugular from the force in which his neck hit that rope!
Slow to get to his feet, Max, uses the edge of the ring apron to hold himself up. Paxton, meanwhile, stands back up after being on one knee and sees exactly where his opponent has gone. Looking back at the barbed-wire ropes, then where Max is spotted⌠he shrugs.
Nick Stuart: No way. He is NOT going to do what I think heâs going to do here⌠is he?!
Richard Parker: Looks that way, Nick!
Backing into the barbed-wire ropes, he uses whatever recoil he can to run forward. Just when it seems like heâs going to go for an unconventional dive between the âropesâ, Max smashes a bag of glass across Paxtonâs face that explodes on impact!
Ray rolls around for a moment, yelling out in pain as Elvis Nixon immediately drops to his knees to check on the former Intense Champion. Max, blood pouring down his face for nearly the entirety of this match, holds the twist-tied top of the ripped apart garbage bag full of broken glass with a grin that could curl toes. Paxton is still down, covering his eyes and trying to pull out glass from his face.
Kael goes underneath the ring and pulls out a massive spool of barbed-wire, in which he begins to take a âstrandâ of it and wrap it around his arm.
Nick Stuart: IS HE WEAPONIZING HIS OWN ARM?!
Richard Parker: I think he knows how much blood heâs lost at this point. Thereâs no way he can get Murdergator down without something extra put into his Dreamweaver.
Sliding under the bottom rope, Max pulls the barbed-wire tight around his arm, cutting into his own arm from the tautness of it on his flesh. At this point, Paxton is getting to his feet, still pulling chunks of glass from different areas of his face. Kael rushes in on him⌠but he hears it!
Listening to Kaelâs steps crunching on the glass faster and faster, Paxton hunkers down, lifts Kael up into the air with frightening height and SWINGS WITH HIS ARM INTO AN UPPERCUT!
Nick Stuart: LAFAYETTE LULLABY!
Richard Parker: HE GOT HIM!
But he didnât.
With Paxton partially blinded, his big ole swinging arm glanced Maxâs face, allowing him to retreat into the turnbuckle. With Paxton realizing he missed, Max dashes forward with great speed, an arm outstretched, and SMASHES his barbed-wire arm against the neck and back of Paxtonâs head. Max collapses on top of Paxtonâs body, which just so happens to be flat on the mat.
Nick Stuart: MY GOD! MAX HIT PAX WITH ANOTHER DREAMWEAVER!
Richard Parker: This time he got all of it and THEN some.
Nixon slides into positionâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
The crowd erupts, not so much for who won the match, but because we have finally crowned a brand new Intense Champion in 2024.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match⌠and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION, MAXIMILIAM WILHEEEEEEEEELM KAAAAAAAEL!
Max Kael raises his arms in victory for a moment, before collapsing to the mat beside Paxton. Paxton is still picking small pieces of glass from his face as he rolls to his side. Holding the back of his neck, Paxton refuses Nixonâs help and is up on his own accord. Yelling obscenities, clearly aware of what just went down, Paxton rolls under the bottom rope and to the outside.
Nick Stuart: What a MESS! Piles of glass! Pools of blood! Spools of even MORE barbed-wire! Iâve never seen anything like what we just witnessed!! What an absolute WAR both competitors just went through!!!
Richard Parker: I think itâs very interesting that Pax was on his feet before the actual winner of this match. Max Kael mightâve won the match and championship, but he hardly looks like a winner right now.
Max finally rolls over, leaving behind a face imprint of blood on the mat. Laughing maniacally, Max holds his arms up as Elvis Nixon bends down to hand the Lord of Kaelsylvania his newly won Intense Championship. Joining a group of previous title holders that consists of names like Tony Gamble, Jonathan Rhine, and the late, great Seymour Almasy, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael holds it close to his chest and closes his eyes. The above camera spins in a slow spiral on its way down, capturing a Cheshire cat grin on Maxâs face. The camera zooms down from the heavens, dizzying all those who might be watching on the PRIME*View screen.
The camera inches closer and closer to our new championâs face where it finally stops spiraling and lowering as it fixates on his closed eyes.
But then they open, blood seeping into the corners from all of his nasty cuts surrounding his forehead and face.
FADE.
TO.
MEAT?!
Nick Stuart: Our main event tonight features two competitors who are NO strangers to bloodying their opponents, themselves, or a camera or three in order to win. And to make the stakes even higher? The vacant Intense Championship is on the line!
Richard Parker: Someoneâs gonna die. I just hope it isnât Max. You know. AGAIN. Thatâd be a real PR nightmare.
Nick Stuart: Yeesh, letâs hope it doesnât come to that. Itâs no secret that Maximillian Wilhelm Kael has been involved in some of the most brutal matches ever seen in professional wrestling, but this is the first time we get to see this side of The Unquestionable One work his bloody magic inside a PRIME ring.
Richard Parker: Letâs not forget that Paxton Ray is no stranger to the art of hardcore wrestling, either. Just look at his match against The Anglo Luchador at UltraViolence, and nearly a year ago when he tangled with Hall of Famer Nova at Culture Shock 2023. A match where he went IN the defending Intense Champion and walked out STILL Intense Champion. Thatâs not even counting his past exploits in bare-knuckle brawling!
Nick Stuart: Suffice to say, the PRIME Faithful should understand just howâ
Richard Parker: âinsane?!
Nick Stuart: Well, yeah. Andâ
Richard Parker: â totally bonkers these guys are when put into a match this violent in nature?
Nick Stuart: You said it, partner. This could be one for the ages, gents, and lets hope Grandma, the kids, and Uncle Pete and his pacemaker are put to bed right now, because this oneâs about to get underway!
The lights in the KeyBank Center flicker for a moment before they shut off completely with a loud..
BANG!
âUndergroundâ by Tom Waits and John Powell comes crashing over the booing crowd. Loud horns bellow angrily, smothering the crowdâs reaction with loud, abrasive sounding music. The Kaelsalvanian flag, whose three distinct colors are red, green and black, flutters proudly on the PRIME*View. The Herald marches out onto the stage wearing his garish Renaissance gear. As per usual he has a massive Max Kael banner which he waves proudly in the air.
Nick Stuart: Well, this is always, uh, interesting. A Max Kael entrance, that is.
Richard Parker: Shut it, Nick. Max Kael entrances are an experience, and every time you open your mouth youâre ruining mine!
The heavy, thrumming beat of the music is soon joined by the harsh, unyielding voice of Tom Waits.
âRattle big black bones in the danger zones.â
A shopping cart of weapons is shoved out onto the stage. It nearly runs over the Herald who scampers out of the way at the last moment.
âThereâs a rumblinâ groan down below.âÂ
The shopping cart is followed by the Unquestionable One himself, Maximilian Kael! He is dressed appropriately for a barbed wire ropes match. Instead of normal wrestling gear he is wearing black jeans tucked into a pair of shit kicker boots. He has a tactical vest over a black shirt with his arms fully wrapped in bandages.
âThereâs a big dark town, itâs a place Iâve found.â
Max pulls a large, God of War style battle ax from the shopping cart that has been wrapped in barbed wire. The crowd gasps and then cheers for the pure insanity of it. It doesnât stop there as Max produces lighter fluid from the cart! People start going crazy and the match hasnât even started yet!
âThereâs a World going on underground!âÂ
He pours lighter fluid on the ax then ignites it much to the roaring, bloodthirsty joy of the crowd! Max starts waving the ax around as fireworks start exploding out of it! The Lord of Kaelsalvania looks just as surprised as anyone else as the ax launches itself from his hand and explodes harmlessly some twenty feet up in the air. Is it part of the show? Is it a botch-a-mania clip?
Max and the Herald stare up at the place where the flaming ax had exploded for a few moments. They then share a look, shrugging before they continue with the entrance.
The Herald: STANDING at SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES.. Weighing EIGHTEEN AND A HALF underfed orphans! The Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Future Intense Champion, the
SEVE-..EIGHTH Canon Max of PRIME, the Unquestionable Kael, the Second of His Name, LONG MAY HE MAIM! He is UNQUESTIONABLY Maximillian Wilhelm KAEL!
Max instructs the Herald to take away his cart of weapons, now concerned that they all will explode. He then jogs down to the ring to make up for lost time by the exploding ax as the crowd boos the future lack of exploding weapons.
He carefully enters the ring doing his best to avoid the barbed wire ropes. He throws both of his arms into the air once he enters the ring, mean mugging the TV camera as the failure of the exploding ax is quickly brushed away by his abrasive ego.
âThey say itâs good to start a story with a tragedy.â
âFistfightâ by The Ballroom Thieves pumps through Buffalo as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton shakes his head with disgust as the fans boo him mercilessly. As if on cue, Chet Fleetwood, who had been walking behind our former Intense Champion, holds up a microphone, shouting.
Chet Fleetwood: CUT THE MUSIC!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
âFistfightâ fades away quickly as the fans boo Chet Fleetwood, who walks out with the same big book with the name âFLEETWOODâ on it that he had with him at Colossus.
Chet Fleetwood: Iâll take that, thank you very much. Now Iâm sure you all noticed that ratings and buy rates for Colossus spiked for the two minutes and thirty six seconds that I had the microphone, so sit down Vince. Youâre lucky I donât try to take your job.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Nick Stuart: Really?
Richard Parker: I donât think Chet has been watching PRIME very long. Or, at least, doesnât get the ACE Network. Vince is an institution!
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
âFLEETWOOD SUCKS!â
Chet Fleetwood: Ooooh I like that. Keep chanting suckwads. AnywayâŚINTRODUUUUUCING⌠from Lafayette, LouisianaâŚweighing in at a studly, masculine, 255 lbs! They call him the Murder Gator, but I just call him my ticket to fameâŚ
Nick Stuart: Iâm surprised heâs admitting it.
Richard Parker: Iâm not.
Chet Fleetwood: Though youâre not worthy to receive him, I give to you⌠THE BAYOUUUUUUUUUU BUTCHER⌠PAXTOOOOOOOOOON RAAAAAAAY!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Paxton shakes his head at Chetâs over-the-top insults but continues toward the barbed-wire ring anyway. Staring and studying the barbed-wire ropes, Paxton nods his head as if to say âLetâs fucking do this.â.
Sliding under the bottom rope, narrowly escaping some barbs, Paxton gets into the ring, staring down Unquestionably Max.
Elvis Nixon looks at both competitors, and without further ado, he signals for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: Here we go!
Richard Parker: Hell yeah! Been looking forward to this one since I saw the bookings go out!
Once the bell sounds, Paxton goes right for Max, who falls back a bit. Drawing Paxton into the corner, The Unquestionable quickly goes behind Paxton, hoping to get the former Intense Champion to hurt himself amongst the barbed-wire. He stops himself from sledgehammering down onto the turnbuckle and barbed-wire, though, and simply turns around.
Nick Stuart: Max trying to get Paxton to damage himself with all that barbed-wire is actually a pretty sound strategy. I just donât know if Pax will fall for it.
Richard Parker: Yeah, I donât think he will. Despite this type of match seemingly being in favor of The Kaelstrom, this IS Paxton Rayâs wheelhouse.
Max is right there with a kick to the mid-section. He follows it up with a dropkick to the chin that sends spit (or maybe a tooth?) flying into the front row. With Pax reeling in the corner, Max spins and connects with a harsh roaring elbow right to the chin!
Then he connects with another!
And ANOTHER!
Nick Stuart: Max driving those Roaring Hellbows into Rayâs face, as quick and ferocious as possible!
Richard Parker: The Quick and Ferocious. Sounds like a wish-ordered version of Fast and the Furious.
Pax finally drops to the bottom turnbuckle, the barbed-wire scraping his back like a cheese grater. Backing up across the ring so that he is in the opposite corner, Max skips in the air to pick up momentum from an inert state. Full speed ahead he goes for a running knee strike, but the Bayou Butcher moves out of the way!
Maxâs knee connects with the barbed-wire, immediately ripping open the knees in the pair of jeans heâs dressed in for the brutal affair.
Nick Stuart: Well, Paxtonâs back looks like raw hamburger meat nowâŚ
Richard Parker: âŚand Max looks like heâs auditioning for a 90s grunge band.
Paxton looks extremely pissed off, feeling the brutal stinging sensation coming from his back. Grabbing Max by the underside of his chin, Paxton rips his shirt apart and delivers a scintillating open palm slap to the chest of Unquestionably Kael that reverberates throughout the Keybank Arena. Before Max can fall to his knees, Paxton wags his finger and brings him straight up to his feet again.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
The next smack echoes even LOUDER as the PRIME Faithful cry out with a squeamishly reactive âOOOOOH!â
Nick Stuart: Lord have MERCY!
Paxton reaches back one more time and delivers an even harder slap to Maxâs chest.
SMMMMMMAAAAAACK!
Richard Parker: GOD! I think all of Buffalo heard that shot!
Max goes down to his knees from the impact of the open-palm smacks, clutching his chest. Paxton gives no respite, though, and grabs Max by his neck with both hands and choke lifts him to his feet. Grabbing the back of his head, he takes Max and chucks him haphazardly straight into the barbed-wire, cutting him up severely!
Nick Stuart: Yikes! What a bad landing for Maximilian.
Max lands awkwardly with his right leg becoming trapped between the top and middle ropes, causing him to dangle against the barbed wire. Paxton seizes the opportunity to lay the stomps into Maxâs mid-section, each kick brimming with malice. Finally, after several well-placed kicks, Maxâs leg becomes free and he falls to the mat.
Richard Parker: We knew this one wouldnât be pretty, but DAMN!
Paxton takes the back of his head and smothers his face into the barbed wire, slicing under his scalp and ripping his lip apart. With his head mired in the barbed wire, Pax backs up a few feet before plunging forward, smashing the back of his head with the sole of his boot, exacerbating the brutality left behind from the barbed wire.
Nick Stuart: This is ALREADY getting hard to watch.
Richard Parker: Oh look, Paxtonâs not done!
Pax backs up once again, and goes to drive his foot into the back of Maxâs head again. The Lord of Kaelsylvania pulls himself off of the barbed wire, though, causing the Murdergator to fully extend his leg across it, while trapping his other leg beneath the bottom rope, effectively crotching himself!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!
Max pulls Pax away from the ropes into position for a back suplex, but spins The Lafayette Bruiser into a Blue Thunder Bomb!
Nixon is right there for the count!
Nick Stuart: That was an impressive sequence there by Kael. Paxton could be in trouble here!
ONE!
TWO!
THR- Ray kicks out!
Richard Parker: Pax got stunned there! Look at all the blood on the mat from his back and the cuts in his legs!
Max is back to his feet, bleeding pretty much everywhere as well. The cut under his scalp seems to have worsened, creating the good ole crimson mask.
Nick Stuart: These guys are going to need a blood transfusion after this one!
Richard Parker: Well, theyâre not getting it from me. Iâm Type O⌠something?
Nick Stuart:Â How helpful.
Taking a moment, Max finally starts bringing Paxton to his feet, but Paxton turns the tables and lifts Pleasant up into the air as if heâs going for the pop-up european uppercut, Lafayette Lullaby. But on the landing, Paxton simply pushes down on Maxâs back, causing him to land abdomen first across the top ropeâs barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: WHAT A DISGUSTING LANDING!
Richard Parker: Look at him now! Pax is relentless!
Grabbing him by the legs, Paxton starts dragging Max across the barbed wire top rope. Parts of the barbed wire become unraveled as Kael is dragged across the rope from post to post. One of the pieces has even entangled itself in his hair, with the end of it ripping at his brow.
The camera pans to people in the audience becoming squeamish at the brutal sight, switching back and forth between whatâs happening live in front of them and replays on the PRIMEView.
Nick Stuart: Ugh. Iâm going to need a shower after this one. Yeesh.
Richard Parker: You and me BOTH.
Turning so that he positions Maxâs legs on top of both of Paxtonâs shoulders, the latter pulls down on the formerâs legs for an Alabama Slammer! The barbed wire that had been caught on Maxâs shirt, ripped apart the rest of it as he slammed into the hard part of the ring on his upper back/lower neck region.
Paxton doesnât bother going for a cover, though. Instead, he pulls Maxâs arms up into a full-nelson. Pushing him forward, Paxton makes sure that Maxâs mouth touches the barbed wire as he sits down, camel clutch style. Paxton wrenches back with the full-nelson clutch, as Maxâs tongue is being sliced up by the barbed wire!
Nick Stuart: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!
Richard Parker: I canât⌠watch this⌠Mother of GOD!!
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
âYOU SICK FUCK!â
Itâs music to Paxâs ears as he implores rather loudly for Nixon to ask him if he gives up.
Max refuses, pulling his tongue back from the barbed wire like the kid on the frozen pole in A Christmas Story. Continuing to wrench back, Paxton releases the pressure just enough to try and reposition himself, but thatâs all the window Max needs to slip through it and slides back, through Paxtonâs legs.
Nick Stuart: Max got out of it!
Richard Parker: I canât believe we ACTUALLY saw a submission attempt in this match!
Bleeding from the mouthâ and profusely from his head, stillâKael tries everything to keep Paxton away at this point. Max even begs off for a half-second before thinking better of it and going for the low blow⌠but Paxton squeezes his legs together and stops Kaelâs arm from meathooking him. Signaling for the end, Paxton crosses his own neck with his thumb in a slashing motion. The Murdergator goes for the Lafayette Lullaby, but on the way down, Kael jams his thumb into Paxtonâs eye!
Nick Stuart: MAX JAMMED THAT THUMB RIGHT IN HIS LEFT EYE!
Richard Parker: Talk about a tale of twisted irony!
Paxton is dazed, and while holding his damaged eye, The Mirikael Worker connects with successive Shibata-style headbutts to The Murdergator! At this point, it looks like the bridge of Murdergatorâs nose has been severely broken as it bends in an unnatural and violent way!
Nick Stuart: Ugh, I swear I heard the snap of Paxtonâs cartilage after those headbutts!
Richard Parker: Yeah that was- DREAMWEAVER!
Just after smashing Paxton with those headbutts, Max circles around him and delivers a standing lariat to the back of the Bayou Butcherâs head!
Nick Stuart: This oneâs over! That Dreamweaver mightâve knocked him out!
Kael rolls Ray over and covers him with a lateral press. The blood pours down his face and onto Paxtonâs body as he sticks his tongue out, intense with a carnal rage.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO! NO! PAXTON KICKED OUT! PAXTON KICKED OUT!
Nick Stuart: How the hell did he kick out of that?!
Richard Parker: I donât think he got the full extension of his arm, or maybe the blood loss has weakened him at this point, and thus the full impact of his patented Northern Lariat clothesline! It was more like a Dazeweaver!
Kael, upset that he didnât get the three-count, gets into Nixonâs face, who reiterates in no uncertain terms that he did NOT get the three!
Nick Stuart: Maximilian is taking his eye off the ball here! Never do that in a match against someone as dangerous as Paxton Ray!
Richard Parker: I agree. But, he didnât get all of it! Pax is STILL rocked from it, too!
Max tries to go for another Dreamweaver, but Paxton falls to the one knee, sending Kael flying into the barbed wire ropes! The momentum of the lariat sends Kael down and rolling into the bottom barbed-wire rope, catching his neck on the rough wire and barbs before falling to the outside!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
Nick Stuart: That was a HUGE misstep for Max Kael! Paxton Ray is still dazed, but he has a great opportunity here to recover from the half-powered Dreamweaver!
Richard Parker: Jesus Christ!! He couldâve cut his jugular from the force in which his neck hit that rope!
Slow to get to his feet, Max, uses the edge of the ring apron to hold himself up. Paxton, meanwhile, stands back up after being on one knee and sees exactly where his opponent has gone. Looking back at the barbed-wire ropes, then where Max is spotted⌠he shrugs.
Nick Stuart: No way. He is NOT going to do what I think heâs going to do here⌠is he?!
Richard Parker: Looks that way, Nick!
Backing into the barbed-wire ropes, he uses whatever recoil he can to run forward. Just when it seems like heâs going to go for an unconventional dive between the âropesâ, Max smashes a bag of glass across Paxtonâs face that explodes on impact!
Ray rolls around for a moment, yelling out in pain as Elvis Nixon immediately drops to his knees to check on the former Intense Champion. Max, blood pouring down his face for nearly the entirety of this match, holds the twist-tied top of the ripped apart garbage bag full of broken glass with a grin that could curl toes. Paxton is still down, covering his eyes and trying to pull out glass from his face.
Kael goes underneath the ring and pulls out a massive spool of barbed-wire, in which he begins to take a âstrandâ of it and wrap it around his arm.
Nick Stuart: IS HE WEAPONIZING HIS OWN ARM?!
Richard Parker: I think he knows how much blood heâs lost at this point. Thereâs no way he can get Murdergator down without something extra put into his Dreamweaver.
Sliding under the bottom rope, Max pulls the barbed-wire tight around his arm, cutting into his own arm from the tautness of it on his flesh. At this point, Paxton is getting to his feet, still pulling chunks of glass from different areas of his face. Kael rushes in on him⌠but he hears it!
Listening to Kaelâs steps crunching on the glass faster and faster, Paxton hunkers down, lifts Kael up into the air with frightening height and SWINGS WITH HIS ARM INTO AN UPPERCUT!
Nick Stuart: LAFAYETTE LULLABY!
Richard Parker: HE GOT HIM!
But he didnât.
With Paxton partially blinded, his big ole swinging arm glanced Maxâs face, allowing him to retreat into the turnbuckle. With Paxton realizing he missed, Max dashes forward with great speed, an arm outstretched, and SMASHES his barbed-wire arm against the neck and back of Paxtonâs head. Max collapses on top of Paxtonâs body, which just so happens to be flat on the mat.
Nick Stuart: MY GOD! MAX HIT PAX WITH ANOTHER DREAMWEAVER!
Richard Parker: This time he got all of it and THEN some.
Nixon slides into positionâŚ
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
The crowd erupts, not so much for who won the match, but because we have finally crowned a brand new Intense Champion in 2024.
Vince Howard: The winner of this match⌠and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION, MAXIMILIAM WILHEEEEEEEEELM KAAAAAAAEL!
Max Kael raises his arms in victory for a moment, before collapsing to the mat beside Paxton. Paxton is still picking small pieces of glass from his face as he rolls to his side. Holding the back of his neck, Paxton refuses Nixonâs help and is up on his own accord. Yelling obscenities, clearly aware of what just went down, Paxton rolls under the bottom rope and to the outside.
Nick Stuart: What a MESS! Piles of glass! Pools of blood! Spools of even MORE barbed-wire! Iâve never seen anything like what we just witnessed!! What an absolute WAR both competitors just went through!!!
Richard Parker: I think itâs very interesting that Pax was on his feet before the actual winner of this match. Max Kael mightâve won the match and championship, but he hardly looks like a winner right now.
Max finally rolls over, leaving behind a face imprint of blood on the mat. Laughing maniacally, Max holds his arms up as Elvis Nixon bends down to hand the Lord of Kaelsylvania his newly won Intense Championship. Joining a group of previous title holders that consists of names like Tony Gamble, Jonathan Rhine, and the late, great Seymour Almasy, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael holds it close to his chest and closes his eyes. The above camera spins in a slow spiral on its way down, capturing a Cheshire cat grin on Maxâs face. The camera zooms down from the heavens, dizzying all those who might be watching on the PRIME*View screen.
The camera inches closer and closer to our new championâs face where it finally stops spiraling and lowering as it fixates on his closed eyes.
But then they open, blood seeping into the corners from all of his nasty cuts surrounding his forehead and face.
FADE.
TO.
MEAT?!
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