ULTRAVIOLENCE 2024 NIGHT TWO

Nick Stuart: Welcome to Night Two of Colossus, here at Lumen Field in Seattle, Washington! We have an action-packed night planned for you all and we’re kicking it off with the Bandits versus the team of RIA and ‘Surreal’ Sean O’Neill.

Richard Parker: (Air Quotes) “The Bandits”. It’s Bobby Dean and Tony Gamble. This is more like “We have The Bandits” at home.

Before we do that though… SIGNS!

CRUMBAWUMBA
YOU DON’T MILK THE CHICKEN
WILL ROBOCOP SAVE RANDALL SCHWARTZ?
I BANGED VICKIE HALL WITH MY CAR SO NO ONE ELSE HAS TO BANG VICKIE HALL
RIP RANDALL SCHWARTZ’S DICK
JOE FONTAINE TOOK ME TO CHURCH AND ALL I GOT WAS A BUNCH OF FRIED CHICKEN
IF THERE WAS A TRUE CRIME PODCAST ABOUT ALL THE MURDER HERE, WOULD IT BE NAMED TRUE PRIME?

BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD’S HAIR CLUB FOR MEN
I TRIED DEVILED BANDITS ONCE AND CANCER JILES PERSONALLY SUPERKICKED ME!
IF CANCER LOSES, CAN WE CALL IT “COOLOFFSIS”?
RESTART THE TRIPLE THREAT MATCH

“Time Warp” grooves through the PA system. The big screen flashes the lyrics line by line.

🎵It’s Astounding
Time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
But lIsten closely
Not for very much longer
I’ve got to keep contRol🎵

As the beat picks up, the bolded letters move to arrange ‘RIA’ to raucous cheers from the crowd. RIA strides out, decked out in a hat with an exaggerated crown and bill, heart shaped glasses and a white leather jacket with pink and baby blue flames on the sleeves. Next to her, in a baby blue leather jacket, his usual green, black and gold ring gear replaced with a white, pink and blue set matching RIA’s, is “SurReal” Seán O’Neill.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at a combined weight of three-hundred and eighty-one pounds… the TECHNICOLOR COMFORTER OF WRESTLING… HER! NAME! IS! …RRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! And from Belfast, Northern Ireland… SURRRREAAAALLLLLL SEAN O’NEILLL!!!! THE TEAM OF SURRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

The two share a high five, with RIA almost having to jump to make contact. She has her partner hold up so they can… jump to the left! Then take a step to their right! Hands on their hips, knees in tight, pelvic thrusts to drive them insane! Though Seán’s moves are slightly stiff, there’s a playfulness previously lacking in his character prior to his interactions with RIA.

Richard Parker: O’Neill looks like that drunken uncle trying to dance with all the kids at a wedding!

Nick Stuart: Oh come on now Rich, he’s clearly having a great time.

Richard Parker: He’s an idiot. SurRIA indeed, who comes up with these names?

The two converse as they draw close to the ring, pausing here and there to interact with ringside fans. In turn, the PRIME faithful make it a point to bellow out ‘LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!’ every time the chorus comes up. The two slide into the ring, moving to the center and taking position side by side.

Again! Jump to the left! Step to the right! Hands on your hips and knees in tight! Pelvic thrusts to really drive them insane! The two separate and move to opposite corners, climbing the turnbuckles to salute the crowd for their support. They reconvene in their assigned corner for the match, sharing a fist bump before removing their entrance attire, with RIA chucking her glasses out into the crowd.

Johnny Newsman: Heeeeeellooooooo Poooooorelaaaaaand!!

Richard Parker: Portland? Jesus.

Bobby is wearing his sequined robe over his usual ring gear, but his partner for the night has on a white #0 Milwaukee Bucks jersey over his ring gear and the fans do not sound happy about that.

Johnny Newsman: It’ssss Daaaame Tiiiiime ladies and gentleman’s!!

Newsman himself is wearing a Washington Huskies football jersey as he continues to stand on the stage, while Tony and Bobby make their way down the ramp.

Johnny Newsman: Coming to the ring now, at a Husky weight of almost six hunded pounce!

Rubbing his eyes along the way, Dean finds himself about halfway down the ramp as Gamble starts to climb the ring steps.

Johnny Newsman: BEAAAAAUUUUUTIFFUUUULLL BOOOOOOOBBBBYYYY DEEEEEAAANNNN!!

Tony stands patiently in the center of the ring as Bobby finally makes his way to the ring steps.

Johnny Newsman: TOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYY THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIIIINNN GAAAAAAAAMBLLLLLLE!!

Bobby removes his robe and stands behind Tony, who’s had Meeks back as the gravitational pull nearly pulls him into Bobby’s belly button.

Johnny Newsman: THEEEY AAARRRE THEEE EEEGGG BAAANDIIITSSS!!!

Richard Parker: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Bandits.

Inside the ring, Jimmy Turnbull asks O’Neill and Bobby Dean to leave the ring and then calls for the bell.

DING DING

With seething rage, both RIA and Tony Gamble charge, highlighting how dangerous talking shit on the internet can actually be. Tony throws a solid front kick to RIA, but she manages to catch it. RIA smiles at Gamble as she leads him back and forth with his captured extremity. Gamble is forced to hop up and down on his free foot to try and keep his balance and waves a no to RIA, shrugging his shoulders to say “Aw, c’mon”. RIA looks out to the fans, their cheers raining down on the ring as she cocks back her foot. Realizing her intent, Gamble is now begging for release and assuring RIA that she does not have to do this.

RIA decides against punting Gamble’s manhood to the moon, instead pulling him in tight for a clothesline. A sickening thud emits from The Grin’s head as it bounces off the mat, to which RIA gives an old-school Urkle, “Did I do that?” type pantomime. As the little man tries to regain his wits, RIA leans down near the ropes, preparing a full on sprinting assault. The energy of the fans is electric and building as Tony Gamble moves to his feet and RIA takes off… just to be tripped by Bobby Dean. It is now the Psychoberry’s head who bounces off the mat.

Jimmy Turnbull is quick, but not quick enough. He takes a moment to yell at Bobby Dean, completing his duties as steward of law in the ring but unfortunately misses Tony Gamble standing on RIA’s throat.

Nick Stuart: Egg Bandits are off to an expectedly dirty start early in this match. O’Neill is trying to get Turnbull to disregard The Beautiful One.

Richard Parker: Teamwork. Strategy. Finesse. All things missing from SurRIA.

Nick Stuart: Gamble pulls RIA to stand by her hair, Turnbull protesting the behavior but being largely ignored. He stuffs RIA’s head between his legs and lifts her upside down, holding her there before dropping her in the middle of the ring for a piledriver.

Richard Parker: It’s like watching an ant carry a beetle.

Once again Gamble grabs a handful of RIA’s hair and pulls her over to his corner, holding RIA prone for Bobby to take a few shots at her. That’s about as much has as Dean has, though, the portly man leaning into the ropes to catch his breath as soon as Gamble exits the ring. This is just enough for RIA to regain her composure and tag in O’Neill.

A mixed reaction from the fans greets O’Neil, who comes in with a bit more fire in his belly than we’re used to seeing for him.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill immediately goes to work on Beautiful Bobby, laying a succession of kicks to the mid thigh area. Bobby seems uninterested as he tries to limp away, but O’Neill isn’t having it. He locks the big man up from behind, hefting him behind him with an awkward German duplex.

Richard Parker: Hope O’Neill is getting hazard pay, taking risks like that.

Nick Stuart: It’s not that Bobby Dean is slow to get up, he’s just not getting up. This is a tactical error, though, which O’Neill quickly capitalizes on by grabbing the Bobby’s foot to lock in a single leg crab.

Richard Parker: Now THAT is like an ant lifting a beetle! My god, I bet each of those legs is a hundred pounds and twenty-four inches around.

Gamble is in the ring before O’Neill can really maximize the hold, laying an elbow into the forehead of the veteran grappler. He lays a few more in before RIA chases him off. Against her better judgement, RIA exits the ring with some choice words for Jimmy Turnbull about maintaining the match.

Once again Bobby Dean moves like molasses, not even using the energy to get himself back up and capitalize on the downed O’Neill. By the time Mony Dick has fully breached, Surreal is up and has tagged in RIA, who comes in with a head full of steam, hitting Bobby Dean with a modified cutter followed up by a running knee to the face.

Nick Stuart: Honestly RIA should just end this, Bobby is completely out of gas here. He’s not even trying to get up from her attacks.

Richard Parker: He must’ve forgotten his snacks.

For the next minute RIA goes off on Bobby, landing DDT after elbow after moonsault. It’s a near-steady barrage of offense with little defense to speak of. RIA plays to the fans, flexing and motioning for O’Neill to join in. Finally RIA climbs the turnbuckle and waits, raising her arms to get the fans cheering as she sets up Treading. After a ridiculous amount of time Bobby rises and RIA springs through the air… only to have Bobby’s feet pulled from under him by Gamble.

Richard Parker: Odd strategy by Gamble to trip his own man.

Nick Stuart: It seems to have had the intended result, though. Both legal competitors are down now. Bobby has finally shown up to the match and they’re simultaneously rising. Bobby falls right into the waiting tag of Gamble! He charges in, but RIA leap frogs him, sending him into the turnbuckle hard.

RIA is on fire, laying a super kick to the chin of Dean and then catching Gamble in a clothesline as he rises. Each man gets up and receives another clothesline and super kick respectively. Gamble stays down while Bobby somehow manages to get up, only to find RIA planting one foot on his chest and landing the other behind his head with a perfectly executed enziguri. A graceless roll lands Bobby on the apron right next to O’Neill. O’Neill is taking shots at Bobby before he even gets back up.

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean and Sean O’Neill are on the apron trading blows back and forth, distracting the referee. RIA is charged up now, running into the ropes to bounce off the Fat Man, who goes soaring off the apron.

In a desperate attempt to not get catapulted into fucking space, Bobby Dean grabs ahold of Sean O’Neill, pulling him with him. The two launch into the guardrail in a procession of Bobby’s back first and O’Neill’s head second. An audible gasp escapes the ringside fans as they witness Sean O’Neill get completely brained in real time. He doesn’t go down right away, though, blood starting to flow from his nose as he takes a few steps and then drops to a knee, trying his best to will himself up. It is to no avail, though, the vet’s body gives out underneath him.

Turnbull slides out of the ring to make sure that Surreal isn’t going to actually die ringside. Meanwhile, back in the ring, RIA moves towards the ropes where Bobby and O’Neill were formerly stationed. It’s obvious she’s upset by the turn of events and wants to get outside to check on her partner. Alas, she never makes it to the ropes, as she is spun around by Tony Gamble.

Nick Stuart: RIA is trying to get out and check on her partner, but Gamble intercepts her. What’s that in his hands?

While everyone was focused on the exchange, they missed Gamble pulling a large wrench from under the ring – likely used to tension the ropes during set up. A poor, unsuspecting RIA turns around to be met square on top of the head with a 24” pipe wrench. Seriously, it’s probably taller than Tony.

Nick Stuart: NO! Gamble just hit RIA with that giant wrench.

Richard Parker: It’s just a little bump grab, no big deal.

RIA falls to the mat like a sack of dead monkeys.

Richard Parker: Eh, spoke too soon.

The chorus of boos is perfectly synchronized. Fans yell at Jimmy Turnbull to turn around, but the man just seems off his game tonight. By the time he finally does turn his attention back to the ring, he finds Tony Gamble lifting a limp RIA up to wrap his leg within RIA’s, holding onto her arm that is closest to him, and then sweeping them both forward to plant the Psychoberry’s dome piece directly into the mat. The fans scream for RIA or Sean O’Neill to get up, but it seems all too late as Gamble positions himself above RIA, intertwining their limbs as he lays on her upper back.

Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble has the Smile For Me locked in! Turnbull is checking in on RIA, but she is completely unconscious here. Yep, he’s calling for the bell.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Gamble refuses to let go! Turnbull is trying to pry the man off RIA, but he only tightens his grip with each attempt from the referee.

It’s hard to hear the announcers over the outrage pouring from the crowd. As if her night hadn’t been tough enough already, RIA is slowly coming too and realizing her situation. Agony covers her face.

Richard Parker: Turnbull has to get it together.

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean has somehow unbeached himself and made his way into the ring. He’s pushing Turnbull back now allowing Gamble to run completely unchecked. But wait! O’Neill is back in the ring wearing a crimson mask and brandishing the wrench!

Sean O’Neill swings the giant wrench with precision, first connecting it with the back of Gamble’s head and then Bobby Dean’s knees. The villains quickly roll out of the ring and begin making their way back up the ramp, raising their arms victoriously. Bobby searches through his trunks for a victory snack and finds none and Gamble nearly slaps him when Bobby begins to go for his trunks.

Back in the ring, O’Neill lifts RIA up. Two former adversaries grown into unlikely allies.

Nick Stuart: The fans stand and cheer for SurRIA as the two exit the arena, heartbroken by the loss but hopefully enthused by the reaction.

We cut elsewhere.

Backstage at Lumen Field, PRIME crew members bustle past, voices full of excitement and tension. Adam Ellis appears with his wife Ginny Van Lear… her suspension lifted.   Adam’s eyes dart from face to face, searching for someone he hoped he wouldn’t see.

Ginny’s arm snakes around his waist, her fiery red hair tickling his bicep as she pressed close.

Ginny Van Lear: Adam, you’re awfully tense.

Ginny’s Kentucky twang was more pronounced in the chaos.

Ginny Van Lear: You ain’t nervous ’bout talkin’ to Bryan, are ya?

Adam’s gentle giant frame tenses further.

Adam Ellis: Nah, darlin’. Just… lots of people here tonight.

He steers Ginny through the crowd, his 6’4″ frame parts the sea of bodies. She clings tighter, her petite 5’8″ frame dwarfed by his bulk.

They reach Bryan Dawkins’ dressing room, the door adorned with a pineapple-shaped nameplate. Adam raises his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could make contact—

Bryan Dawkins: BRUH!

On cue, the door swings open revealing Bryan in his signature pineapple-adorned tights, arms spread wide.

Bryan Dawkins: Was wonderin’ if you were gonna stop by!

Adam’s Midwestern drawl barely registered above the backstage noise.

Adam Ellis: Hey, Bryan. Just wanted to wish you luck out there tonight.

Bryan Dawkins: Appreciate that, bruh.

He looks over his shoulder at the crowbar and barbed wire wrapped pineapple sitting on a bench next to his locker. He turns back, now sporting a devilish grin that would make Tim Curry’s concierge character from Home Alone 2 blush.

Bryan Dawkins: I think I’m good, bruh.

Bryan turns to Ginny.

Bryan Dawkins: And you – suspension lifted already? If I do need backup, we good?

Ginny Van Lear: Dontcha worry. If you need any help, you just holler at me, ya hear?

Ginny, never one for subtlety, lunges forward and plants a kiss on Bryan’s cheek.

Ginny Van Lear: Knock ’em dead, you big lug!

Bryan blushes while Adam chuckles.

Adam Ellis: Easy there, Gin. We just got you unsuspended remember?  Besides, Bryan’s got this.

Adam turns to his friend, his voice dropping lower.

Adam Ellis: Seriously though, good luck out there. How are you feeling?

Bryan grins and adjusts his colorful sunglasses.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m good, bruh. Really good. Ready to right a wrong that’s been botherin’ me for far too long.

As they gossiped, Adam’s gaze keeps drifting back behind him, his nerves gettin’ worse with every tick o’ the clock.

Adam Ellis: That’s great. Good luck.

Adam shakes Bryan’s hand firmly.

Adam Ellis: Go out there and do what ya gotta do. We’ll see you later.

He throws his arm ’round Ginny as they exit the dressing room and walk back out into the hall..

Adam Ellis: Let’s just go.

Ginny looks taken aback.

Ginny Van Lear: Adam, why are you all riled up to leave?

Adam Ellis: I’m just not in the mood tonight for people. I’m sorry Ginny, let’s just go.

Ginny Van Lear: Alright then.

They turn and make a quick exit with Ginny still holdin’ on to Adam’s arm all full of love and affection for her husband while Adam’s gaze looks out at nothing in particular, still clearly preoccupied with something. We move on.

PRIME fans buzz with anticipation, and fanatics gathered inside Lumen Field. Seattle has been home for them for one night, and somehow, their roar is even louder on Night Two. They’ve come to watch blood be shed and victors be crowned: Coral Avalon stomping a crumb into the ground, Fred Dick being humiliated inside of the WarChamber, Randall Schwartz inexplicably suspended in a shark cage — again.

Little do they know of the doubt that inches through the cracks.

In the KING locker room, silence settles around the group gathered. Rose sits alone, methodically wrapping her wrists. Each move is filled with purpose and determination but masks the turmoil swirling within. A battle with Bryan Dawkins looms — and weighs heavily — with each passing second a reminder of the stakes before her.

Kinetic Innovation — Jamaal Ingram and Cory Kensington — huddle in the corner, their whispers guarded and cautious. Dave Noble watches Rose from a bench, brow furrowed to mirror Rose’s internal conflict.

Her mind wanders as if it’s tracing a path filled with what-ifs.

A year ago, they announced their arrival by dragging The Anglo Luchador’s unconscious body across Soldier Field’s stage. A bold move. One that sent a shot across the bow. She put a bullseye on her back. Was it worth it? Was it enough? Doubt gnawed on her psyche.

The past twelve months had seen four victories notched under her belt. She should be celebrating, feeling triumphant, but she also knows the cost of each of those wins. And she was plagued with the losses stinging deeper, running repeatedly in her mind. The list, though, was a proverbial list of some of the stalwarts of PRIME — The Anglo Luchador, Don Winters, RIA, Sage Pontiff, Max Kael, Brandon Youngblood — competitors who held titles and main event arenas and stadiums around the world. Champions and legends who left a lasting mark on PRIME. Had she truly learned enough to stand amongst them?

She felt different than a year ago. The battles had hardened her, sharpened her into a blade. She felt more confident — but was the price she paid worth it? Would that price be paid forward or would she never be able to climb that mountain truly? Her latest challenge loomed before her — Bryan Dawkins. A relic of an era where he never amounted to anything, desperate to find a place within this era and falling far short. Desperation poured off his body — but desperation can lead to a cornered animal lashing out however they can.

A week ago, he attacked—with a crowbar and a barbwire-wrapped pineapple—and made clear he had nothing left to lose. Could she match that level of commitment? Could she overcome it to pick up the victory?

Suddenly, a tiny flicker of a smile — a slight curl upwards of her lips — replaced that frown. Dawkins represents an era she’s well familiar with, one she lives in the shadows of. She’d never be truly ready to step out of her father’s shadow, but all she had to do was have the spotlight pointed in a different direction. The landscape of PRIME has shifted — and she was part of that shift. Dawkins knew little of the violence that lived within her mind — real and visceral — though doubt made her question if it would be enough.

She rises — her mind and body morphing into one. She turned to face the men gathered behind her and scanned their faces — finding concern and worry etched into the lines of their faces. Yet, they could be anywhere else, doing anything else. They believed in her and placed their faith in her.

That gave her everything she needed.

Rose: Let’s go.

They hung in the air, words more of a command than a question. She moved towards the locker room door, each step an internal battle between determination and doubt. As her hand wrapped around the cold door handle, her mentality shifts. The cacophony of doubts in her mind is ushered out of the room—the last vestiges of uncertainty fall away, replaced by a clarity of purpose.

Make an example out of Bryan Dawkins by painting PRIME’s canvas with his blood.

Nick Stuart: And our first match tonight is going to have Rose facing off against a man her dad knew very well, Bryan Dawkins!

Richard Parker: Well, Dusk knew a different man. I don’t know who this older pineapple man is, but he’s no Flyin Hawaiian!

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

What’s up, danger? (Danger)
What’s up, danger? (Danger)

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

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

Two thousand on thermometers
Two thousand surroundin’ us
Travel two thousand kilometers to hang out with us
What’s up, danger? (Danger)
What’s up, danger? (Danger)

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

Ayy, didn’t know they doubted us
Makes it that more marvelous
Sign ’em up, ’cause ominous vibes and I get synonymous
What’s up, danger?
Ayy, don’t be a stranger

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

‘Cause I like high chances that I might lose (lose)
I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy
I like tall buildings so I can leap off of ’em
I go hard wit’ it no matter how dark it is

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

I’m insane but on my toes
I could keep the world balanced on my nose
I had a slumber party wit’ all my foes
Now I wear them like a badge of honor on my clothes

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

If I’m crazy, I’m on my own
If I’m waitin’, it’s on my throne
If I sound lazy, just ignore my tone
‘Cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

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

Like, what’s up, danger?
Like, what’s up, danger?
Don’t-don’t be a stranger
What’s up, danger?

The music then fades.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A deafening blast of aqua, orange, and white pyrotechnics explode before those oh-so-familiar two words that begin “Song 2” by the English alt. rock band Blur induce a standing ovation from the crowd.

WOO HOO!

The capacity crowd’s cheers are directed at one man who just so happens to be standing at the top of the ramp. The former Flyin’ Hawaiian.

“BRUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Bryan Dawkins.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at two hundred and two pounds, hailing from Hilo, Hawaii…BRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAN DAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!

“BRUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Dawkins flashes the crowd his signature “hang loose” gesture, and soon enough, he’s sauntering down toward the ring, crossing back and forth to throw high fives to random fans. Eventually making it to the ring, he slides in and hops to each of the four turnbuckles, jumping to the top and flashing the “hang loose” sign yet again. Atop the final turnbuckle, he removes his signature aqua and orange sunglasses and tosses them to the frenzied crowd.

DING DING!

Nick Stuart: And here we go, Rose taking on the veteran Bryan Dawkins. I feel like this is a solid matchup that can go either way.

Richard Parker: Welcome one and all to the RL Carriers Losers Bowl, where we determine the best of the worst in PRIME!

Nick Stuart: That’s insulting not only to our great talent but to RL Carriers, who may be a sponsor of ours.

Richard Parker: They won’t be after this!

Rose and Bryan tie up, with Dawkins getting the early advantage. He uses an amateur wrestling takedown to get Rose on the canvas, but this gives her the opportunity to use her technical expertise. She swings her legs, using her momentum to break free of Dawkins and move behind him, zeroing in on his ankle to try and snatch him in an ankle lock. Dawkins lies on his back and uses his other foot to kick up, breaking the hold. He spins to his feet, but Rose is ready and sweeps his legs from under him, looking for a quick pinfall.

ON…

Ashley can’t even get her hand off the mat once before Dawkins kicks out and rolls into Rose’s body, reversing the pinfall. Ashley is about to count again but Rose slips out and gets to her feet at the same time that Dawkins does.

Nick Stuart: What a quick exchange to start off! The fans are impressed!

Richard Parker: If they’re impressed now, just wait until the weapons get in here!

Nick Stuart: Indeed, this match is using Intense Rules, so anything goes tonight!

Richard Parker: Between this and the Warchamber later on, the blood cleaners are going to have a bad night tonight!

They stare at each other for a moment before locking up again. But Rose disrupts the grapple by hitting Dawkins with a forearm smash. He’s stunned for a moment, which gives Rose the opportunity to lock him up in an elevated wristlock. He spins back in an elbow, knocking her backwards, then he runs to the opposite side to bounce off the ropes. She moves and trips him in a drop toehold.

Nick Stuart: Fast and furious action to start us off on Night Two of Ultraviolence, and we…Richard, what are you doing looking at your watch? Certainly you’re not bored!

Richard Parker: Nope, just counting down.

Nick Stuart: Counting down to what?

Richard Parker: Any match with intense rules follows the same format. We start in the ring like a normal match, do some fun technical stuff, happy grappies, all that.

Nick Stuart: Happy…grappies?

Richard Parker: And then about three to five minutes into the match, one of the wrestlers decides it’s time to stop pretending to be wrestlers and they grab a weapon and then it’s bam pow chairshot broken table madness.

Nick Stuart: So how much time is left on the timer?

Richard Parker: Twenty-three seconds.

Rose is on top of Dawkins. She has a single leg Boston crab locked in.

Nick Stuart: Well that won’t work out. This hold isn’t going to be broken that easily!

Richard Parker: Trust the clock, my friend.

Dawkins struggles to escape the hold before using his free leg to twist and get out of the hold. He uses the ropes to pull himself away, rolling to the outside and clutching his back. Rose pops up and rushes to the other side, then launches herself over the ropes in a somersault plancha, taking out Dawkins. As the fans cheer the move, she walks over to the ring and lifts the apron up.

Nick Stuart: All right, she’s looking for a weapon. How much time is on the timer?

Richard Parker: It went off twenty seconds ago.

Nick Stuart: Well it was still pretty close.

Rose pulls out a chair and stalks Dawkins, who is slow to recover. He crawls towards the ring, using the apron to pull himself up. He has one second to react before a steel chair comes whizzing at his head, but a second is all he needs.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins ducks!

The chair hits the ring post, causing Rose to drop the chair and clutch at her elbows. Dawkins grabs Rose’s head.

CLANG!!

Nick Stuart: DDT on the chair!

Richard Parker: If you bet on Rose being the first person hit by a chair tonight, you win! Though technically the chair was hit by her.

Dawkins looks down at Rose before going back to the apron. The floodgates have opened, and now it’s time for weapons. After a moment Dawkins comes out with a trash can. Rose hasn’t moved yet, but Dawkins isn’t waiting. He walks over and slams the trash can into Rose’s back. He does it a second and third time until the can is dented and warped. Then he lifts Rose’s limp body and rolls her under the ropes.

He slides under and makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Rose gets a shoulder up, but we’ve already ventured into Intense territory here.

Richard Parker: Oh, it’s definitely going to be a tough job for the ring crew and the blood cleaners after this!

Nick Stuart: Partner, this is the second time you’ve brought this up, so I have to ask: who are the blood cleaners?

Richard Parker: They’re the ones who clean up blood, obviously.

Nick Stuart: Obviously. And you’ve differentiated them from the ring crew because?

Richard Parker: Wait, you seriously don’t know about URCHIN?

Nick Stuart: …URCHIN?

Dawkins rolls out of the ring in search for more weapons.

Richard Parker: Union of Ring Cleaners, Handymen, and Intermediate Nurses. It’s the union for the people who tend to the ring after particularly heinous matches.

Nick Stuart: Intermediate Nurses?

Richard Parker: Yeah, the ones who aren’t as good as the advanced nurses. They have their own union. The intermediate nurses are also known as blood cleaners.

Nick Stuart: So the union designates who cleans up blood and who doesn’t?

Richard Parker: The union doesn’t, silly: the collective bargaining agreement does. Don’t you know how labor rights work?

While Richard trolls his friend, Rose is stirring. She sees Dawkins on the outside and knows that that’s where Intense matches should take place anyway, so she rolls out of the ring. Dawkins has his back to her, so as he is bending down to grab something, she goes on the attack.

CLANG!!

The problem for Rose was Dawkins saw her. And the thing he was grabbing? That was a steel chair that he swung over his head.

Nick Stuart: And Rose drops like a sack of bricks!

Richard Parker: The Pineapple man is intense!

Rose tries to get up, but she’s struggling. Dawkins feels the momentum, and he isn’t interested in letting go. He brings the chair up, then hits her in the side, causing her to spill onto the steel steps. Then he gets bored of the chair and drops it.

Richard Parker: Why stop? Keep hitting her!

Nick Stuart: It looks like he’s looking for more damage!

Dawkins looks under the ring and after a few minutes pulls something out that causes the fans to gasp.

Nick Stuart: Is that…a pineapple?

Richard Parker: Not just any pineapple, Nick! It’s covered in barbed wire!

Indeed, Dawkins has the pineapple, and he holds it over his shoulder, waiting for Rose to get up again. When she gets up, he charges…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Rose with a spinning kick to the pineapple! And it went right in Dawkins’ face!

Dawkins drops like he was hit with acid, and the blood starts to flow. Some – like a drop or two – spills onto the ring apron.

Richard Parker: CALL URCHIN, WE’VE GOT BLOOD!

Rose immediately gets a second wind, and she decides to unleash the arsenal in the ring. Kendo stick, chairs, table, ladders, she’s grabbing them all from under the ring and tossing them inside.

Nick Stuart: It’s pandemonium!

Dawkins slides under the rope at the same time Rose does, and they both reach for weapons. Rose gets a kendo stick, Dawkins gets a crowbar, and they both swing.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins connects!

Rose stumbles, and Dawkins hits her again. He stands over her, jawing. Then, he sets up the table. Lifting Rose to the corner, he pins here there and hits her with stiff punches. He lifts her up to the turnbuckle.

As he climbs up, he says something to her. We can’t hear it, but it seems to energize Rose. She punches him, and he begins to punch back. As he tries to grab her, she grabs him, and the problem with fighting for position on the turnbuckle is that there isn’t much position to fight for.

So after a few moments of struggle, they both fall towards the mat. Luckily, the table breaks their fall.

CRUNCH!!!

Nick Stuart: They both went through the table! They both look out of it!

Both competitors look knocked out as they lay on the mat, pieces of broken table beneath them. As Ashley Barlow comes over to check on the carnage, she sees both wrestlers with their eyes closed.

She also sees one arm stretched across the other’s shoulders, causing her to go to her knees.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Ashley goes over to Vince Howard, which makes sense because no one can really tell who won from the outside. But now that the message is delivered, everyone’s about to learn.

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER…ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Wow! They were both knocked out by that table fall, but it looks like Rose’s arm landed on top of Dawkins! So she won!

Richard Parker: Doesn’t look like much of a winner right now!

The medics come in to tend to the competitors as we cut to commercial.

We’re outside of the Throne Room, also known as the eGG Den 3.0, the Champion’s Advantage, the Den of Conquest, the Best Nest, Noah’s Perch, the Bandopticon, the King’s Court, the Night One Rest Stop, the Bobby Horror Picture Show, Mr. Avalon’s Wild Ride, the Overcompensation Station, the House of the Landed Gentry and Ace, the One Stop Crown Shop, the Den of Wolves, the Mini-Octane and the Big Dipper. We’ll be adding two more of them later tonight, don’t you worry.

The point is, it’s the metaphorical scene of the crime from thirteen days ago and the Fabulous Gold Mask is standing there. There’s a lot of hesitation from Fabby as he stands there, unsure if he should really open the door and invite himself in. He takes a moment to breathe. Deep breaths. He can do this. He can—

The door swings open, and he stands face to face with “the Venetian Assassin” himself, Franco Marchesi.

There is a long pause. Franco narrows his eyes. At any moment, this could get very, very ugly.

Coral Avalon (off-camera): Let him in, Franco. I’m expecting him.

Marchesi does not take his eyes off of the golden masked man. He ultimately snorts and steps aside to allow the man in the golden mask to walk cautiously into the wolves’ den that is the Throne Room (aka all those other nicknames). Franco finds himself a corner to stand in and look surly in. Occasionally, he casts an eye towards the ring where they’re currently setting up a couple of shark cages for the Intense Title match.

Avalon sits upon his throne. He’s already in his ring gear, having changed some time earlier. He wore a black “Crownless Kingdom” T-shirt, only this one has eggs where there would be “O”s.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: …What do you want?

Coral Avalon: I’ll be honest. I don’t have a lot of time for the likes of you.

He slouches in his throne, one hand holding his head up.

Coral Avalon: You’ve been here for a year. Did you know that?

Fabby says nothing, he simply nods.

Coral Avalon: That’s one year you’ve been hiding under that mask, acting like Joe’s minion, being treated in ways that I didn’t think you’d let people treat you.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: …

Coral Avalon: So, why are you here? I don’t mean right now. I mean, why did you come crawling back after you got told that no one wanted to see you ever again?

Fabby does not hesitate with his answer.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: For Joe.

Coral Avalon: See, I want to believe that. Really. But I remember who you were. Once upon a time, you only wanted the spotlight for yourself. You stole careers to nourish your own, and not always in the ring either. So when you stand here and tell me that you’re here for Joe – and with me knowing for a fact that Joe isn’t here – it raises a few questions.

Fabby says nothing.

Coral raises his head for a moment, and then slowly stands up from his throne. The King of Conquerors walks towards the unmoving masked man.

Coral Avalon: So, with Joe not around with every manner of shenanigan that exists… Why are you still here? I don’t have the time to go through your long list of crimes and transgressions towards me and everyone you’ve ever had contact with. Not tonight, and not in the next three months while I’m still contracted to work for PRIME. Why?

The Fabulous Gold Mask: …

Avalon walks up to Fabby’s face. Fabby is just a little taller, but Avalon is a lean and dangerous man.

Coral Avalon: Answer me, St—

The Fabulous Gold Mask: Stop.

Fabby holds out a hand to stop the King of Conquerors from finishing his sentence.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: I came here because I saw a kid planning to walk down the same path that I did, okay? I leave him alone, he’d have acted on every bad thought he had… and not the stupid ones. The jealous ones. The ones where he’d have hurt everyone around him. But if I enabled him to pursue his dumber whims, then he won’t hurt anyone.

He gestures towards the window, overlooking the arena where the shark cages are still being built and checked for safety.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: Well, guess you can see where that got us.

He sighs, his shoulders slumped. Avalon gives Fabby his space, backing away slowly from the masked man.

Coral Avalon: …Right.

He sat back down on his throne.

Coral Avalon: Sometimes, I forget how tangled that family tree is. So I forget that, technically speaking, Joe’s your nephew.

Fabby lets that fact drift in the air, his eyes closed.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: Yeah. I know I’m better off gone, Avalon. Better off back home in Greenland where you and Cosmo sent me. But that kid’s the only family I’ve got that doesn’t want my head on a pike, and he’s still laid up in a hospital bed because I wasn’t in any shape to protect him.

Then, the Fabulous Gold Mask does something unexpected. He gets down on his hands and knees, and bows his head low.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: I can’t ask anyone in the Glueminati without burdening them with my problems. So I’ll ask you. Please. Help me return to the ring. Help me avenge him.

Avalon blinks, clearly taken aback.

Coral Avalon: Okay, stand up. It’s weird to actually have people bow before me like I’m actually a king or something.

Fabby sighs and while he doesn’t stand up, he remains seated on his knees.

Coral Avalon: Just so you know, Joe did me a lot of wrong in the past year. He betrayed me, mocked me, belittled my every effort to claim my crown, said some very nasty things about me and my wife, and he even enacted really stupid murder plots against me. The last of which you were present for, by the way. So, I’m not exactly excited about any of this.

Avalon stared down at Fabby for a long few moments.

Coral Avalon: So, for now, go back to Greenland.

Fabby has a defeated expression on his masked face.

Avalon looks like a man who knows he’s about to regret what he’s going to say next.

Coral Avalon: …And then come back to Seattle after New Years’.

Fabby can only stare wide-eyed in surprise.

Coral Avalon: Just know that if you agree to this, I won’t make it easy for you. You’ve got a lot to answer for, after all.

Fabby can only bow his head.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: And I’ll answer for all of it. Thank you.

Avalon nods and Fabby is allowed to stand up. He turns to leave the skybox, but Avalon has one more thing to say.

Coral Avalon: Oh, and Steve?

Fabby looks like he just took a body blow with the way he flinches upon hearing that name.

Coral Avalon: Give the Glue my regards.

Faby hesitates, and then he leaves the skybox. And so do we.

Nick Stuart: As if UltraViolence has lived up to its name this year, we have our first title defense of the Night 2.

Richard Parker: And what a hell of a match it is no less? We got that loveable loser looking to make the Red Army proud, Kenny Freeman, fresh out of flushing out of the Tag Team Tournament…

Nick Stuart: Up against the reigning and defending Rhinestone Cowboy, Daytona Diamonds. This has been one hell of a year thus far for the Poor Whoresmen, specifically Diamonds who has held that title since early this year.

The lights dim as the stage lights up. A remix of the Russian National Anthem cranks out over Lumen Field, the crowd on hand booing loudly. The first man out isn’t our hero though, it’s the Entertainer, Randall Schwartz wearing a broad, toothy grin. He’s still in his Manager’s uniform and peak cap emblazoned with Manager in big golden letters.

Nick Stuart: You know, I think Randall might actually prefer being a manager.

Richard Parker: It’s certainly a much safer occupation for him.

Next out are the Herald and a fully bandaged Maximillain Wilhelm Kael, or at least something that appears like him, rolling out in a wheelchair. He’s presently head to toe wrapped up in bandages and casts, his eyes covered with a pair of tinted welder glasses that completely obscure his eyes.

Nick Stuart: ..Max took a hell of a beating last night, but is this necessary?

Richard Parker: The best doctors in the world looked Max over last night and this is clearly what was believed to be best!

Stuart groans as Max and the Herald move to one side of the stage to make room for the leader of the Red Army, Ivan Stanislav himself, to make his grand arrival. The increasing agitation of the crowd grows as the giant Russian Bear pauses, glaring out over the crowd in attendance before marching to the opposite side of the stage as Max and the Herald.

Richard Parker: That man was ROBBED of his chance to put an end to the Colton legacy last night, Stuart! That coward Nate Colton bailed and ran back home with his tail between his legs!

Nick Stuart: Respectfully, Parker, you shut your mouth. You know those are lies, Nate Colton’s brother suffered an accident during his recovery and his brother returned home, as any good sibling would. PRIME offers our thoughts and prayers to Blake Colton and to the whole Colton Family right now.

Finally the last man out is our hero. After three months of torture and abuse at the hands of Max Kael and his own conscience, Kenny Freeman is a different creature. Physically, he’s notably larger, his body more defined, his arms larger. More than a physical change, however, there is a tonal shift in his demeanor.

No more smiles, no more playful, cheerful displays. His head is lowered, his shoulders arched, his eyes on the ring. There is focus but more than there, there is a darkness about him now. Not like a spooky, ghosts of the past come to haunt you kind of darkness. More like an ink stain on a white shirt, a noticeable imperfection that has seemingly grown these last few weeks.

Richard Parker: I’d say this is the best shape we’ve ever seen Kenny Freeman in! Max and Kenny might not have made it into the tag team championship but I’d say Kenny has still benefited  from the partnership.

Nick Stuart: I agree with you, at least physically. But what has the toll been for Kenny’s mind? I saw him in the back earlier and when I looked into his eyes he seemed.. Different and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Richard Parker: If the Red Army did it, it’s a good thing, Stuart, trust me on that!

The group head toward the ring as a collective group following Kenny. Well, Ivan and Randall do, the Herald is doing his best to navigate his way with the chair, physically incapable of controlling it well. The mummified Max squawks and shifts but is otherwise bound in place by his casts.

Vince Howard: The following match is an INTENSE Championship match. In addition to the INTENSE rules, both Randall Schwartz and Harley Walker will be suspended in a shark cage twenty feet above the ring!

Reaching the ring, Kenny and Randall climb in while the rest of the Red Army remains outside. Inside the cage is a large shark cage awaiting Comrade Schwartz.

Vince Howard: Introducing first.. From Los Angeles by way of Moscow, Russia.. Standing at five-foot, six-inches and weighing one-hundred-eighty-five pounds, KEEEEEEENNY FREEEEEEEMAN!

K-Free to his comrades throws both of his arms up into the air as the crowd continues to voice their disapproval. Randall looks pretty unsure about the shark cage, examining the outside of it and remarking on it being able to see through the walls much to referee Elvis Nixon’s confusion. Kenny’s music fades as Randall reluctantly enters the cage.

And then..

Lights? Out.

Crowd? Boos.

Music? …well, it ain’t Sturgill Simpson.

“God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood begins to play. Yes, the PRIME AV team has allowed this to happen. You can blame them.

If tomorrow all the things were gone

I worked for all my life
And I had to start again
With just my children and my wife
I thank my lucky stars
To be living here today
‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom
And they can’t take that away

The PRIMEView lights up with the vision of an American flag waving in the breeze, a bald eagle flying across an open sky, fireworks exploding on the Fourth of July. It’s all very patriotic and it’s all very beautiful and then… well, then Daytona Diamonds steps out onto the stage.

Vince Howard: And the Champion! Making his way to the ring… from Carson City, Nevada…

He’s still dressed in rhinestones. He’s The Rhinestone Cowboy, after all. But those rhinestones are multicolored and patterned, forming some bastardized version of the red, white, and blue… and he’s carrying a hysterically massive American flag on a pole, waving it wildly and proudly even as the PRIMEates… boo? Confused booing? Conboosed?

And I’m proud to be an American
Where at least I know I’m free!
And I won’t forget the men who died
Who gave that right to me!
And I’d gladly STAND UP next to you
And defend Her still today!
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt
I love this land
GOD BLESS THE USAAAAAAAAA!

This display of ‘Fuck You‘ Patriotism™ doesn’t end at the stage, though. The King of the Rodeo makes his way down the ramp, wavin’ that flag like he’s ready to die for his country. He isn’t, but shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Just go with it.

Vince Howard: …standing six-foot, one inches and weighing in at two-hundred-forty-five pounds… he is YOUR Intense Champion… The Rhinestone Cowboy… DAAAAAAAAYTOOOONNNNAAAA DIAAAAAMONNNNNDS!

When he reaches the ring, Diamonds leans the flag up against the apron, taking a moment to salute it with ‘tears’ (read: a poor facsimile of tears) in his eyes. He climbs into the ring as Lee Greenwood belts out another chorus, lifting up his fingers in the shape of a ‘W’ (For winner! For Whoresmen! For WOO-ESS-AYY!) before trying (and failing) to start a USA chant. When he realizes the PRIMEates aren’t going to play along to his idiot games, Daytona rolls his eyes and makes his way to his side of the ring, stripping off his star-spangled jacket and placing his equally star-spangled hat on top of the turnbuckle.

Somewhere, the ghost of George Washington  wails in the night.

Nick Stuart: Fans are.. Well they’re pretty divided on who they dislike most.

Richard Parker: They aren’t booing Kenny Freeman, they’re saying BOOONNY FREEMAN, cause of the bones. In his body. Think, Stuart!

Nick Stuart: Where the hell is Harley Walker?

As if on queue, upon the ramp, the rest of the Poor Whoresmen come shambling out. Fred Dick, with a passed out Harley Walker in a wheelbarrow ambles down the ramp toward the ring. Behind him lumbers STRONK Godson, a vacant expression on his face.

Dick dumps Harley out next to the ring, his body hitting the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes. STRONK picks up Walker’s body and carries it up into the ring. Randall Schwartz moves to the far side of the shark cage giving the Whoresmen’s plenty of space to place their unconscious friend.

Nick Stuart: It.. it doesn’t look like Harley is going to be awake for this one.

Richard Parker: What are you talking about? He looks fine!

We cut back to STRONK waving Harley’s arm while doing his best to make it look like he’s not. Unfortunately STRONK is not known for his subtle physical manipulations.

Nick Stuart:… right. Okay, well folks, I think the match is about ready to begin, Nixon just needs to lock the cage and it will begin to rise.

In the ring Nixon has closed the door on the shark cage and produced a lock for which to keep it shut. Daytona must have pissed off the founding fathers for none of them warn him about Kenny Freeman, who hurls himself across the ring!

Kenny smashes into an unsuspecting Daytona driving his elbow into the back of the Rhinestone Cowboy’s head, dropping him to the mat with a shocked expression. Kenny goes for the cover but Nixon is quick to point out the match hasn’t begun. He signals for the bell as the cage begins to climb up into the air.

Nick Stuart: Kenny isn’t standing on ceremony!

Richard Parker: Get him! Don’t let Ivan down, Comrade Freeman!

DING DING DING!

The man known to his friends as K-Free drags Diamonds up to his feet, smashing his head into the side of the shark cage as it rises. Randall shouts encouragement from inside the cage while Harley’s lifeless body does a whole lot of not moving.

Nick Stuart: Kenny is using that cage before it’s had a chance to rise up!

Richard Parker: The savagery and aggression in Kenny Freeman is clearly the result of Max’s good mentorship!

Outside the ring Ivan isn’t looking in the ring. His eyes are locked on the Poor Whoresmen, specifically STRONK. The Herald has positioned the wheelchair bound Max at Fred Dick, swiveling him whenever needed.

Fred Dick has taken moving around erratically to try and throw the Herald’s aim off. STRONK is staring at the cage trying to figure out how he is going to control Harley Walker’s body from down here.

Nick Stuart: You think Harley Walker is okay?

Richard Parker: He looks fine to me, he’s been moving around up there.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, only cause Randall keeps nudging him with his foot.

Richard Parker: I said he was moving, I didn’t say it was under his own power, Stuart!

Back in the ring the cage has risen outside of head smashing range and so Kenny whips a still stunned Daytona into the corner. The Cowboy’s body crashes into the turnbuckle before going ass-over-kettle above the top rope and to the floor. Fred Dick immediately runs to Daytona’s side while STRONK continues to stare up at the shark cage.

Richard Parker: What the hell is STRONK staring at?

Nick Stuart: Maybe he’s concerned with Harley’s state?

Richard Parker: He should be more concerned about the state of the Poor Whoresmen’s leader!

Freeman runs to the corner, climbing the turnbuckle before launching himself up and over!

Daytona grabs Dick, throwing him into Kenny’s path before dodging to the side himself. Fred is wiped out by Kenny’s risky offensive, both men crashing down to the ground. Able to buy himself a breather, Daytona staggers toward Freeman with a drunken smirk on his face.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds just sacrificed his own man, Fred Dick, to avoid the leaping dive to the outside from Freeman! Both Dick and Freeman are wiped out!

Richard Parker: You gotta keep your eyes on Daytona Diamonds, there might not be a more underhanded man in PRIME and that’s saying something!

Diamonds pelts Kenny with a combination of closed fists and stiff kicks, brawling more than wrestling at this point. K-Free eats a few stiff shots before covering up, weathering the storm as best he can. Dragging his opponent up by his feet, Daytona throws him violently into the barricade, Freeman’s body hitting with enough force to buckle the structure.

Nick Stuart: The Rhinestone Cowboy has taken control of this match as he throws his opponent hard into the barricade.

Richard Parker: If Dick hadn’t been in hand, Kenny would still be in charge!

Nick Stuart: Under INTENSE Title rules, the Poor Whoresmen are all legal to be here.

Scaring Vince Howard and the ringside physician away from the timekeeper’s table, Daytona snatches up a steel chair, raising it high into the air. The crowd begins to cheer loudly at the prospect of potential brain damage because these fans are sickos.

CRACK!

Daytona brings the chair down hard across Kenny’s back, drawing a pained scream. Up in the shark cage Randall Schwartz begins to fiddle with his uniform in a panic, shouting encouragement down toward his friend and partner.

CRACK!

A second chairshot is brought down across Kenny’s shoulder blades. The Rhinestone Cowboy’s earlier surprise is washed away with violent confidence. Using the end of the chair to lift Kenny’s head up, Daytona takes aim and swings the chair..

LOW BLOW!

Richard Parker: A perfectly legal uppercut right to the jelly bellies!

Nick Stuart: The fate of future Diamonds children hangs in the balance after that stiff shot!

Freeman practically European Uppercuts Daytona Diamonds’ straight in the yam bags! The confident smirk melts into a horrified, silent scream. He drops the chair, his knees crossing before he collapses on the outside.

STRONK wanders off while Fred isn’t paying attention. This means that Ivan’s attention moves from the Godson to the Master of Wrong Style. Mr. Dick is presently looking for an opening to attack Kenny, unfortunately the Freeman has collected the chair.

Richard Parker: Now where the hell is STRONK going!?

Nick Stuart: No clue, Parker, but it does mean that Daytona is now down a man at ring side.. Though looking at the state of Max Kael, this might actually finally be legal.

Kenny stands over the withering Daytona Diamonds, a dark look on his face. He looks at the chair then back at Daytona then to the chair. The fans, bloodthirsty pricks happy to see these two men murder each other, encourage K-Free to indulge himself.

Nick Stuart: Now Kenny has the chair!

Richard Parker: Cave his damn head in!

And so he does.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Three shots, all in rapid succession, reigning down on Daytona’s upper body. The King of the Rodeo screams out in pain, defenseless against this rageful display of violence. Roaring, Kenny throws the chair away and tosses Daytona back into the ring, hooking his leg for a cover!

Nick Stuart: He just cleaned out the Cowboy and now he’s in for the cover!

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Richard Parker: That was a three! A three!

Nick Stuart: Just a two count, Parker, just a two!

Diamonds manages to throw his shoulder up after the two. Climbing on top of the cowboy, Kenny begins to lay in with open palm strikes to the face and neck, each connecting with the sickening crack of flesh on flesh.

Fred Dick begins to slide into the ring however, much to his surprise, he suddenly stops. Then, like in some kind of horror movie, he finds himself being dragged backward, through the air and into the barricade. Ivan Stanislav stands over him, eyes burning, as he shakes his head indicating there will be no interference tonight.

Richard Parker: Ivan laying down the law here tonight! No stupid games from the Whoresmen tonight so long as the leader of the Red Army is here to keep things legit!

Nick Stuart: It would appear that Fred Dick is opting for discretion over valor in this situation.

Back in the ring Freeman has climbed off Daytona and is shouting up at Randall. Schwartz fiddles with his uniform before producing a small black bag, tossing it through the bars of the cage down to Kenny.

The Freeman produces a pair of brass knuckles from the black bag, smiling to himself as he slips it over his hand. As Daytona staggers back up to his feet, Kenny lines up his shot. Charging forward, he swings for Diamonds’ head!

Nick Stuart: Kenny with the brass knuckles! He could end this right now!

Richard Parker: Swing for the fences, Freeman!

Ducking beneath the punch, Daytona grabs Kenny around the waist and executes a Northern Lights Suplex! As he is slammed down into the mat, Kenny loses the knuckles off his hand, clattering out of the ring. Diamonds drags both himself and Kenny back up to their feet before he whips Kenny into the ropes.

Kenny reverses and sends Daytona into the ropes instead. Catching the top and middle rope, Daytona rebounds, using the extra momentum to throw himself back at a surprised Freeman. The lariat from the cowboy catches Freeman just beneath the chin, turning him inside out before his body heads up crumpled on the mat!

Nick Stuart: THE SIX SHOOTER LARIAT! Daytona caught Freeman completely off guard!

Richard Parker: God damn it, he turned Kenny inside out and right side in!

Daytona covers!

One!

Two!

Th-Kickout!

Daytona swears but doesn’t let Kenny’s persistence keep him down. He rolls out of the ring, eye fucking Ivan as he moves by him, searching for something beneath the ring. Eventually he finds it, his own black bag. Rolling back into the ring he reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of tacks as the Washington crowd lets out a collective cheer!

Nick Stuart: Now we’ve moved into the damned tacks!

Richard Parker: This should be illegal! ILLEGAL!

He throws the handful of tacks at Kenny before putting Freeman’s head into the back, pulling the tie right around his neck! Freeman’s muffled screams can be heard as Daytona applies a headlock!

Nick Stuart: Oh GOD! No! NO! He’s got his head in the damned tack bag! All those sharp implements of suffering stabbing, cutting and piercing Kenny’s flesh inside that bag!

Richard Parker: This is disgusting! DISGUSTING!

Daytona transitions the headlock into a cross face, all while manipulating the tack bag around Kenny’s face!

YOU SICK FUCK! YOU SICK FUCK! YOU SICK FUCK!

Elvis Nixon checks on Freeman however despite the horrific situation he finds himself in, he refuses to surrender!

Nick Stuart: This is grotesque, I.. I am only happy we can’t see what’s going on in that bag, Parker.

Richard Parker: Kenny Freeman is going to need to wear a mask after his face gets mangled in that bag!

Outside the ring STRONK has returned, now with a massive ladder he has found somewhere backstage. The Herald, with the wheelchair bound Max, tries to get into the Godson’s path however Bentley is unable to steer Max and instead runs into the barricade.

Nick Stuart: What the hell now!? STRONK Godson has returned with a ladder!

Richard Parker: A man with the dimensions of STRONK Godson has no business carrying a god damn LADDER to the ring!

In the ring Daytona releases the hold and climbs back up to his feet. He smashes his boots down on Kenny’s head before ripping the back away.

The crowd lets out a collective gasp of horror as Kenny’s blooded face is revealed. It looks like a scene out of Hellraiser, blood dripping from Freeman’s face as tacks cover his head. The tacks not stuck into Kenny’s flesh splash across the ring adding a fun, new element to the match.

Nick Stuart: This is SICKENING Parker! His head is a pin cushion! A blood pin cushion!

Richard Parker: Elvis Nixon might consider stopping this blood bath!

Out of nowhere Diamonds jumps up, grabbing Kenny’s bloodied head into a cutter!

Daytona Diamonds, the Rhinestone Cowboy, crashes down into the tacks with Freeman able to block the cutter attempt.

Nick Stuart: He blocked it! Old Daytona is getting a taste of his own medicine!

Richard Parker: He’s a floppin’ like a fish!

Daytona wails and screams, rolling around in the ring as more and more tiny, sharp office supplies are driven into his flesh. Freeman staggers around the ring, his face a literal crimson mask. As Daytona suffers, Kenny takes the moment to try and clear some of the tacks from his head.

STRONK Godson enters the ring, ignoring both Daytona and Freeman. Setting up the ladder, he slowly climbs. Randall Schwartz is screaming and pointing toward STRONK. Nixon looks confused but technically none of this was illegal so he lets it play out.

Nick Stuart: I asked again, what the hell is STRONK doing!?

Richard Parker: Maybe he’s looking for a wait to get Harley Walker out of that shark cage? If I were Randall Schwartz, I might stand clear!

Whether he can’t see the ladder or whether he simply doesn’t care, nobody knows however Kenny ignores STRONK and once again launches himself in the direction of his opponent. Daytona isn’t even looking in Kenny’s direction when the Freeman hits a shotgun dropkick square between the cowboy’s shoulder blades!

The air is driven from Daytona’s chest as he smashes chest first into the turnbuckle before staggering back into a roll-up from Kenny!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: So close! We almost had a new INTENSE Champion!

Richard Parker: That damned Elvis Nixon is a slow counter! ONE-TWO-THREE, DONE!

There is a collective sigh of disappointment when Daytona kicks out. Wiping blood from his eyes, Freeman rolls out of the ring, nearly collapsing on the floor before dipping beneath the ring to find something.

Nick Stuart: Now it’s Kenny’s turn to look for some plunder out there under the ring..

Richard Parker: And snow one STRONK has reached the top of the ladder without falling and ending the age of the Dinosaurs!

A top the ladder STRONK has reached through the bars and is moving Harley’s head around. He appears to be mimicking a conversation with Randall who stares, wide eyed and fearful. Back in the world below, Kenny has emerged from beneath the ring holding a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat.

Richard Parker: I don’t think that bat is legal for the MLB.

Nick Stuart: No, no I don’t think it is but it’s rated E for Everyone in an INTENSE title match!

With murder in his eyes, Kenny re-enters the ring. Daytona is using the ladder to pull himself up as Kenny takes a few test swings before he charges forward screaming out all the hate in his heart.

TWANG!

The barbed wire bat connects with the ladder as Daytona manages to get his head out of the way. The vibrations from impact rattle Kenny’s arms causing him to drop the bat in pain.

Nick Stuart: Daytona Diamonds almost lost his head there!

Richard Parker: We should only be so lucky, Stuart!

While Daytona has escaped, STRONK Godson isn’t as lucky. The ladder shifts, shakes and then topples over sending the GODSON tumbling over the top rope and directly into Ivan Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: No! No! That’s gotta be twenty five, thirty feet to the outside!

Richard Parker: Somebody check on Ivan!

Normally Ivan would be unlikely to be moved by contact with something as mundane as a human body, however STRONK is no “normal” body. The thick muscle paired with his unnatural density hits the towering Russian like a ton of bricks. Both crash to the ground outside the ring as the crowd once again rises to their feet!

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

In the ring Daytona crawls into the corner while Fred Dick takes advantage of Ivan being on the ground. Dick slides into the ring and grabs the barbed wire baseball bat, an evil smirk on his face. Diamonds points at Kenny, demanding Fred take the Freeman out.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds taking a break as he directs traffic in the ring.

Richard Parker: This isn’t fair! Ivan can’t stop this! Where is Max?!

Outside the ring the Herald is trying to force the bandaged Max up out of his chair and into the ring with little success. Fred Dick charges at Kenny Freeman who ducks, pulling the top rope down causing the Master of Wrong Style right over the top! Daytona, seeing his backup dumped out of the ring, pulls himself up and moves to attack Freeman once again.

Nick Stuart: Kenny manages to equalize the fight again but for how long?

Richard Parker: He just needs to long enough to win, Stuart!

Diamonds meets Kenny in the center of the ring just below the cage with a chop across Kenny’s chest that withers the smaller man.

Nick Stuart: A knife edge chop across K-Free’s chest!

Richard Parker: Only Kenny’s friends call him K-Free!

Kenny recovers, standing tall as the blood from his face drips across the red slash the Cowboy left on his chest. He smiles a twisted smile at Daytona, his teeth crimson from the gore that pours down his face. He fires a stiff forearm into his opponent’s jaw, staggering Diamonds.

Nick Stuart: Kenny returns fire!

The Only Daddy What Walks The Line shakes it off, using his hand to dust off his shoulder. He pushes Kenny’s chin up and leans back with another crackling chop across Freeman’s chest, lighting him up. Kenny stumbles, dropping to a knee as he clutches at his chest in pain. Daytona turns toward the camera, cheering himself as the crowd surprisingly rallies behind Kenny.

Richard Parker: Get him Kenny! Make Ivan proud!

Above the two of them, Randall is screaming something down to Kenny before he drops something down. Kenny catches it before he turns toward the arrogant, posing Diamonds..

Nick Stuart: I think.. I think that’s a mirr-

CRASH!

The mirror explodes in a plume of silver shards when it contacts Daytona’s face. The Rhinestone Cowboy doesn’t fall, at least not immediately. He staggers, his fists swinging wildly into the air before he flops like a fish into the ring. Now, normally this would be fine but there were shards of broken glass and thumb tacks scattered about.

Daytona lands chest and face first into the various sharp bits and bobs. Immediately he pops back up, screaming as he looks down at all the things now poking out of his body. Blood begins to ooze from newly opened wounds before the Cowboy is cut down with a running lariat from Freeman!

Nick Stuart: Things are coming undone quickly for the Rhinestone Cowboy as Kenny Freeman turns up the heat!

Richard Parker: This is it! The time is now, Freeman!

Outside the ring Ivan and STRONK have recovered. The STRONKest Man Alive seems dead set on getting back into the ring however Ivan’s massive hand falls on his shoulder. Neither man yields to the other resulting in the two firing savage rights and lefts at each other. It’s kind of like watching Godzilla fighting Mothra in that one is very big and one is very small and yet it seems to be an even match.

Richard Parker: How is this possible!? Nobody can match Ivan Stanislav for power!

Nick Stuart: STRONK isn’t just any man, Parker, he’s the STRONKest Man Alive!

On the other side of the ring Fred Dick climbs back up to his feet and grabs the barbed wire bat. He turns toward Bentley and the heavily wrapped Max, a cheerful smile on his face. The Herald shoves the wheelchair and Max at Fred Dick before running away, crying. Dick smacks the bat across the wheelchair bound Kael, toppling him from the chair and onto the ground a crumpled mess!

Nick Stuart: For the second night in a row, Max Kael has been murdered!

Richard Parker: NOOOO!

Ivan Stanislav and STRONK continue to brawl up the ramp, each blow thundering loudly across the stage. You can almost imagine these two monsters tearing through a cityscape while the military tries in vain to put an end to their rampage. Eventually these two behemoths battle all the way to the back.

Nick Stuart: This match has fallen into chaos as everybody involved is fighting it out all across the arena at this point! We need security to help pull Ivan and STRONK apart!

Richard Parker: Forget security, call in the army!

In the ring Kenny has set a chair across Daytona’s face. He hits the ropes, jumping over Daytona before hitting the other side of the ring. On his return he pauses, just above Daytona, motioning to dance. Instead of dancing, however, he spits on Diamonds, flipping him the bird before dropping a snap leg drop across the chair!

Richard Parker: FOLLOW THE FREEMAN, STUART!

Nick Stuart: No more dancing from Freeman!

Freeman hooks Diamonds’ leg as Nixon drops for a pinfall!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Nooooo! So close! Damn it Nixon, learn to count faster!

Once again Daytona manages to throw his shoulder up, avoiding the loss of his INTENSE Title. Fatigue from exhaustion and blood loss start to take their toll on Kenny as he is slow to drag himself up to his feet.

Nick Stuart: The fatigue, the blood loss, the emotions.. How much does Kenny Freeman have and is it enough to put away the Rhinestone Cowboy?

Richard Parker: Daytona Diamonds is finished! One more big move, Kenny! Just one more big move!

Outside the ring Fred Dick has mounted the bandaged Max can and is firing down fists against his helpless victim. Tearing away the bandages he stops, confused by what he sees. The camera gets close to see a youthful face that looks closer to Kenny Freeman than Max Kael .

Nick Stuart: That’s Jack Freeman! That’s Kenny’s younger brother, not Max Kael! What.. what is going on here?!

Richard Parker: ..wait.. I think I know!

From the crowd a figure dressed in all black, including a black mask, jumps over the railing. They immediately begin assaulting Fred Dick as the crowd cheers, unsure who it is but happy to see Fred getting attacked. The mysterious figure picks up the discarded barbed wire baseball bat, blasting Dick across the back of his shoulder blades with it.

Richard Parker: You know who that is, right!? That’s gotta be.. That’s gotta be..

Pulling the black mask off it is revealed to be Max Kael. Bruises cover half his face and his left eye is covered with a bandage, evidence of the war he had last night. The crowd pops at first and then remember what a fucking asshole Max is, booing the Commissar.

Richard Parker: That’s gotta be MAX KAEL!

In the ring Kenny seems oblivious to all that is going on outside. Instead his focus is still on the INTENSE title. As Max and Fred battle on the outside, Kenny is setting up a table in one of the corners. Moving over to the corner where Daytona had put his obnoxiously large American Flag. Kenny snatches it up, ripping it off the pole before moving back to the Cowboy.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is Freeman doing?!

Richard Parker: He’s probably just moving the flag to a safer place, Stuart.

Freeman is showered with boos as he desecrates the American Flag. Standing over Daytona, Kenny draps his body with the flag before picking up a steel chair.

Nick Stuart: ..come on now, Kenny, is this really neces-

CRACK!

The Rhinestone Cowboy’s twitch though his body seems to have stopped moving. The crowd lets out a collective groan of disgust. Blood begins to speed through the flag which could be seen as political commentary. But for us, this is just professional rasslin. Rolling to the outside, Kenny brings STRONK’s ladder back into the ring, setting it up in the center.

Nick Stuart: Well. Daytona Diamonds might be dead.

Richard Parker: At least he has his flag with him?

Nick Stuart: A flag that is getting soaked with blood.. Now what the hell is Freeman thinking?

Fred has started to use the wheelchair as a weapon as both he and Max battle their way up the entrance ramp and onto the UltraViolence stage. Max with the barbed wire bat, Fred with the ragged remains of a mangled wheelchair battling like two shitty space wizards.

In the shark cage Randall is screaming something at Kenny but the bloodied Freeman doesn’t seem to hear him. His eyes are glazed over and bloodshot as he stumbles toward his intended victim. Peeling Daytona up off the mat, Kenny lays him up against the table in the corner. Our Rhinestone Cowboy is still wrapped in his now blood stained American flag.

Nick Stuart: This is.. Well a blood bath. Kenny’s got a ladder set up, Daytona is on a table wrapped in a blood American flag, Fred and Max are on the stage attempting to kill each other and we’ve lost track of STRONK and Ivan!

Richard Parker: I would have personally pinned Daytona but Freeman’s clearly here to make a statement tonight!

With the encouragement of the fans, Kenny slowly begins to climb the ladder. At its zenith, Kenny steadies himself, ready to launch himself..

Another person jumps the guard rail.

Richard Parker: Who the hell is that!?

Nick Stuart: That’s.. That’s the Legend, Rob Williams! What is he doing here?

Dashing into the ring, Rob immediately knocks the ladder over causing Freeman to come crashing down. Fans boo and begin to throw garbage into the ring as Rob Williams helps Daytona Diamonds out of the corner. After a hard slap across the face, Daytona seems to have regained his composure enough to begin issuing orders.

Nick Stuart: Why is Rob Williams helping Daytona Diamonds?!

Richard Parker: This.. no! NO! Where is Ivan!?

As Daytona climbs the ladder, Rob Williams snatches up a near lifeless Kenny Freeman and pins him against the table set up in the corner.

When Daytona reaches the top of the ladder he looks up to the shark cage, his bloody flag draped around him like Caesar’s post betrayal toga. He grabs a hold of the cage and pulls himself on top of it. Within the shark cage Randall does his best to try and grab at the Cowboy’s feet but Daytona simply stomps back any attempts to thwart him.

Nick Stuart: What is Daytona thinking up there?! This is not a safe place to be!

Richard Parker: Nothing good ever started twenty feet above a ring!

For a moment Daytona Diamond is on top of the world, literally. Standing high atop of the shark cage looking down at Rob Williams and Kenny Freeman below. He casts the raging fans one last glance before he hurls himself off the cage!

Nick Stuart: NO NO NO!

Richard Parker: BLOOD MERIDIAN OFF THE TOP OF THE CAGE!

It’s ungodly. It’s hard to watch. The Rhinestone Cowboy looks like some kind of demented patriotic angel, falling from heaven as his blood stained wings ripple in the wind.

CRASH!

As Daytona drives his knees through Kenny Freeman, the table he was one explodes into a billion splinters of pressure treated wood. He hits with enough impact that it knocks Rob Williams out of the ring and down to the floor. Daytona himself may not even have knees anymore but fuck was that cool looking!

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

The crowd can’t believe that absolutely murdering that has just happened before their eyes. Both Kenny and Daytona’s body lay motionless in the wreckage of the table. Sliding back in, Rob Williams drapes Daytona Diamonds’ arm over Kenny’s chest before demanding that Elvis Nixon make the pinfall.

One…

…Two!…

……THREE!

The crowd lets loose a collective sigh of relief as the match mercifully ends. Daytona is helped to his feet, his knees buckling as he relies heavily on Rob Williams support.

Vince Howard: Winner of this match by pinfall.. AND STILL YOUR INTENSE CHAMPION… DAAAAAAAAAAAYTONA DIIIIIIIIIAMONDS!

Nixon delivers the INTENSE title to Daytona as he stumbles around the room, bleary eyed and dripping blood from numerous cuts and abrasions. Shoving Rob Williams away, the Rhinestone Cowbow looks at his INTENSE Championship and then at Rob with a suspicious look on his face.

And then with a smile on his face, Daytona lifts his hand for the Whoresmen handshake.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ on a cracker.. Rob Williams joined the Poor Whoresmen!?

Nick Stuart: It certainly appears that way. And while Daytona won.. I don’t think his body is going to forget his encounter with Kenny Freeman tonight. Wars between small nations have had less carnage than this match.

Richard Parker: Why the hell did Rob Williams join the Poor Whoresmen?! And where the hell is Ivan!?

Rob Williams answers, sliding his fingers into Datyona’s hand as the crowd goes from relief over the end of the match to absolute rage once again.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’ve got to clean up after this.. Match.. Let’s head to the back!

Nick Stuart: Fans, we’d like to take you now to a special report. Earlier today, Angelica Brooks conducted an online interview with Nate Colton, who left Seattle yesterday to attend to a family emergency.

Richard Parker: The emergency of having a brother made of glass, apparently.

Nick Stuart: Obviously, we’re all–

Richard Parker: Ow!

Nick Stuart: –hoping for a full and speedy recovery for the young man.

Richard Parker: That hurt!

Nick Stuart: What did?

Richard Parker: You just poked me in the ribs with your pen!

Nick Stuart: No I didn’t. And if you keep it up, I “won’t” do it again.

The shot cuts from Richard’s sour face to a split screen, On the left, PRIME’s own Angelica Brooks, looking professional as always. On the right, Nate Colton, looking…not that. The video quality from his phone isn’t doing him any favors, but you can’t blame the bleary, red eyes on that.

Angelica Brooks: Nate Colton, thank you for taking the time to speak with me. First and foremost: how is your brother doing?

It takes a moment for him to respond. Again, it would be nice to blame that on the delay from digital encoding. But again.

Nate Colton: Not great, Angie. His shoulder and neck are messed up again, and now he’s got a concussion on top of it.

Angelica Brooks: What exactly happened?

Nate Colton: Doctors told us that sometimes a neck strain can come with some nerve damage, and one thing that can happen is some weakness in the lower body. That’s what happened here. Blake was in the middle of his PT session, stood up to go across the room, and his legs just…gave out. Fell down on his bad shoulder, then smacked his head against the floor.

Angelica Brooks: What does this mean for his recovery?

Nate Colton: He’s…

Nate cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, casting his eyes downward. It takes some time for him to collect himself before he can look Angelica in the eyes–or rather, screen–again.

Nate Colton: He’s right back to square one. Maybe even farther back, ‘cause now we gotta wait out the concussion before anything else. I haven’t had much chance to talk to him, but I know he’s taking it really hard.

Angelica Brooks: You obviously have a very close-knit family, but you seem especially close with Blake. Can you tell us more about him?

Nate Colton: Blake…God, he’s such a great kid. Super smart. He’d just started his junior year of college, you know? And that’s all on academics; not on an athletic scholarship like I did. He’d been taking business classes, so he could help with the Academy’s books and marketing and shit. But he still kept up his training on weekends, ‘cause he also wants to take his place with the rest of us. And I fully believed he–I fully believe he can do that. But that’s all on hold now.

Angelica Brooks: So not only is his wrestling career in question, but his education as well?

Nate Colton: Yeah. It’s…

Once more, the words threaten to choke the normally stoic Colton.

Nate Colton: This has been rough for all of us.

Angelica Brooks: Obviously, this means you won’t be in attendance for UltraViolence.

The New Diamond nods, sadly.

Nate Colton: Afraid so. I want to apologize to the fans, I know they were looking forward to the fight I had lined up…and to Lindsay Troy and everyone else at PRIME, too. I hate knowing that I let you all down like this…but family comes first. I’ve been looking after my brothers and sister my whole life; that doesn’t change just ‘cause they reach a certain age. When Dad called and let me know what happened, I knew where I had to be.

Angelica Brooks: You mentioned Ms. Troy…in the past, you’ve been critical of some of her business decisions, including the lifetime contract offered to Ivan Stanislav. Do you think she bears any of the blame for what’s happened to your brother?

A shake of the head. This comes quicker than his previous reactions.

Nate Colton: Absolutely not. She’s bent over backwards for us the last few months–she was one of the first people at the hospital in Portland, she made sure Blake’s medical expenses were covered…even last night, she not only signed off on me leaving, but helped set up the chartered flight. I can’t name a single other promoter who would have done all that. Ms. Troy’s all right by us.

Angelica is about to ask her next question, but it seems Nate’s not done.

Nate Colton: I’ve seen some other folk–and believe me, I’m keeping the receipts–say it was Blake’s own fault for getting in the ring. And that’s horse shit too. I agree he should have stayed in the stands, not being a licensed wrestler like the others…but he didn’t see it like a pro. All he saw was his big brother getting hurt, the rest of the family jumping in to help, and he wanted to stand with them. That’s honorable, and I’m proud as hell of him for that, no matter what happened.

A flicker of pride shows in Nate’s eye. But only a flicker, and soon the corners of his mouth curl downward in a sour expression.

Nate Colton: No…I think we all know goddamn well whose fault this is.

Angelica Brooks: Ivan Stanislav.

At the mention of the Russian Bear’s name, the sorrow in Nate’s face melts away, replaced by the expression he showed two weeks ago in Vancouver. A stare more icy than the harshest Siberian winter, and harder than the purest diamond.

And in the center of that ice…there is a fire.

Nate Colton: He could have held Blake in place. He could have pinned him to the mat and waited for security to clear him out. He could have done literally anything else…but Ivan’s never been able–or willing–to do anything other than the shittiest thing possible. He’s the same backstage as he is in the ring–he lives without morals, or scruples, or honor. Then he has the fucking audacity to tell us that this is the way wrestling is supposed to be.

A snort of derision.

Nate Colton: Well. If that’s the way he wants it.

He points toward the camera, and it’s quickly clear; he’s not talking to Angie anymore.

Nate Colton: Ivan, you big dumb son of a bitch…I hope you’re watching. I hope you’re listening close. ‘Cause we’re gonna have our day soon. Different city, different stage, but the same rules. And I bet you’re still laughing to yourself about the stipulation I picked, ‘cause you don’t think there’s a force on heaven or earth that can make you say those words.

The fire burns brighter. It can’t melt the ice, but it threatens to burn down everything around it…from the room Nate sits in, to the man himself.

Nate Colton: I don’t want you to say them either. When you finally get to your breaking point, when you’ve finally had enough…I’m gonna be real disappointed. Because no matter what I do to you, it will never…be enough.

A beat.

Another.

The fire inside the ice slowly dims, saving itself for another day.

Angelica Brooks: Thank you for your time, Nathan. And of course, all our prayers go our to your brother for a full recovery.

Nate Colton: Thanks, Angie. That means a lot.

The picture cuts out on Nate’s side, then moment’s later on Angelica’s. The frame fades away, leading us to our next scene.

Return to Lumen Field. The bell begins ringing violently. And then, the voice of Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: The following contest has no time limit and will be contested in THE WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR! CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBER!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Flashing lights abound the Hell in a Cell structure held suspended underneath the center rigging around the ring. Plumes of smoke rise to give the showcase the desired dangerous effect, as if what is about to transpire would be at home at the most metal concert in the history of man. Then, loud bursts of pyro launch about the barbwire laced structure.

Nick Stuart: Warchamber. The next evolution of what has becomes an UltraViolence tradition. Barbwire wrapped firmly in the chainlink of the cage. No doors. No rules. No escape.

Richard Parker: The UltraViolence Cage determined Universal Championships. This time…this Warchamber…it determines the winner in what has been one of PRIME’s most violent, most insane feuds in its modern era.

WE BUILT THIS CITY!

WE BUILT THIS CITY ON ROCK AND ROLL!

Vince Howard: Introducing first…from Chicken City, Georgia…

BUILT THIS CITY!

WE BUILT THIS CITY ON ROOOOOOOCK AND ROOOOOOOLL!

Vince Howard: …weighing in at three hundred and five pounds…he is THEEEEEEE STREET CAT! A MEMBER OF THE POOR WHORESMAN! HE ISSSSSSSSSSSS! FREEEEEEEEEEEEEED! DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!

The drums and lame synthesizers of Starship’s “We Built this City” hit the speakers of Luman Field, and from behind the PRIMEView stage, Fred Dick steps out from gorilla. He does some shadow slap-boxing, getting a tad out of breath, and and starts strolling to the ring.

Richard Parker: Short turn around.

Nick Stuart: Last night, Fred Dick had the opportunity to become one half of the PRIME Tag Team Champions. To win The Tag League Tournament. And as part of The Big Dick Stallions, he came close. Arguably, given that his team didn’t take the fall, you could argue that they might be in line for a shot at the titles in the very near future.

Richard Parker: If he survives whatever the Hell is about to go down.

Fred Dick isn’t alone. No, he doesn’t have STRONK. No Harley Walker or Daytona Diamonds. No…the home Bulls jersey wearing Dick has, in his hand, a barbwire wrapped plunger. For it was bestowed upon him from the mighty Joe The Plumber. Drawing close, it is clear this white jersey has even greater significance. The NBA Finals patch. This is 72-10 Bulls wear. This is ‘The Bulls beat the Supersonics in the NBA Finals’ wear.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Save Our Sonics. People throw things at Fred Dick. Does he care? No. They’re ACE HOES! Cradling the plunger, he rolls under the ropes, stands in the middle of the ring and — you guessed it, shadow slap-boxes some more. Sweaty and gassed, he moves to his corner, waiting for the bell, not even looking upward at the Warchamber.

They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy.

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton sneers toward the ring as the fans rain down a loud mixture of cheers and boos upon him. Then, slowly holds his hand up in the air.

Upon closer inspection, it is important to denote why.

Both of his hands are WRAPPED with chains.

The day I finally met you like I knew I would
You raised me from the wreck of my doubts
You were smiling to yourself as if we both understood
The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

Nick Stuart: The former Intense Champion is at home in these violent forays. Barbwire. Broken glass. You name it, this man has taken part in it. And now, he finds himself in what may just be the culmination of madness itself. Warchamber. And inside it, he gets the chance to put an end to a man he’s wanted to scratch from the face of the Earth for months. Nothing settled from Tropical Turmoil.

Richard Parker: Now…we watch to see if it ends with a burst of UltraViolence/

Vince Howard: His opponent…weighing in at two hundred forty-five pounds…he is The Bayou Butcher…the former PRIME Intense Champion…HE IS! PAAAAAXTOOOOONNNN RAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!

Paxton slowly walks towards the ring, eyes never leaving Fred. He steps up to the apron and steps over the ring ropes. The Warchamber hasn’t even begun to descend, but just because it hasn’t doesn’t mean there is pause in the action. The second Paxton steps between the ropes, Fred Dick charges forward, swinging Ol’ Joe’s Plunger big home run style at the head of the Murder Gator. Bro thinks he’s Shohei. Dude is more Andrew Benintendi. Why? Because Paxton sees it and ducks, charging forward to the other side of the ring, springing off the ropes and LAUNCHING himself chained fist first right into The Street Cat’s mush.

Big sledge from Big Pax.

The plunger launches from the hands of Freddy, across the canvas, helpless. And the second he starts to lift himself up, the fact that he’s pissing blood from over his right eye is evident. All over that fresh white Jordan 23 Bulls 1996 NBA Finals Jersey. The Glove to the Reign Man. Monster Jam. That’s what those fists of Paxton Ray are. Big ole Shawn Kemp  rim rattlers. And Fred? You’re Alton Lister. Getting pointed at. Licking up that nut butter near thirty years later, forever immortalized.

Is there a bell?

No. Because The Warchamber is just now beginning to descend. And Paxton Ray, he’s busy, ground and pound, nothing elegant, not like he’s out of American Top Team or some Dojo somewhere. This is Mud Pits shit. Sloppy, backalley, tough man shit. Huffing and puffing and sweating out your case of Keystone shit. Fred is trying to cover his face, but not for self preservation. No, he’s doing it, swinging his hands outward, his fingernails fishing for an eye. Long nails. Crack nails.

The Warchamber needs to get the lead out of its ass.

Fred Dick spits outward toward the former Intense Champion. Phlegm. Blood. Because as uneducated as Redneck Einstein might seem, he certain knows how to perform surgery on an open wound. Does that make him Redneck Sushruta? No. Because he is not the first. He is just one in a long line.

But that spit gob, it does get in the face of the Murder Gator. And because it does? He needs a napkin. Oh, drat, there’s none to be found. The headbutt that follows will have to do. Here, have your saliva back, you fucking creepy disgusting degenerate piece of filth. Dead ass need you to take back this spit. It is not needed. It is not wanted. Just like you. You don’t get a Citizens movement against you if you are wanted.

Bum Fardo, though, he’s a slippery one. Not really. Not without lube. His lube is blood. His own. Because Paxton Ray wanted a Gusher and, as all are aware, you can’t eat just one pack. No. When you eat one, you’re going in knowing you’ve already made the investment in your stomach’s futures because that whole pack of six is going down, probably within the next ten minutes. Oh, you don’t think so? Liar. Fucking liar. That Jordan jersey was so expensive because of the Finals patch, and now, it’s goddamn ruined. Somewhere out there, Bob Costas is clutching his pearls. And Fred Dick, he’s using his own blood to try and get away from the Murder Gator, who is having trouble maintaining his grip on this blood-greased pig. A resolute blow to end it all. Like a sledgehammer. It misses, connecting with the canvas. Paxton winces. Fred gets up and swings his hand with a wild slap that connects.

We’re talking Power Slap level here. And Paxton, he eats it on the rise. And he takes a side step, stumbling. And then, he spits out some of his own blood. His brow furrows. That ringing in his ears is not the bell. It doesn’t matter. Fred just stares outward, ready to spit in Ray’s face again.

Lariat.

Fred rises.

Discus elbow.

That crunch you hear over the bloodlust of the crowd? That’s cartilage. Nose cartilage. Ouchies. And The Street Cat, he grabs his face, already a mask of crimson. He stands there. Watery, bloody eyes have trouble seeing. Paxton is charging forward. Not alone.

Ol’ Joe’s Plunger.

Just in the nick of time, lil Chicken Lollipop sees it. And he drops to his knees. Paxton brings the plunger up and over, like he’s on some Paul Bunyan type shit. A headbutt to the pills not only doubles him over, but it sends the plunger out of the ring, onto the mats. And Fred Dick? He sees his weapon about to be trapped outside the Warchamber. He rolls out, rushing to grab hold of it. Scrambling. Absolutely scrambling.

Like a countdown to the guillotine. The Warchamber is NEARLY down. And Fred Dick, he’s squealing out in Chickenese as he reaches for it. Perhaps in vain. No! No it isn’t! For Frederick Dick, Hopefully The Only Of His Name And Line, he holds Ol’ Joe’s Plunger. And he pumps it skyward. Which is a bad idea, because that just causes fresh blood to run into his eyes and sting like 69 flaming hot bitches on a bitch yacht. Like a double decker tapered shit of lava. Ouchie ouchie ouchie.

The Warchamber finally touches the ground. Ashley Barlow, hands already ensconced with nitrile gloves, calls for the bell.

DING DING

And Paxton Ray launches himself, or rather, his foot into the back of Fred Dick. From the apron. Like a front style dropping yakuza kick. He lands flatback on the mats, the air driving from his lungs harshly and painfully. But it’s worth it. Why? Because the blow sends The King of Wrong Style into the barbwire laced cage, front first. Yeah, front first. We’re talking face. We’re talking facial hair and some of his top hair. We’re talking his tum tum. We’re talking his arms and his palms. This prevents some damage to his lower extremities, but who even gives a shit when you’ve got sharp barbs used at places like a prison to keep criminals locked up now stuck into you like you are a glorified redneck pincushion? He yells. He roars.

He.

Is.

Stuck.

And Paxton Ray, grabbing his midsection, his ribs, his kidneys, he picks himself up, using the ring apron as he does so. He unwraps the chain around one of his fists, and, without hesitation, whips Fred across the back with the links.

The Passion of Pudge Dick.

Coming soon.

To a theatre near you.

It’s re, because this right here, it’s fucking art.

Paxton Ray whips the back of Fred Dick again. And again. And as The King of Wrong Style feels his legs give way, The Murder Gator runs forward and launches himself into a body press, pushing his own body weight into Dick’s, deeper into the unforgiving barbs. Fred slumps. Paxton? He grabs him by the mullet, yanking back.

Smashing him head first into the Warchamber.

Again.

And again.

And again.

AND AGAIN.

AND AGAIN.

Ever watch Terminator 2? Where Robert Patrick and Arny Schwarzenegger are in the steel plant at the end of the movie, and Patrick is fucking up Arny all big style, and is smashing his head with a steel beam, and the flesh starts coming off of dude’s dome? It’s not exactly like that, but it shares the same spirit. The same ethos. Paxton takes the free chain. And what does he do?

He wraps it around the throat of Fred Dick, and yanks back.

Choking.

Garroting.

Oh mylanta.

Fred throws his head back in desperation, it coming crunching into the bridge of Paxton’s nose. Separation. Fred drops to a knee. Paxton stumbles backward. Fred rises, breathing heavy, giving a mighty roar. He believes he can fly. He believes he can touch the sky. He thinks about it every night and day. Spread STDs and fly away.

Thunder chop.

A pair of hands.

Ridge hand double chop.

It blasts Paxton in the face, causing him to drop down. Fred grabs at Paxton, yanking him up, nearly falling over in the process. Then, he launches Paxton into the ring ropes, using every ounce of his strength in doing so, flopping onto the ring mats like a fishy. The Murder Gator’s knees don’t just clip the steel; they explode into it, sending him head over heels, launched over them with sickening, ruthless efficiency. So disastrous is this blow that the legs of Paxton’s jeans get caught in the barbwire on the side of the cage on which he falls. Blood Mode! That is the yell from one Fred Dick. It’s loud. It’s boisterous. It’s soooooooo Fred.

Ashley Barlow can do nothing. She’s there to count a pin or render a submission decision. That’s it. Maybe if someone is crippled, she calls for the match. Or maybe not. These two probably signed waivers. Well, Paxton did. Do you think Fred Dick has the capacity? Don’t answer that. Fred is climbing onto the ring apron, ragged, haggard breaths pushing from his frame. And then, he starts climbing the top rope. To the top. And once there, he points both his fists skyward. Not only does the muffin top get exposed, but so does the cheetah print thong. Oh no. Oh no no no. This is so damn Macho.

And he’s about to come crashing down from here in a body splash.

Self preservation?

Who needs THAT shit?

The crowd screams.

Richard Parker and Nick Stuart are freaking out.

Lives flash before people’s eyes.

Fred Dick is dropping. It can’t be stopped. Nothing to prevent it. It’s like a trapped diarrhea on its way to release. And Paxton Ray, he’s too busy grabbing at his knees to do anything about it.

The crowd screams EVEN more.

Oh God.

OH GOD!

No…not God. He has abandoned us.

OH.

MY.

HOYT!

Makeshift.

Lafayette.

Lullabye.

It’s like a Dragon Punch. A very sloppy, dangerous, rising from the ashes Dragon Punch. And when it connects, Paxton Ray is back on the ground, grabbing at his knees. But Fred Dick? He dead.

No I say you he fuckin DEAD.

Paxton Ray pushes up off the Warchamber, punching at the top of his thighs, yelling at his own legs to work. His fingers worm through the mullet of The Shidman, rolling him back into the ring. Gingerly, he follows behind, and once he does, he hooks the near leg.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Paxton smashes his palm into the canvas. Then, he smashes a palm into the face of Fred Dick. And another. And another. And then he tries to again.

Uh oh.

FRED DICK GRABS A DESPERATION ARMBAR!

OH YES HE DOES!

Actually, no he doesn’t. He grabs the arm, and with as much power and weight as he has, he yanks Paxton to the canvas with him, putting him in position LIKE he’s going to go for an armbar. But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he gets up on wobbly legs, and then drops himself, ass first, into the face of Paxton Ray. Blood cascades all over the face of The Shidman. He sticks his tongue out. It one hand, he grabs the near leg. With the other, he makes a V. The tongue goes through.

You know what That means.

ONE.

TWO.

NO!

Both men fall over, and in the race to get to their feet, it’s Paxton Ray, throwing out a heavy boot, that connects with Fred Dick. The Street Cat tries to pick himself up, but he falls back over, giving Paxton a chance to grab hold of him, pulling him up by the mullet, and knocks him back down with a brutal lariat, blood flying off of his opponent as he hits him with the fastball. The Shidman lies on the canvas, but is greeted with a heavy elbow drop from the Murder Gator. Then another. And another. Trio. No pinfall. Instead, Paxton grabs at his own face, and then, both his knees. He can feel the lactic acid building up inside them. Stretched ligaments. Torn? Hard to say. But he’s operating on Swamp Instinct right now, and as PRIME’s resident Swamp Thing, well, he’s got things to do. Like keep the attack up. Front chancery grabbing Fred Dick off the canvas.

There is a struggle in the lift.

The Street Cat isn’t up long.

He doesn’t need to be.

Brain. Buster.

Sharp.

Direct.

To the point.

Eerily reminiscent, in its velocity, to one in which you have to dig deep to find video evidence of nearly two years later.

Is there a cover?

No…because Paxton Ray is unraveling the chain around his hand, letting it slowly dangle downward. Standing over the lump of Shid in the ring, he staggers about it, then, thrusts the chain down across the body of Dick. Again. And again. He rips one of Dick’s legs up from the canvas, stomping a mudhole into his inner thigh. Then, he’s back to grabbing his own knee, right before throwing the chain into the face of Fred Dick, and dropping the elbow.

Cover.

ONE.

TWO!

THR–EENOOOOOOOOO!

Barlow throws her hands out for the indication. Paxton is smeared with blood. Not his own. Fred’s. And Fred, his arms are trying to reach out in vain. His lungs fill with fire. Recovering from the Tag League Final not even 24 hours before is difficult. However, he is trying. Trying so desperately. Paxton rises, grabbing the chain, and whipping it into the body of Fred Dick. Again and again. Brutal. Savage. He’s pouring sweat. His exuding ferocity. And Fred Dick? A smile through the thick marinara covering his face, evident with the color of his teeth. For a moment, before they too are covered.

Smile all you like.

The chain is coming from them chompers.

Can you hear it at home? The calls to stop this? To put an end to it? Fred Dick is too busy laughing, flipping Paxton off, all as he eats the blows.

Another.

“HEEEEY LUK AT ME–

Another.

“–ERRBODY I’M–”

ANOTHER.

“–BOUT TA KOOOOOOM OUTTA MY–”

Oh no you don’t. Blue balls. Because Paxton Ray drives the heel of his boot into the nutsack of Fred Dick, and grinds. And grinds and grinds. Coffee grinds. Folgers Coffee. Like Reality is coming in and laughing, saying yes, Fred, you’re done. You’re dying in this motherfucker. And there’s no escape. Where’s STRONK? Where’s Harley (he’s a corpse). Where’s Daytona? Even if they were here, they can’t help him. All he has is himself (pissing blood), his balls (crushed), and his word (shid). Not a lot out there in the world. It sucks. But it’s deserved.

Paxton Ray, for his part, seems to not take pleasure in what he is doing. Sweat from his brow. He is breathing heavy too, because he is throwing clusterbombs and trying to absolutely eradicate his opponent. No more. Let the fat fuck rise up himself. Let him do the work. He staggers back to the ropes. Wipes the sweat away. Watches as Fred Dick rises from the canvas as though he’s a character from Punch Out, legs betwixt. Rope swing. Charge forward, as best as he can.

oooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOffffffff

Fred Dick WAILS Paxton across the face not with a chain assisted punch, but a chain assisted power slap. And now, it’s Fred’s turn to whip the body of Paxton Ray viciously, violently, throwing the chain across his body, over and over and over again. BLOOOOOOOOD MODE! Fred grabs Paxton, forcing him to the ring apron, and then throttles him across the chest with a big meaty ass kicking paw across the chest. Big hand print. Ripping at the muscle shirt of Paxton Ray. A headbutt sends Paxton to the outside. And Fred, he collapses onto his ass, then rolls out of the ring. The Murder Gator tries to fight back, but the Shidman tomahawk chops him across the head. Then, he drags him over and pushes Paxton into the Warchamber.

Forces him into it with a whip.

Paxton wails, his body caught in the barbwire. But Fred, he isn’t done. No, he tries to grab Ray by the head, forcing him into the Warchamber. No avail. The Murder Gator braces against it. No matter. Headbutt to the back of the dome. A thrust of the hip against his back to force him into the cage. And then, The Street Cat grabs onto the left arm of Paxton Ray, and forces his shoulder and bicep into the Warchamber and the barbwire.

Not just force it. There is no sticking.

No, Fred Dick is SCOURING the shoulder and bicep against the barbwire. Left arm. Left. The tattoo. Nora. Blood flowing as the barbs cut into the flesh over the tattoo of his daughter’s name. He yells. He roars. And then, he realizes. He fights with his arm, to get it free, but The King of Wrong Style is using the cage like it’s a goddamn cheese grater. And that’s it. That’s enough. Paxton wrests his arm free, and throws the heaviest elbow he’s ever thrown into the face of Fred Dick. The blow is a nuke. Does the Shidman see stars? No. He’d have to be conscious to do that. What we call what that was was an Omalu.

Because that shit just full on distilled CTE.

Paxton struggles, hands reaching for his arm, sliced up as it is. He grabs for it with his hand, and then, realizing the damage, rolls back into the ring. Grabbing at the arm. Trying to stop the bleeding. He pulls his own shirt off, wrapping it around the wounds as best as he can before tying a knot inside. Fred Dick is rising, a shambling, brain dead zombie (his usual state sort of, but a lot worse off, if that makes sense), reaching for the ropes, rising from the apron.

Paxton charges on hobbled legs and lets off a guttural roar of rage.

Big boot.

Fred Dick Nestea plunges to the outside in a pathetic thud.

Tangled in the ropes, Paxton Ray looks outward, his eyes transfixed on The Street Cat. His knees scream in pain. His flesh burns. The longer he is inside this nightmare structure, the worse this becomes. He wants to end this now. To be done with it. He leaves the ring, grabbing hold of Fred, trying his damnedest to get him back up. A sack of heavy shit. Dude has nothing. His body is literal dead weight. But the Murder Gator exerts himself, fighting his best to get the Whoresman back into the ring. To deal the final blow.

And once inside, he clobbers Fred with a Discus Elbow. He lifts Dick onto his shoulders.

Lafayette Lullabye.

Done.

Over.

Goodnight Seattle.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Except…

Fred Dick slinked off of Paxton’s shoulders, landing behind him. Chop block. Desperation chop block. The clip of the knee drops the Murder Gator. Ol’ Joe’s Plunger puts him face down on the canvas. Brutal. The shot connects, not the rubber, but the wood, dinging off Paxton’s skull. Ray turtles, but Fred Dick kicks the arms away, dropping to his own knees, pushing the plunger into the face of the Murder Gator.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Barbwire plunger.

This one is one hell of a plug. Lots of shid down there. Need to use some elbow grease.

Fred Dick works the plunger on Paxton’s face as though it is his chosen vocation. And as silly as the very concept is, the visual is anything but. It’s horrific. It’s vicious. It’s disgusting. Barbwire, razor sharp, up and down, forced into a man’s face. Paxton Ray now his own matching facial wounds. What a wonderful day in Seattle.

This is how Hepatitis spreads.

KISS THE RING

There is no give in how Fred Dick E. Honda ass drops onto the face of Paxton Ray. He just grabs the legs, pulling back.

ONE

TWO

THREEEE—

NO!

Paxton is still alive.

There is a rumble in the crowd. This sheer display of carnage and personal violence. Fred Dick peels himself off the ground, and as he does, Paxton Ray slowly follows with him. They stare each other down. We all know where this is going, right? Showdown at the OK Corral. Maybe a stand off of fists and then slaps.

Fuck off.

This is Warchamber.

Kill everything that moves.

The two charge forward, heads colliding. Then again. And again. Like a pair of rams, fighting over territory. Another blow. AND ANOTHER. Fred Dick tries to get away, but Paxton, he won’t let him. Another headbutt causes him to wilt. Discus Elbow.

Oh SHID!

LAFAYETTE LULLABYE!

There is no pin.

Instead, Fred Dick flops to the outside of the ring.

Paxton Ray tries to prevent it, but is too late. And he looks out, his face melting into that of exasperation.

He’s trying. With everything he has, he is trying. He lifts himself up by the ropes, then steps through. Fingers tangling in the mullet of Dick, he rolls him back in the ring. Then, he sees it. Ol’ Joe’s Plunger. It was good enough for him.

It would be good enough for Fred Dick.

Slowly but surely, Paxton rises to the ring apron. He then begins to ascend the top turnbuckle, the plunger in hand. He is going to flush this goddamn disgusting fucking turd. He is going to bury him in Hell. He is going to destroy him. He leaps, ready to drive the barbwire plunger in the face of The Shidman.

NO SOUL’D

And then…

GOB OF CHAIN THROWN RIGHT IN PAXTON’S FACE!

The Murder Gator crumbles from the fastball hitting him in the face, and Fred Dick tries his best to get up from the blow. He’s like a turtle on its shell. Struggling. Desperate. So desperate. He stumbles on the rise, grabbing onto the leg of Paxton Ray.

ONE

TWO

THREE

THREE?!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Oh THAT does it! BLOOD MODE for a third time! A last burst. Fred Dick rises, slamming tomahawk chops into the crotch of Paxton Ray, over and over, over and over, vicious, grunting, until he has nothing left to give. Until he collapses, driving his head forward, and in the process, after near heart attack, manages to hook Paxton’s leg.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Vince Howard: The winner of WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARCHAMBER…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Vince Howard: FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Vince Howard: DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!

Nick Stuart: Good lord almighty! We thought the Ultraviolence Cage was awful…good God. Good lord!

Richard Parker: That was…ehhhhhhhhhh…please let’s only do this once a year. Please. That was…

Paxton Ray grabs at himself, trying like hell to get up, to keep fighting. Fred Dick just lays on the canvas, practically dead. A corpse.

The only thing preventing Paxton from going forward is Ashley Barlow, her arms outstretched.

The Murder Gator struggles to the ropes, looking down at the man who managed to pin him. He struggles with it, before bursting forward and blowing both of his bloody nostril out all over the prone and very much decomposing Fred Dick, who has spent the very last bit of his energy in pinning Ray.

The structure rises to the Heavens.

May it stay away forever.

Nick Stuart: These men have given everything they’ve got, and now it’s finally over.

Hey Nick, remember like two years ago when you said something about Jon Rhine and Paxton Ray being an amazingly cohesive tag team seconds before Paxton paralyzed Rhine?

You have got to stop telegraphing this shit, Stuart.

Paxton uses his bloody fists to push himself up to his knees, and when he stares at the body of Fred Dick, it isn’t with exhausted, defeated eyes, but with angry, determined eyes.

The OG Mama Dick’s Baby Boy can’t move much before Paxton pounces, attacking him with right and left fists.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on, Paxton! It’s over! Let him go!

Richard Parker: GET OFF OF MY SWEET BOY!

Paxton is like a caged animal at this point, fitting because of where they are but definitely atypical because of how much damage both men have taken. But it seems Paxton has his second wind after the bell, and he’s using it to hurt Fred.

He lifts him up, a feat within itself, and slams him with a quick Lafayette Lullaby. But he catches Dick before he slumps, then shouts something. The people closest to the ring can hear it. And even though those watching on TV can’t, the news will travel quickly on exactly what Paxton said.

“You’re never walkin’ again.”

Nick notices first.

Nick Stuart: Is he trying to get him up for…?

Richard Parker: This is insane! Ashley, do something!

She is, of course. But all she can really do is yell and point as Paxton lifts Fred up into the air. The brainbuster.

It’s how Dustin Callais lost his ability to walk. It’s how Jonathan Rhine was retired from wrestling. And now, Paxton Ray is about to paralyze another man two years to the month, at the same supershow.

He holds him up, snarling, waiting for Fred to stop kicking so he can deliver the blow. The fans are making noise, but it has started to die down in fear, anticipation, sadness, everything.

Nick Stuart: I am not Fred Dick’s biggest fan, but don’t do this, Pax! You’ve come so far! Don’t end another career!

Paxton didn’t hear Nick, of course. But something changes before the crunch comes.

Paxton’s snarl starts to fade. He looks around him, slowly, while still holding Fred. And after a moment, he closes his eyes.

And he sets Fred down on the ground.

Nick Stuart: Thank god.

Paxton rolls out of the ring, exits the Warchamber, and walks up the ramp, turning around at the top to look back in the ring. As he does so, Fred gets to his feet, his hands instinctively going to his neck.

Paxton looks at him and nods. It isn’t a nod of respect, but one of acknowledgement. “I could’ve done it.”

Fred nods too. “Yep,” it says. “I know.”

Nick Stuart: Hold on just a second! We have someone who slipped into the ring!?

Richard Parker: SECURITY! SECURITY! There will be no free time on this sho-

Suddenly, Richard Parker realizes who it is.

Richard Parker: Oh, joy!

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

So does the entire stadium.

Vickie Hall.

Vince stands dead center in the middle of the ring, wearing a very dull looking PRETTY PINK© outfit. In fact, it’s not so PRETTY PINK©. It’s not sparkly, it doesn’t stand out like her typical attire. And she didn’t even come down to ringside with a drastic, over-the-top entrance.

Nick Stuart: Something is up here.

Vickie has a mic in her hand as she looks over the bleachers from all angles.

Nick Stuart: I’m not even sure how she got down. I never saw her walk the rampway.

Richard Parker: She’s so tiny and cute as a button, it would be hard to see her. Then again, she’s tiny and cute as a button, so the cuteness would be easy to spot.

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Vickie continues to stand there, as the crowd boos. Eventually, she raises the mic to her lips.

Vickie Hall: I-

More boos. Heavy and hard. In the past, Vickie never looked rattled. It’s almost as though she couldn’t even hear the boos. She most certainly couldn’t interpret them. Needless to say, however, tonight, in Seattle… in Lumen Field.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It’s not just because the noise stays in the building so well. It can’t be. Regardless, for whatever reason, she’s hearing the boos this time. Her facial expressions suggest it.

Perhaps Vickie should get to it.

Vickie Hall: I wanted to-

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Vickie Hall: I wanted to-

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Vickie Hall: (Powering through) I wanted to come out here and clear my name!

Upon finishing that sentence, the crowd’s jeers become a different, more specific chant.

CHEATER

CHEATER

CHEATER

This one REALLY rattles Vickie to her core. She’s shaking, trembling from head to toe. Is that a tear in her eyes?

Vickie Hall: My man, Jonathan-Christopher, hasn’t been thinking straight for some time, you see. After he lost the Universal Championship, he lost his mind, you see. He stopped talking to me, you see. He stopped showering me with hugs and kisses, you see. He stopped making love to me, you see.

Wrong comment to say, Vickie. The crowd is all over this one.

CHEATER!

CHEATER!

CHEATER!

The roar of the people, completely in their glory.

Richard Parker: Let the woman speak! Gosh golly!

Nick Stuart: You cannot be serious.

Vickie tries to walk around the canvas, hoping this will calm her down. It does not, however, calm down the fans.

Vickie Hall: I don’t know where Jonathan-Christopher found that footage, you see. It’s all scrambled and jumbled, you see. I tried watching it a bunch of times, you see. I am appalled to have been accused of something I would never do, you see! I don’t even know where this “event” happens, you see!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

There is no give in the crowd.

Vickie Hall: He thinks it’s in our bedroom, you see. He thinks it’s two people having sex, you see. One of them is me, you see. I don’t understand where he got that idea in his head, you see.

CHEATER

CHEATER

CHEATER

Vickie Hall: Okay! I admit it does sound like two people having sex and it looks like it might be in our master bedroom. I am going to find out who broke into our home and did this, okay!?

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

Vickie Hall: Stop it. Enough! I understand now. I have been a peach to Jonathan-Christopher forEVERRRRR! There is going to be hell to pay when I find out who-

The momentum of this crowd, and, again, likely Lumen Field plays a role in this, too. The CHEATING chant is unbearable! We are reaching Marshawn Lynch BEAST QUAKE touchdown run levels.

Vickie continues to be rattled. It’s clear the crowd has caught onto this and will not let up. Unfortunately for the PRETTY PINK© girl, she’s out there on her own without anyone else to help or make her realize she’s getting sucked in!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

Vickie Hall: Will you stop! I told you, I will get to the bottom of this and find out who ruined my Amazing Life Partner’s little brain-

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

CHEATER!!

Vickie’s face goes red. Army red. BEYOND army red. She marches over to the hard camera ring ropes and starts screaming.

Vickie Hall: WELL I WOULDN’T HAVE DONE IT IF I WAS MADE A PRIORITY!

The crowd is all “HOLY SHIT, WHATTTT???” as immediate regret smacks across Vickie’s face. She stumbles into the middle of the canvas again, and the crowd’s momentum is at its apex.

CHEATER!!!!

CHEATER!!!!

CHEATER!!!!

Nick Stuart: What the hell just happened!?

Richard Parker doesn’t say shit.

CHEATER!!!!

CHEATER!!!!

CHEATER!!!!

Vickie looks to her left, she looks to her right. She snarls.

Vickie Hall: YOU WANT ME GONE, HUH!? YOU WANT ME OUT OF PRIME FOREVER!?

It’s the only time the CHEATING chant stops, because it’s a monster YES! in reply.

Vickie Hall: I AM THE GOD DAMN FUCKING MANAGER OF THE YEAR MANAGER OF THE CENTURY THE ONE WHO MAKES THIS PLACE CLICK YOU’D MISS ME IF I’M GONE. I BRING THE MONEY THE EYES AND THE ATTENTION. I AM THE ONE WHO TOOK MY AMAZING LIFE PARTNER WHOM HAD ZERO WRESTLING EXPERIENCE AND MOLDED HIM INTO THE ALMASY TOURNAMENT WINNER AND THE MOST RECENT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION. I CREATED PRIME ITS NEXT MAIN EVENT STAR A MAN WHO WOULD SELL TICKETS IN NEW YORK, TEXAS, ENGLAND OR EVEN IN THIS SHIT HOLE OF SEATTLE.

Boos, obviously.

Vickie Hall: HE MAKES LINDSAY MONEY AND SO DO FUCKING I. YOU WANT ME GONE!? YOU WANT TO BULLY ME OUT OF HERE? I AM THE INNOCENT PARTY. ALL OF YOU RUINED ME. ALL OF YOU PUSHED ME TO THE BRINK OF A MENTAL HEALTH DISASTER, MY TRAUMA RESPONSE AND CAPPED OFF BY MY MAN NOT HAVING TIME FOR ME ANYMORE! I WAS GASLIT! I WAS TRIGGERED BY THE NARCISSISM IN MY LIFE!

Drool dribbles out of Vickie’s mouth, her eyes as wide as ever, while the CHEATING chants pick back up.

Vickie Hall: YOU WANT ME GONE!?

YES!

Vickie stops, lowers her head and suddenly regains a sense of calmness to her approach.

Vickie Hall: Okay. I will never step foot in PRIME again.

Shock and awe, followed by the only time Vickie Hall has ever received a cheer!

Vickie Hall: Mark my words, I will never come back.

She drops the mic, exits the ring and lowers her head as she marches up the rampway.

Richard Parker: NO! Vickie, no! Comeback! We need you!!

Nick Stuart: No we don’t. Let her go.

Vickie’s never moved so fast in her life! Admitting to cheating, breaking down about it… she’s already gone behind the curtain.

Nick Stuart: Not only was this the shortest segment Vickie’s ever been a part of, it’s the first time she showed vulnerability. And to think it’s the last time we will ever see her? This might be one of the best moments in my PRIME broadcasting career!

Richard Parker: Don’t you dare say that!

Nick Stuart: Just did. And once Coral puts Jiles in the ground, this might go down as the most historic show (tries to sound like Vickie here) EVERRRR!

Richard Parker: Okay, THAT I can agree with.

ReVival goes elsewhere, after the crowd is given a little more time to celebrate amongst themselves.

The CHEATER is gone forever.

And we move on.

The Crumbotron comes to life…

The Pinnacle of All Crumbs

Richard Parker: Not this shit again! Fuck this. Wake me up when it’s over.

Text begins to slowly scroll upwards, and an instrumental version of “My Way” by Frank Sinatra starts to play. Soon thereafter Lindsay Troy’s voice, AI generated most likely, starts to read along.

Nova
ReVival 3 and 18

No one thought Cancer Jiles was going to defeat Nova in the second round of the inaugural Almasy Invitational– let alone for Nova’s GOLDEN TICKET, let alone in the MAIN EVENT. Yet, fate has a funny way of messing with people’s plans, and Cancer Jiles would go on to pull off the upset of the tournament. However, this would not be the last time these two would face off, and you might say the stakes were even juicier for their second encounter. They were back in the MAIN EVENT, Jiles was the UNIVERSAL Champion, and the first challenger to his throne was Nova. Sadly, for PRIME and its fabled star, it was not meant to be and the road to COOLOSSUS was paved in PRIMEate tears.

Flamberge
ReVival 10

When Cancer Jiles stood across the ring from Flamberge in the MAIN EVENT of ReVival 10, the COOLYMPIAN was coming off of back to back losses to the then Universal Champion, Brandon Youngblood. In other words, King COOL needed a win. The Young Frenchman proved to be quite the croissant, and pushed Jiles to his absolute limit. However, in the end, it was force fed Foot Saltimbocca for Flamberge, and a desperately needed win for Mr. Night Two.

Julian Bathory
UltraViolence 2022

There were supposed to be three, but then two decided that three was one too many. Thus, Phil Atken was removed, and an enemy was made. The UltraViolence MAIN EVENT was more about survival than anything else. Survival, because of what losing meant. After all, to have done what Julian Bathory and Cancer Jiles had done and not win, not become the UNIVERSAL CHAMPION, well it certainly wasn’t worth looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.

Nate Colton
ReVival 36

It was Jiles’ long awaited return to the MAIN EVENT, and of course it was against Nate Colton. Not only that, it was Round One of the Second Annual Almasy Invitational, and it was for Jiles’ GOLDEN TICKET. Up until then, Nate had been two steps ahead of the COOLYMPIAN, getting the better of him on multiple occasions. However, that night things were different. That night, unlike those other nights, Jiles had something he didn’t have before. A rabbit’s foot the size of a forehead.

The Anglo Luchador
ReVival 42

The Anglo Luchador and Cancer Jiles tore the literal house down in their MAIN EVENT matchup to see whose block would reign supreme. In this battle of hometown favorites the two would go on to destroy heirlooms, artifacts, an entire vending area, literal walls, and everything else in between. The Wells Fargo Center had seen its fair share of chaos over the years, but nothing ever like this.

Ivan Stanislav
ReVival 54

There was no love lost when Ivan Stanislav and Cancer Jiles squared off in the MAIN EVENT of ReVival 54. Redemption and revenge were both on the line in this rematch between the last two Heels of the Year, and only one would be walking out with both. It was a ferocious battle between the two that saw its fair share of ups and downs, but in the end, with a little help from his friends, King COOL slayed the Russian Bear and proved that yolk mixed with salt is thicker than crumbs mixed with vodka.

Coral Avalon
UltraViolence 2024

Stay.

Tuned.

From the ramblings of Vickie Hall, we arrive to a wide shot inside Lumen Field, the fans buzzing in anticipation, knowing what is next. Suddenly, the stadium lights dim, a loud cheer erupting from the crowd. Out of the blackness, the PRIMEview comes alive, the PRIME logo displayed prominently. It fades, the opening tones of “Rivalry” by Colin O’Malley beginning to play. With a lashing strike of blue, words fill the screen.

THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP
THE PINNACLE OF ALL SPORTS

Descending, a lone spotlight shines upon a table of velvet. Stood up for prominence is the PRIME Universal Championship belt, polished and shined. As the music continues, its contours and plates are scanned with care. Every detail is magnificent. The tension of sound rises, and with it, the camera pulls away from the majestic championship. The scene abruptly cuts to black.

And with the rising dramatic percussion, the still shots. Subtle movements slowly focusing upon the figures as they appear for a few moments, their achievement marked in text in convenient spaces.

The inaugural Universal Champion and final Global Champion. The bridge between the eras, cemented at King of Kings 2. He stands an enigma, a seeming average man in build, but what he lacks in impressive physique he makes up for in mystery. One championship belt for each trench coated shoulder. His eyes are focused and evident through the white mask absconding his identity.

1st Champion
BLACK ANGEL

A titan of muscle, massive in stature not just physically, but for his time in the sport. A once hero, now, he is a betrayer, joining the Dark Age. There is no sense of shame with his smirking expression.

2nd Champion
BODA

A whirlwind of color, a form of taut muscle and artistic expression. She stands stoic, the championship belt over her shoulder. Does she care? Only she knows. Her moment has arrived, seemingly unstoppable, one of the greatest beginnings to a PRIME career of anyone. The Vanguard of the Golden Age. A trendsetter.

3rd Champion
KARINA WOLFENDEN

Behind crimson glasses protecting his eyes, a seminal figure. Chiseled from granite, his tattoos prominent, if ever a man stood as The Supreme Machine, it is he. The ender of the K-Wolf’s era before it even started. Later, the hand chosen by Tyler Nelson to put an end to a Universal charade. When one speaks of PRIME, his name is one of the first to come.

4th, 8th Champion
KILLEAN SIRRAJIN

The winds behind him sweep about, blowing his majestic hair with perfect photogenic bravado. The only true Son of God. His appearance has not changed, even today, proving his parentage. The Last Judgment features prominently on his tights. Chicago’s favored son, the roar his mere visage elicits is one of the loudest of the night. Under his hand, you shall be crucified and saved.

5th Champion
HOYT WILLIAMS

Before him were titans in stature, but in their place comes one in sheer brutality. His fists and forearms are taped for battle, his muscle built for performance and savagery. Inhuman. A wrecking ball in human form. From nowhere, he arrives at this pinnacle, only to be knocked from it in the greatest upset in the history of PRIME. He will regain it from one of his greatest rivals, The Supreme Machine on the biggest stage. Years later, he returns from the sidelines, managing to defy expectations to put a temporary halt to The Murder Show. Rushmore features him prominently. He stands as one of the truest of greats.

6th, 9th, 21st Champion
TCHU/MATT WARD

A goofy wire of man. The most unassuming of all. So long of a shot, his chance comes in the middle of Revolution, a clear expectation of how easy he shall be steamrolled. A Christmas Miracle. Perpetually silly, the joke is not only the Inhuman Being, but also, all those who thought so little of him.

7th Champion
CLYDE WALKINS

Born from the stars, beloved by all, charismatic, amongst the most skilled the sport has ever seen. He has returned from injury to claim his rightful place, but failure is all that meets him. In this moment, the drums of war sound, the very foundation of PRIME under threat from Machavallian forces. The star rises and turns his back on the fans and people who believed in him, joining the ranks of the devils who claim him to be their friend. Clean shaven, burned by the light. He fights off a record number of challengers. He is where the balance of PRIME rests.

10th Champion
NOVA

The balance of power shifts. Her face, her essence, are intrinsically linked with PRIME, but in this moment, she is an assumed outsider. This moment changes not only her place in the company, but in her life. Home. The ultimate trendsetter. The Queen of the Ring becomes The Final Boss twice over. Her spot amongst the very greats is without question. In this building, she was the one to close out the prior era. Without her, where we stand today isn’t possible.

11th, 13th Champion
LINDSAY TROY

The rival to the Queen. Scum looks down upon him. A betrayer of friendship, of allegiance, all for self service. So many times, he fell, unable to answer the challenge, and in doing so, all rejoiced. Driven mad, Ahab manages to rise in his final stand, capturing his illustrious white whale.

12th Champion
SONNY SILVER

Mismatched eyes, lacerating fingernails, and diminutive stature. In one night, she nearly conquers the Halo. In her next match, she manages to usurp the Queen. Scary and unknowable, a chameleon who can assume the identity of any she chooses. She lacks her own agency and identity, yet here, for a time, she can claim the Universal Championship as her own.

14th Champion
COZEN

The Man in Black hides his pieces and scars under a dress shirt and slacks. A mess of black hair falls along the sides of his face. Many claim him to be emo, but they will come to know him as the ruiner, death incarnate. His war against PRIME will eventually lead to its closure. Even here, with a painted black middle finger, his detestment of PRIME is evident.

15th Champion
DEVIN SHAKUR

Charisma personified. In truth, his arrival to this pinnacle has been foreseen for ages. His potential is limitless, yet in critical moments, he falters. Until here. Until now. Until he realizes the promise after years of toil made to look like a designer accessory. His presence is legendary. A hero to so many. Brash and arrogant to others. Regardless, he is can’t miss, must see, and unforgettable. His reign, to this point, lasts longer than all others before.

16th Champion
CHANDLER TSONDA

The Unbeatable. The Unconquerable. Awoken from dream, The Original Villain stops fighting with mere bits of his true skill and strength. The path he cuts lasts over a year, and in its wake, promising careers, legendary challenges, and destinies all fall under his heel. Gone, but never forgotten. Though some draw close, he walks away into the annals of history never having lost the most prestigious prize in the sport.

17th Champion
JASON SNOW

From the distance, from the ether, his face painted with black, the oddest of sorts, his skin pale, he returns. The Intense Championship is marked as his in all of lore, but after conquering the Halo, he soon after fulfills an impossible destiny, capping off a Hall of Fame career with the final piece it lacked.

18th Champion
VANGELUS OLSIG

Hollywood beckons. A silver screen savant, he brings with him pomp, circumstance, and a director’s vision. An outsider who rises.

19th Champion
CASTOR V. STRIFE

The monster incarnate. The Murder Show. Burly, powerful, a viking from a long forgotten age who has spent an age in PRIME without realizing the fullness of his potential. It is remembering what it is to be dominant that he ascends to his throne, leaving behind a wake of broken bodies and dreams. For a time, the lineage ends with brutality under his knuckles. The oppressive, uncompromising final champion of the Revolution.

20th, 22nd Champion
HESSIAN

The spear of the ReVival comes from the Revolution. Before this moment, he is considered the greatest to never win ‘the big one’. After over a decade away, the Tower of Babel rises, removing all doubt, finally taking his place amongst the true greats, perhaps marking himself as greater than all. For others in this era, this prize is transient. For him? They are one.

23rd, 29th Champion
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD

A life’s work. Destroy the past and present and burn it all away so the future can rise. The Humble Proprietor has spent his life as an afterthought, cast aside, treated less than human despite his love of the sport he has dedicated his life to. Their cackles and machinations forge an intensity fitting for a monster. The threat. The killer. Robbed of the result of it all. Even in the distance, his name brings chills to the air.

24th Champion
PHIL ATKEN

Lights, camera, pucker and kiss. The Anti-Christ. Under t-shades and salt shoes, he brings with him an apocalypse in tracksuit and baby blue. Despised and thought little of, the ultimate cockroach doesn’t just survive but thrive. His threats carry weight because he makes good on his promise. Nobody on this list has a hope of ever being this COOL.

25th Champion
CANCER JILES

The Event Horizon, the future, all of the ReVival’s promise and dreams comes in his chiseled form. His reverence to PRIME’s past is known, but he makes his own history, taking the Universal Championship for his own and under the most dire of circumstances. He stumbles, but in Hell, he overcomes not only the yang to his ying, but the oppressive boot of the Soviet state.

26th, 28th Champion
HAYES HANLON

Punk rock in all forms, a fighter through and through. He doesn’t care about the championship, just what it brings to him in the ring. The greater fights. The ability to test his penchant for destruction. He snuffed out the promise of the horizon in his void. A goat kick to the head. A free spirit for rebellion against the norms.

27th Champion
REZIN 

Some would call him a relic of a begotten age, a frozen monstrosity thawed and set upon the world to maul and reign under a banner, an ethos that demands both domination and subjugation. An ageless goliath, The Russian Bear returns to the field of professional wrestling battle after over a decade in seclusion. And in his wake? Utter carnage. A warrior from the old age set upon the present and future, not only striding, but surmounting all.

30th Champion
IVAN STANISLAV

Few can claim to be worthy of being phenoms in the new era of PRIME, yet the pillars of such are rarefied. But for the French Super Athlete, The Neck Collector, the Lizard King, he stands not only above, but perhaps beyond all. His arrival to this place is the culmination of an undefeated year. A winning streak unmatched by ALL before him. He is the weapon promised, the embodiment of The Humble Proprietor’s vision. A puzzle perhaps unsolvable.

31st Champion
FLAMBERGE

From oblivion he rises, as if from a waking coma. Drenched with guilt, self made, self perpetuated. Look upon the clown who makes those laugh, yet do not notice his weight, his tears. Ascend from the murk and stand ready, violently so, in the face of so many oppressors. Black Sheep never again.

32nd Champion
JARED SYKES

The ultimate simp. Seemingly helpless. But powered by his love and his dedication to his Amazing Life Partner, he perseveres, and does what most think is nigh impossible for someone of his ability level. He finishes the story, and now, we live in an epilogue dictated from his success.

33rd Champion
JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL

The Crownless King. A wrestling nomad. Across near every continent, he has fought with his all, governed by an unyielding love of the sport of professional wrestling. His role was ordained to be The Never Was, the fountain of knowledge, the bridge to the future. Not marketable. Taken for granted. Yet bitterness never seeps in, never taints his drive and passion. In this, the final year of his quest, he does what some think he could not do…something many others believed he always had capacity to achieve. The crown achieved. Now, The King of Conquerors.

34th Champion
CORAL AVALON

With the final image fading away and the song having reached its crescendo, a final shot of the Universal Championship upon its velvet table is shown. And then, we cut to black.

A rich history of greatness.

The 2023 Feud of the Year is but an appetizer. The engine behind all that transpired for the two men about to fight for THIS prize. A year in the making.

Does the Universal Championship once against stand upon COOLYMPUS?

Or does the King of Conquerors slay the challenge before him, truly commanding the carton once and for all?

The crowd are settling back down from their purchases of beverages and their opportunities to both pee and poop, because it is now time for the main event and this is a match that the entire Seattle crowd at Lumen Field have come to see with their precious eyes and eye holes. As the lights start to dim and everyone sits, a wave of boos already start to roll through Lumen Field, as the crowd cuts to a special section at ringside.

What section, you ask?

Why The Bandit Section of course.

All your favourite Bandits from years gone by are waving to the rather displeased Seattle crowd from their ringside chairs.

Nick Stuart: One year ago, these men were the lumberjacks that took Coral Avalon away and turned him into a Bandit.

Richard Parker: This is absurd! Do we have some sort of agreement with the Bandits that they get one pay day a year at Ultraviolence? I mean, look at that mob – RICK, what appears to be another Max Kael somehow, Chris Chickentenders… Zeb Martin? I assume Doozer is there too but it’s hard to see. I was informed he’s something of a mascot for this match.

The crowd’s demeanor picks up a bit as the cameras are now pointed at supporters of Coral Avalon in this Bandit Battle – his wife Annabelle, and long term ally, Franco. The Seattle crowd hoots and hollers in support of this, but sadly, to hoot and to holler is only for the briefest of times, it fades away like a vision in the night, for there is more bullshit afoot.

Nick Stuart: That’s family right there for Coral Avalon and you know that will give him strength. One year ago, Coral entered his match with Cancer Jiles with nagging injuries but tried to fight through. One year later, he enters this stadium as Universal Champion, with the support of his adopted hometown, with his wife at ringside. This is going to be an emotional night.

Richard Parker: He’s still a Bandit though, so… I guess I can say I hope he dies last?

Nick Stuart: Standing across from Coral Avalon and his desire to right the wrongs of one year ago stands Cancer Jiles. The former Universal Champion has been on a big time heater as he steps into Ultraviolence, the very same show that previously brought Jiles to the summit of Mt. PRIME. Cancer Jiles has somehow, some way managed to stand victorious against PRIME’s biggest names. This is not an aloof Cancer Jiles, this is a man who will enter this match with a plan and do everything in his power to enact it… and that plan starts before the match even begins…

Nick Stuart can be heard deeply sighing as he utters his next words.

Nick Stuart: And it’s not just our guests at ringside who are showing their Bandit pride one year after Coral Avalon and Cancer Jiles went to war in a Bandit Lumberjack match, we also have additional Bandits as colleagues. Vince Howard will explain more.

Vince Howard steps into the ring, trying to overcome the crowd jeering at the Bandits of years gone by. Perhaps they would not usually be as annoyed and perturbed by Bandits existing, but Coral was their adopted boy, and this was supposed to be a normal match. It was quickly turning into every but.

For Cancer Jiles is a liar.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I would like to introduce you to the special guest co-timekeepers for tonight’s main event – representing The eGG Bandits… Tony Gamble and Bobby Dean!

The camera cuts to Tony and Bobby holding up the ring bell hammer in unison, as the crowd makes annoyed murmuring noises. The two of them look back and realise there is only one stool for them to share. Tony Gamble immediately has a look of regret in his eyes but there’s no time to dwell on the little fellas sure to be doomed in the future, because it’s time for the law of the match to arrive.

“Put ‘Em in the Grave” by Jedi Mind Tricks helps get the crowd back on side as it mark’s the arrival of the big boss of PRIME, and the referee for this evening’s contest, Lindsay Troy.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy clearly had a sense that this match would be anything but normal and has decided it is her role to maintain order this evening.

Richard Parker: But is she doing so as a Bandit? Or at the very least being Bandit-adjacent? Look, I just need to see a Bandit Hierarchy Chart so I know who I should be mad at in this match. I think it’s everyone and everything but I just want to be sure my rage is moral and just.

Referee is dressed in the finest referee attire that money can buy, but it’s still just referee attire and it’s hard to do anything too fancy with that, because the stripes are too wide and that’s just a fashion no-no. It’s doubtful that Lindsay Troy is having any of these thoughts as she strides purposefully to the ring with the support of Seattle to her back. She does a loop around ringside, mostly to roll her eyes at Tony Gamble and Bobby Dean in the timekeeper’s stool. Tony smiles back at Troy and waves, Bobby does much notice, too occupied with picking donut crumbs out of his flaps. That’s enough for Troy on this occasion, and she enters the ring, with serious intent in her eyes and an aura that screams “any bullshit shenaniganary and I will murder your entire family line”.

Nick Stuart: I think Lindsay Troy is determined to the best of her ability to keep this match on the up and up.

Richard Parker: There are so many people out here right now that I can’t even keep track of what’s what, and that’s before the two competitors get out here. I should have known we were judging “normal” on the Cancer Jiles scale.

The lights slowly draw to pitch. An unnerving chill makes its way through the air. Smoke billows at the top of the ramp. Up on the Crumbotron a video begins to play featuring ALL of the times Cancer Jiles has superkicked Coral Avalon. It’s quite the video package, featuring multiple angles of all the righteous kicks and silly grins that followed them.

BOOOOO!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: I got to imagine that Jiles is going to feed off of this crowd just as much as Coral will.

Richard Parker: Jiles is a crumb. He lives for this type of shit. To silence the masses might be a better reward for him than winning the Universal Championship. That’s how much of a low-life-loser he is.

The lights remain drawn. The chill intensifies. The smoke stops. The superkick serenade continues to loop. Then, a spotlight clangs to life and illuminates the top of the entrance ramp.

Nick Stuart: Someone is taking their time.

Richard Parker: I bet he’s puking backstage because he’s so nervous.

Nick Stuart: How much?

Richard Parker: Zero.

The most Night Two electric guitar riff that there is reverberates through both time and space.

BOOOO!!!!!

Then, Screamin’ Jay starts hitting his notes.

“I’m the one your mama warned you about”
“When you see me, I will leave you no doubt”
“I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth”
“I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth…”

Dirty Dick Parker begins to hyperventilate into a brown paper bag. Out from the back steps The Greek God of COOL. His hair simmers, his boots sprinkle with salt, and his T-shades blot out the blinding light shining down upon him. Oh, and yeah, that’s Coral’s cartoonish face on his funeral-black tights.

To go along with the Universal Championship on his crotch.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!

An intense, scorching, volcanic, hell-fire volley of pyrotechnics illuminates Coral’s adopted hometown.

“…I AM THE COOL!”

The COOLYMPIAN stands at the top, inside the spotlight, gyrating away without a care in the world. Then, he casually removes his T-shades and tosses them up above his head to the monster standing behind him.

Nick Stuart: I hate that I’m getting used to seeing them together.

Dirty Dick blows out the bottom of his brown paper bag like Bobby Dean blowing out the seat of his pants after a long brunch.

Richard Parker: Truer words!

Hessian walks along just far enough to be out of the way as Jiles spews a violent burst of his venomous COOLYMPIAN YOLJK into the air. The challenger then slowly starts to make his way down to the ring with yellow-mist dripping from his chin. Of course, because he is the way that he is, he manages to find the one Messiah fan sitting ringside and chastises the shit out of him.

Figurative.

The fan is not J-Bizzle.

Unencumbered by what has been, Jiles moves along towards the ring. He breezes by Belle and Franco, and even Dirty Dick.

But he does stop at the time keeper’s table.

Nick Stuart: If looks could kill.

The King of COOL recalls his T-shades from Hessian, and then hands them to Bobby Dean. Well, he acts like he’s going to hand them to Bobby Dean, but instead at the last second he throws them back into the air for his dog of war to fetch. Which Hessian does. Bobby whimpers. Under his breath, the live cam catches him simping, “Please don’t kill him. Please, he’s so nice.”

Nick Stuart: Poor Bob.

Jiles bends down and gently kisses Bobby on the forehead, which, of course, calms the Honaleean down. He then daps up The Grin, who, through thick and thin, has been there for King COOL since last year’s alfredo surfboard ride.

He was there against Cecil.

He was there against Ivan.

And he’s here now.

Nick Stuart: Sitting here, I think the million dollar question on everyone’s mind is what is going to happen to the Bandits after this?

Richard Parker: I don’t think anyone cares.

Before King COOL scoots up the steps he tells Hessian to join Bobby and Tony at the time keeper’s table. He then steps between the second and third, has a.. terse moment with Lady Troy about the rules of the match, and ascends the turnbuckles before she can properly admonish him.

So yeah he wound up running out of the ring and back to the time keeper’s table.

Nick Stuart: I hope she doesn’t wind up regretting this. She can’t screw him over. There can be no gray areas. He’d never let her hear the end of it.

Richard Parker: He’d never let any of us hear the end of it.

With the challenger enjoying Bandit embrace at the timekeepers table, it’s time for the champion.

Already, the Seattle crowd is going nuts. Tens of thousands of people all united in a purpose not seen since Marshawn Lynch caused a localized earthquake in this very field. There is a low rumbling. A chant. Three simple syllables.

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

It only grows louder when the lights cut out in the building, enshrouding Lumen Field in darkness. There’s a long pause, and where there would normally be murmuring in anticipation, the noise never goes away. It’s a fever pitch, it’s a cacophony, it’s the goddamn Eclipse.

The PRIMEview comes alive, and what fans see is the outside of the Throne Room. The Throne Room has a lot of nicknames, such as the eGG Den 3.0, the Champion’s Advantage, the Den of Conquest, the Best Nest, Noah’s Perch, the Bandopticon, the King’s Court, the Night One Rest Stop, the Bobby Horror Picture Show, Mr. Avalon’s Wild Ride, the Overcompensation Station, the House of the Landed Gentry and Ace, the One Stop Crown Shop, the Den of Wolves, the Mini-Octane, the Big Dipper, the Main Event Luxury Box, and the New King’s Court.

Tonight, though… it’s simply where the PRIME Universal Champion will be making his appearance.

Surrounding his throne are a bevy of black-cloaked nobodies, either inspiring plague doctors or they missed the big cult phenomenon that really hit PRIME two years ago and now they have nothing to do. Either way, what’s undeniable here is that all of them bow to the throne. All of them bow to the king.

Speaking of the king… he’s seated upon his throne, decked out in his ring gear. There’s a large fur cloak with shoulders made of wolves’ heads across his shoulders. The PRIME Universal Championship is strapped around his waist. Seated upon his throne and decked out in his ring gear is the King of Conquerors himself. He sits patiently, taking in the earth-shaking noise of the crowd. Before him, the men and women in black cloaks continued to bow, but they were joining in the crowd’s chants as well.

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

The sound of war drums barely heard over the cacophony of the crowd causes the head of Coral Avalon to slowly raise up. His hands grip the rests of his throne. Showtime. He rises to his feet. Immediately, those bowing before him form into two rows on either side of the King of Conquerors. He walks towards the camera, a grim purpose on his face.

Tonight, one year removed from joining the eGG Bandits – however unwillingly – Coral Avalon intends to finally vanquish the stain on professional wrestling named Cancer Jiles. He would do this before his wife, his closest friend, the eGG Bandits themselves, and over sixty thousand people packing Lumen Field.

The camera cuts back to the arena.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a year since Coral Avalon ended up joining the eGG Bandits.

Richard Parker: Huge mistake, would not have made it.

Nick Stuart: It wasn’t exactly by his choice, Rich.

Richard Parker: Sticking around certainly was. I hope both of these guys fall off of a cliff, and there’s spiky rocks at the bottom of the cliff, and lurking in those spiky rocks are a horde of rabid raccoons trained specifically to go for the balls.

Nick Stuart: That’s… graphic.

The opening notes of Monster Siren’s “Real Me”. The PRIMEview comes alive with a series of clips of Avalon landing the Rhongomyniad across not just PRIME, but also his international conquests. Five words are interspersed over the top of them.

CORAL AVALON

KING OF CONQUERORS

A single spotlight shines down on a section of the crowd. After a few moments, he appears. The king. Years ago, in another stadium in this very city, a pitcher for the Seattle Mariners had his own “King’s Court” of fans. Now, tonight, the whole of Lumen Stadium is the court of Coral Avalon.

He stands at the top of the stairs, his fur cloak encompassing his body. He is the only man visible in the entire stadium.

And he can’t help himself.

After twenty-two years of pain and toil and everything in-between, Coral Avalon – now the self-styled “King of Conquerors” – is the PRIME Universal Champion. The hometown hero coming home for the main event of UltraViolence. Sure, Avalon wasn’t born and raised in Seattle. Sure, maybe he spent nearly half of his life as a professional wrestling nomad before adopting the city as his own. But for Seattle, he was a champion. Their champion.

Once the guitars of his theme music get rolling, Avalon begins the slow walk down the stairs to the ringside area. He takes his time, absorbing the raucous reaction of the crowd. At times, he stops walking down to the ring in order to say hello and rile up the crowd even more than he already has.

The spotlight follows him where he goes. It takes him a while to even get halfway down the stairs. The crowd continues chanting for him, such that his own theme music is difficult to hear over the sheer noise.

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

AV-A-LON!

One has to wonder what his opponent is thinking while Coral’s taking his sweet time getting to the ring. Really milking that clock. Oh, look, he’s taking a selfie with some fans. That’s gonna look pretty funny since there’s shoulder wolves in the shot. Avalon moves back to the stairs and finally reaches… the mid-level.

Oh dear. This might actually take a while.

Avalon riles up the crowd more as he paces around the mid-level. Fans continue to cheer him, and some industrious fans are even singing along with the lyricless theme music.

And then…

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

You might be confused. I’d understand that.

You see, a man just stepped into the spotlight, because as far as he’s concerned, that spotlight is for him. And he chose that moment to take it from the hometown hero in the most… crumb way possible.

Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER!

Of course he did this.

Of course he snuck out of the ring during the entrance and picked the most opportune time to strike with the dreaded superkick. It’s Cancer Jiles. He does this.

Richard Parker: …Why am I not surprised. That crumb.

Inside the ring, Lindsay Troy can only facepalm.

Cancer Jiles can be seen mouthing the words “normal match” while staring back at her.

Jiles turns his attention back to Avalon, who is now staggered but not quite down, he’s absorbed to blow to the best of his ability. Jiles, quick to spot a man on a wobble, fires up a clenched fist and aims it straight at Coral’s temple – which is honestly quite an easy target to meet. Coral replies a bit more meekly with a body blow aimed at the stomach, it winds Cancer Jiles for a few moments, but not long enough for Coral to avoid another heavy fist to his rather bulbous topskull. Jiles is enjoying this moment much more than the fans that surround him, as evidenced by the stray beverage and popcorn buckets that are now being launched in his direction.

In the ring Lindsay Troy tries to call the match back to the ring, and Jiles, respectfully in response puckers his lips and blows a kiss to a frustrated Troy. It’s around this time that something curious happens.

Ding ding ding ding

The fans erupt in boos, hearing the ringing of the timekeeper’s bell, almost fearful that this one year in the making main event has been thrown out. An already staggered Avalon looks befuddled as he hears the bell, and that moment of uncertainty is just enough to allow Cancer Jiles the chance to smash the Universal Champion’s face in with a second Terminal Cancer, right to the same place he was firing his punchy blows. As Avalon falls to the ground, the camera cuts to the timekeepers table, where the special guest co-timekeepers, Bobby Dean and Tony Gamble sit together on one stool. Well, Gamble’s kind of levitating as the stool is mostly in Bobby’s domain. It’s not really a question on who rang the bell for funsies, as Tony Gamble continues to hold the hammer with a giant shit eating Gamble Grin on his face and given how long Tony’s grin is, that’s some real big business. Hessian stands off to the side of the duo, with an expression that’s hard to work out if he encouraged the action or not.

Nick Stuart: The two men haven’t even made it to the ring yet and the Banditry has already started!

Richard Parker: Coral Avalon may not even make it to the ring at this point, he looks out of it on the ground over there. Lindsay Troy is looking PISSED but it’s not stopping Cancer Jiles taking advantage of what definitely feels like a set-up.

Nick Stuart: Just a millisecond of distraction, thanks to Tony Gamble, and this match has Cancer Jiles in full control.

Lindsay Troy is immediately out of the ring and yelling in Gamble’s face not to fuck with this match, but as he gets threatened with an immediate ejection to the nearest janitor’s closet, we cut back to Cancer Jiles, who is now stomping away at the face of Coral Avalon, repeatedly. We start to see blood smear across the Universal Champion’s face, thanks to the boot of Jiles spreading to cut open the forehead juice of Avalon all around his face. Jiles probably would have continued to stomp for days, but he noticed someone very nearby and decided he wanted to say hello.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on! Annabelle is here to support Coral, just leave her out of your parade of nonsense!

Nick Stuart: I’d be careful if I was Jiles here, that woman could have all sorts of weapons of destruction with her. Also, she may be able to murder him barehanded too.

Jiles flicks the sweat off his brow and saunters over to Annabelle, paying very little attention to the increasing irate voice of Lindsay Troy demanding that the match gets back in the ring. Jiles begins to swing his hips in front of Annabelle, puckering up his lips in the process, and this action is enough for Franco to leap out of his seat and stand between Jiles and Annabelle – although Annabelle still has an expression on her face that implies she things she could take him.

Nick Stuart: Jiles has let himself get distracted here, he clearly wants to get into Coral Avalon’s head but… I think he’s pushing it too far.

Richard Parker: Is he… is he gyrating at Annabelle now?

The absolute contempt in Richard Parker’s voice is clear, as Jiles looks beyond Franco’s buff frame and starts gyrating his hips, pointing to Coral Avalon’s baby mummy as he does so. It’s clear that Franco has had enough and is getting ready to uppercut the Alfredo-domed face of Cancer Jiles, but before he can take action on it, a bloody Coral Avalon reintroduces himself into the battle by ramming himself into Cancer Jiles. Jiles grabs his gut in pain, and Coral grabs Jiles by the neck and shoulders, hurling him into a set of 3rd row’s folding chairs, with Cancer’s back slamming right into the corner of one of the steel chairs. Jiles groans in agony as Coral wipes the blood from his eyes, the rather leaky skull dripping the red goo all over the stadium floor.

Richard Parker: Well, that disclaimer that the fans signed on the way in that stated “The first five rows may get covered in visceral” makes a lot more sense now.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if that second Terminal Cancer had Avalon catch the sharp end of Jile’s boot, but that much talked about forehead of Avalon’s is absolutely gushing.

Richard Parker: We may all be swimming in it by the end of this match.

As Jile clutches his back, Avalon grabs him again by the collar, looking to introduce the fourth row of the crowd to the hopeful Master of Ceremony for COOLossus, but it’s actually Coral’s chance to meet his Seattle supporter as Jiles manages to switch the momentum in the throw, sending Coral smashing into a set of 4th row chairs, falling to the ground in unison with the Universal Champion. The surrounding fans begin yelling all manner of angry words in the ears of the King of COOL, but living up to his name, the aggressive jeering does little to throw Jiles off his swagger. The angry yelling quickly switches to yells of affirmation though, as when Jiles goes down to pull the bloody Avalon back up, Avalon, a crafty veteran himself, spots an opening and delivers an uppercut straight to the balls of Jiles.

Nick Stuart: What would you call that, Dick?

Richard Parker: An Australian Uppercut? You know, because he went DOWN UNDAH.

Nick Stuart: Is it racist to do an Australian accent?

Richard Parker: It’s never racist.

Nick Stuart: Regardless of the vast insight my Bandit hating colleague may be providing, the uppercut has definitely stalled Jile’s momentum. Coral has grabbed Jiles and bounced his skull off on the concrete entrances, which is making the alfredo hair start to look more like a spaghetti bolognese.

Indeed, just as Nick Stuart had indicated, Avalon dragged the fight to one of the stand entrances, bonking Jiles’ skull right off unforgiving concrete multiple times and letting his fellow Bandit slump to the stadium floor. With Jiles on the ground, Avalon looks up at top of the stadium entrance way and contemplates starting a climb, but he’s snapped out of it by Lindsay Troy, who has given up trying to call the action from the ring and has met the two men where they brawl. An irate Troy yells at Coral to get the match into the ring, reminding him that it’s the only way he can actually win the match. Avalon rubs his eyes, once again trying to get the blood out and indicates to Troy that he’d much rather jump off a big thing and land directly on top of his ambusher. Troy remains unconvinced, pointing to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy finally stepped in, she clearly didn’t want to intervene but if she didn’t, these men may have filled each other before the bell even rang. Well, properly rang.

Richard Parker: Thanks again for that, Tony, I know who to address my tinnitus lawsuit to now.

A frustrated Avalon corrects his thinking and realises that if he truly wants to avenge last year’s loss, he needs to get the action to the ring. He pulls Jiles up and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him back towards the ring, Lindsay Troy leading the way to the match. Security opens the barricades to let Troy, Jiles and Avalon into the ringside area. Troy walks past the timekeepers table, giving a death stare to Gamble, who responds by whimsically spinning around the tiny hammer he’s been given possession of for the match. Avalon tries to drag Jiles past the barricade too, but the crafty veteran uses his power to snatch the back of Coral’s neck. Jiles drops all of his weight, sending the Universal Champion face first into the back of the barricade, his face colliding with the heavy barrier and creating a sickening thud and a horrifying squelchy noise.

Nick Stuart: MY SWEET LORD! Cancer Jiles just used a modified face buster and slammed the Universal Champion’s face right into the barricade. I’m nauseous just from the sounds of the collision alone.

Richard Parker: He’s the scum of the Earth Nick, just a true dweller of the darkest pits, but he’s dangerous too. He’s going to do anything to win this match and if that means ending Coral Avalon’s career, I don’t think adopted Bandithood figures into the equation. Coral gives Jiles the smallest of openings and now his skull is bursting open like a can of tomato soup.

Nick Stuart: Oh for fffffff… oh for goodness sake, is he going back to Annabelle again?

For the second time in the match, Jiles puckers up in the direction of the Universal Champion’s wife. Annabelle begins to walk towards The COOL, who just chuckles and waves her away, just as Annabelle is about to dig her nails straight into the skull of Cancer Jiles, Coral’s old ally Franco steps in the way once more. Jiles laughs and tries to push Franco out of the way, so he can be a weird freak in front of Annabelle so far, but this time Franco pushes back. An arrogant Jiles sneers and chuckles at the hunk of meat before him, which turns into a sudden regret as a European uppercut flies directly into his face. Jiles staggers backwards and is about to swing back and respond in kind but he doesn’t have to, instead the fans boo with righteous anger as Hessian leaves his pitch at the timekeeper’s table and stands between Jiles and Franco. Jiles laughs behind his brute, turning his attention back to the heap of humanity that was once called Coral Avalon.

Nick Stuart: And I think Lindsay Troy has had enough of this…

Richard Parker: She’s storming over to where Hessian and Franco are.

An irate Troy yells at Jiles to bring the match into the ring as she makes her way to the meaty lads currently in a stand-off.

Lindsay Troy: YOU! YOU!

Troy points to Franco and Big Hess.

Lindsay Troy: YOU! ARE! OUTTA! HERE!

The fans chant along with Troy, who tosses the behemoth supporters of both men out of the crowd and to the backstage area. It looks like neither man is willing to move, until an army of Enemigos spills out from backstage and gently encourage both men to join the big party they’re having back there.  Troy looks at Annabelle.

Lindsay Troy: Not you, you can stay.

With the cheers and encouragement from Tony Gamble, in such a way that it exists, Jiles decides that he should probably start to make the match move towards the ring. He can’t win the Universal Championship from just brutalising the champion on the outside of the ring. He needs this to be officially recognised. Jiles pulls Avalon up from his collapsed-pile form and tries to drag him into the ring. Coral still puts up a fight, drilling a few headbutts into the gut of Cancer Jiles, winding for former champion but not discouraging him from bringing the action into the ring. A few stray punches from Avalon help open the bleeding wound that’s developed at the top of Jiles’ skull and redden the ragu locks of The COOL. At the end of the day though, Jiles manages to roll a beaten and bloody Avalon into the ring. Jiles looks to Troy and demands that she ring the bell now both men are in the ring. Troy looks hesitant, expressing that both men need to be up and fighting. The assortment of Bandits of the past yell at Troy to ring the bell from their ringside carton. She looks down at the bloody Avalon, his 5 star forehead still just gushing and to her surprise, he gives her a nod that implies “let’s start this shebang”. Frustrated and shrugging her shoulders, she gestures to the special guest co-timekeepers.

Ding ding

Nick Stuart: I guess this match has now officially started. It’s Jiles. It’s the defending Avalon. It’s the Universal Championship and THIS. IS. ULTRAVIOLENCE.

Richard Parker: And if you had any doubt about that, look at how red this canvas already is.

Coral Avalon claws himself up to his knees, as he looks at a very eager Jiles. Jiles licks his chops as Avalon merely smiles and gestures for him to do his worst. Jiles can’t hide his excitement from the situation he has found himself in and does a cheeky little dance, which causes Lumen Field to reverberate in boos that may cause future problems with the structural integrity of the stadium. Well, apart from Chris Chickentenders, who was whooping in excitement in between scrolls of his Tiktok feed. It was hard to tell if Tony was also excited, or if it was just resting Gamble Grin at this point.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure how much Coral Avalon has left in him, particularly after the brutal facial collision with the barricade, but he’s not going to go down with a fight.

Richard Parker: Jiles is too happy right now, it’s sickening, I am literally vomiting.

It’s hard to tell if the retching noises that the Pay Per View audience can hear were Parker acting or if he was legitimately spewing chunks. Nonetheless, Jiles reared his leg back, looking to smash Coral with a third and final Terminal Cancer, but as Jiles swung, he met nothing but air. Avalon had managed to roll out of the way and back to his feet. Jiles tried to find where Avalon had landed as he spun around, but with a rush of adrenaline kicking in for the Universal Champion, he nimbly leaps up and drills Jiles’ skull into the mat with a poisonrana.

Nick Stuart: A brutal poisonrana but WHAT’S THIS.

Richard Parker: This man is either satan, or he’s done a deal with the dark lord!

Jiles manages to roll back up through the poisonrana and lands once more on an even base. Avalon doesn’t even seem that caught off guard on this, so he leaps up and catches the arm of Cancer Jiles, rolling the dazed King of COOL on the mat and wrenching at his arm.

Nick Stuart: The Article 51! He’s clearly doing this to piss off Jiles!

Richard Parker: Alavon’s form’s good, but he’s no Cecilworth, praise his name!

Unfortunately, likely due to all the blood that has been leaking directly into the eyes of the Universal Champion, he didn’t quite position the move quite correctly, allowing Jiles’ free hand to be in reaching distance of the rope, causing Lindsay Troy to call for a rope break. Going into Bandit Brain Mode, Avalon decides that he’ll keep the painful armbreaker in for just a little longer, as Troy begins a disqualification count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Avalon breaks the hold and rolls away from Jiles, he gives a small nod to Troy, as if indicating that he was very aware that he had to five. On the other hand, Cancer uses his now owie arm to pull himself back up with the ropes. Avalon is again ready and waiting.

Nick Stuart: RHONGOMYNIAD! He damn near kicked Cancer Jiles skull right off with that one.

Richard Parker: I don’t know if it’s the partial blindness that’s causing Avalon to take heavier to wilder swings, but boy, that kick came in fast… and hard…

Jiles collapses down on the mat, and Avalon collapses right on top of him. Troy confirms that shoulders are on the mat and counts.

ONE!

TWO!

Ding ding ding

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A confused Troy turns around and sees the timekeeper’s tiny hammer is in Tiny Tony’s hand once more. She tries to turn her attention back to the pin attempt but Jiles throws his arm up in the air, rolling his shoulder over for the kick out. Troy slaps the mat in frustration and turns her ire towards Mr. Two Books. The instructions are hard to hear over the ferocity of the Seattle crowd over this returned-to shenanigan, but it’s still pretty clear, if Tony tries that one more time, Lindsay Troy will smash both hands and balls with the hammer he’s become such a fan with. Tony fauxs concern and dutifully passes the hammer over to Bobby, where it gets slightly trapped in one of his sittin’ rolls.

Nick Stuart: Without Tony Gamble’s intervention there, this one could have very well been over.

Richard Parker: Why do we keep letting him out in public? Just keep him locked where we keep the supplies, it’ll be better for everyone that way.

A frustrated Avalon is back up and ready to fight, but is distracted by Lindsay Troy’s continued yelling at Gamble about all the things she will do to him if he dares to touch the teeny tiny hammer even one more time. Jiles sees the distraction in action and lines himself up behind Avalon, who is still looking on at the LT/Gamble interaction with a strong degree of bemusement. Jiles does a small shimmy and lifts his boot, Avalon drops and dodges out of the way, but momentum, momentum is a tricky creature. A difficult beast to tame, and on this occasion, Cancer Jiles could not stop what was about to happen, even if he wanted to. Lindsay Troy turns her attention back to the match and…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Richard Parker: FUCKING HELL!

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if he couldn’t stop himself, or if he just didn’t care but Cancer Jiles just collided into Lindsay Troy with a BRUTAL Terminal Cancer. Troy is down, the referee for the match is down!

If you thought Seattle was angry before, then now… hoo boy. Cancer Jiles looks down at LT, a mixture of shock and satisfaction in his eyes, but he isn’t able to admire his handiwork for too long as the ring starts to get flooded with any manner of projectiles from an irate and heavily armed audience. In this case, the armament is burgers, hotdogs, and for some reason, the occasional Double A battery. Jiles has a smile on his face as flying hotdogs smash into his shoulders, it’s almost as if this crowd is giving him as much energy as it is Coral. Well, he thinks that until the aforementioned battery hits him right in the eye.

Nick Stuart: I can’t imagine a battery is how Coral would want breathing space in this match but this crowd… I’m not even sure if we’re safe.

Richard Parker: We do have an emergency bunker under this table if things get any worse… right? RIGHT???

Lindsay Troy is down and out, the ring mat is now full of meats, marbles and madness and Cancer Jiles decides now is the time to once again dance and shimmy, pointing at Annabelle as he does so. The fans first thought is likely to throw additional batteries at the gyrating man who’s eyelid is now ever expanding due to perhaps some acid that he got in his eye. They choose not to do that, as they see their adopted hero try and get back into this match.

CORAL!

CORAL!

CORAL!

The ravenous Seattle mob cry out in support of the Universal Champion, his wife leading the rally, slamming down on the barricade with all her might in support of Avalon over the current sexy dancing bastard man. Avalon digs deep, leaps up and rushes towards Jiles.

Nick Stuart: A SECOND RHONGOMYNIAD! THAT MAY HAVE KNOCKED CANCER JILES STRAIGHT OUT! AVALON IS RUSHING OVER AND HOOKING THE LEG.

…

…

…

Richard Parker: NO! NO! LINDSAY TROY IS STILL OUT! THERE’S NO ONE TO COUNT THE PIN.

Avalon, still out of sorts, keeps the leg hooked, still not fully processing that Troy is out cold. The next thing that Coral Avalon hears is a count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Avalon, with a giant sense of relief washed over his very bloody face, doesn’t quite realise why the crowd is booing so aggressively at his victory. He quickly finds out though, as he rolls over and sees Tony Gamble sitting there, giving the Universal Champion double barrels, he gets both birded. Gamble looks very satisfied in his fucking up of the pin.

Nick Stuart: Again! Again Tony Gamble directly gets involved in the match! Someone needs to do something about this human troll and I say that in terms of his nature and height!

Richard Parker: I want to give him credit for creativity, but he’s a Bandit, so I credit him with nothing.

Gamble is about to scamper back out of the ring, but as he scooches backwards, he runs right into Lindsay Troy. Gamble tries to beg off, and asks kindly if he can return to his ringside job. Troy slowly gets up and looks like she’s about to enforce some rules a bit more strictly with Gamble, perhaps a corporal punishment technique or two, but she needn’t not concern herself, because Coral Avalon leaps up and wraps his arms around the next of Gamble.

Nick Stuart: The Tarp! That’s Phil Atken’s move! That’s the move Cecilworth Farthington has used to great effect! You know Coral is trying to send a message here.

Richard Parker: The technique is perfect, this is a man who really knows how to steal a move or two.

Coral positions the choke so that it’s in direct line of sight to Jiles, who has pulled himself into the corner and has propped himself up. Jiles decides that he’s not going to get involved, using this time to rest up, instead of coming to the aid of his fellow Bandit. As he sees the lights fade from Gamble’s eyes, Jiles salutes Two Books, almost as if to thank him for his sacrifice. As Coral feels Gamble finally drifting off, he drops his fellow Bandit and kicks him out of the ring. Two Books slides off the apron, his neck crashing on the hard arena ground below as he falls to ringside. A fired up Avalon looks at the hunched Jiles in the corner, nodding back and forward between Jiles and Gamble as if to indicate that Jiles is next. A defiant Jiles chuckles, and waves him off.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s certainly one way to take Tony Gamble out of the equation.

The Bandit Assortment Box at ringside leaps over the barricade and for a second they look like they’re going to get involved in the match, but rather than interfere in match matters, they just work together to take Tony Gamble back to the carton.

CORAL!

CORAL!

CORAL!

The crowd are not letting their boy forget the love they have for him, as he tries to get his attention back to the match. He walks over to Jiles, who looks ready for the Universal Champion’s arrival, having cheeks with a squirrel storing nuts for winter. Coral manages to catch Jiles’ plan quickly, and slaps Cancer Jiles face perhaps harder than the former Universal Champion has ever been slapped before. The yellow mist goes flying, likely hitting multiple people in the front row, so it’s good they signed that waiver. Before Jiles can respond, he feels his face getting very yellow and very sticky all of a sudden. He wipes his face in disbelief, as he realises that Coral Avalon has used his own yellow mist against him.

Nick Stuart: COOLYMPIAN YOLJK HAS JUST BECOME THE KING’S ROYAL FLUID!

Richard Parker: I think that name may need a bit of workshopping. Thankfully, I know a few guys who are great at that sort of thing…

The satisfaction with turning the tables on Jiles is short lived for Avalon on this occasion as quite irate at this development, Cancer Jiles leaps into the air.

Richard Parker: DROPDICK!

Nick Stuart: I wasn’t quite sure how we were supposed to call a dropkick straight to Coral Avalon’s testicular area, but thankfully Dirty Dick was here to solve that conundrum for me.

Jiles looks over to a now recovered Lindsay Troy and dares her to disqualify him for it. Troy mulls it over for a second, but when a flying uppercut smashes Jiles in the face, she decides that she’ll let the fight continue.

CORAL

CORAL

CORAL

Once again, the Seattle crowd are guided in a chant of support for their local hero (adopted) by Annabelle slamming the barricade of support at ringside. The camera cuts to Bobby Dean, who is sort of just muttering “both these guys” under his breath and hoping for the best. Or he’s looking for the hammer in one of his folds in case the match ends. Jiles staggers backwards from the force of the uppercut. On the other side of the ring, Coral Avalon is clearly still favouring his groin area. Jiles swings at Avalon, but Avalon manages to duck under the swing and hooks his arms around Jiles’ waist. Jiles manages to slip out of the grasp before Coral get it locked in tight and rolls through, as he rolls through, he traps Coral’s leg with his own in perhaps the tightest small package ever imagined in wrestling.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

CORAL

CORAL

CORAL

The relief of the kick out rallies the Seattle crowd once more. Avalon manages to power out of the tight package but as he pops back up to his feet…

Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! IT’S RIGHT ON THE MONEY!

Richard Parker: NO! NO! IT CAN’T BE! NO!

Lindsay Troy does not look delighted to be counting this fall, but she dutifully does so.

ONE!

TWO!

DING DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: WHAT NOW? WHAT IS GOING ON?

Lindsay Troy shoots a look back and sees that Annabelle is looking proud as punch, standing next to Bobby Dean, with a tiny hammer as part of her own armament. She doesn’t get too distracted though, continuing the count…

NO!

Nick Stuart: Did those milliseconds of distraction give Coral just enough time to kick out there?

Richard Parker: You know, what goes around comes around, and I think it’s totally fine for Annabelle to get down on this. Turnabout is fair play, and other similar cliches could all describe this comeuppance situation.

A frustrated Jiles runs his fingers through his Ragu Locks and this time around, although he once again turns his attention to Annabelle, it’s not fun sexy dance troll time, it’s a barrage of swear words that I just can’t possibly repeat in polite company, but if you imagine a bunch of swear smooshed together and said with incredibly vile, you’re nailing it. These words to his wife give Coral a new lease on life though, as he shakes off the effects of another Terminal Cancer.

CORAL

CORAL

CORAL

The crowd gives Coral some new fuel, and he launches right into action. With Jiles distracted by yelling all manner of vulgarities and not realising that Avalon is back in the fight, he doesn’t notice the Universal Champion taking measure of him. Coral stalks his prey carefully, then hoists him right up and drops him back to the mat with a Savage Camelot’s turntable.

Nick Stuart: This crowd is giving Avalon a completely new wind, they are behind their hometown boy and it’s giving him endurance like I’ve never seen before. If Annabelle hadn’t just now pulled a Tony, I don’t know that we’d still be calling this match.

Richard Parker: If this is a normal match, we really need to shut down this thing, recalibrate and reboot.

With Jiles out on the mat, Coral decides to make his ascent to the top ropes, deciding that now is the time to end this. Coral leaps off the ropes, Carnwennan on his mind, a second armament in row, but, somehow, some way, there’s still life in Ole Salt Shoes yet, perhaps using the last of his energy, he manages to superkick Avalon in the sky, sending Avalon crashing down to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles is having more resurrections than Jesus Christ himself in this match. Where is it all coming from?

Richard Parker: He’ll do anything, ANYTHING at all to get his hands on that Universal Championship in his hands. He’ll do anything to make COOLOSUS happen. He doesn’t care if he destroys his own body today, so long as he’s champion when that bell rings, he’s done his job.

Lindsay Troy sees both men are completely out of it on the mat and with no other option, begins to count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Jiles eyes start to open, there’s some blinking going on as he tries to clear the blood from his vision.

FOUR!

FIVE!

Jiles looks over and seeing that Avalon is out cold and near the ropes, he starts to belly crawl over to the Universal Champion.

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

With his tactical army crawl, Jiles manages to reach Avalon and drapes an arm over the Universal Champion’s sternum. Troy dutifully counts the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

CORAL!

CORAL!

CORAL!

Nick Stuart: NO! Somehow, some way, Coral knew where he was in the ring, he managed to just get his arm on the ropes.

Richard Parker: The ring awareness of a veteran cannot be underestimated, Coral Avalon, somewhere in instinct alone, knew that he was near to ropes, that he had a way out of this, and that’s exactly what happened.

Cancer Jiles, with almost pleading in his eyes, looks to the woman that he affectionately calls mom, almost trying to will her to count to three regardless of the arm on the ropes. All mom can do though is let her child know that it was only a two count. Jiles looks around the ring, the mat stained in blood from the leaky heads of him and Coral. He tries to figure out if he has any tricks left in the bag. He looks over to the Bandit Carton at ringside, and RICK yells something in French, so he’s got no idea what that plan would even be. Jiles quickly realises if the most helpful ally in the batch still out there is one of many different Max Kaels, but in this case, he has a yolkulele, he may be tapped out of the old conspiracy factory. So, without any ideas, since he can’t see Doozer, he decides to just mount Coral Avalon and punch him in the face over and over again.

Nick Stuart: I think we’ve moved beyond the big move game. This is just Jiles trying to maim Coral Avalon on his way to Universal Championship victory.

Richard Parker: It’s closed fist though, disqualify him Lindsay Troy! Cast him out! BEGONE FROM THIS COMPANY! WE MUST BE CANCER FREE!

Nick Stuart: I think the panic from my colleague is starting to sink in.

As Jiles brawls away, Coral Avalon hears the crowd once more.

CORAL

CORAL

CORAL

And that support from the crowd is enough for Coral to headbutt Jiles directly in the nose. The King of COOL immediately clutches the nose in pain, blood immediately gushing out in every direction. Jiles leaks everywhere, including on top of Avalon and it’s enough for Avalon to slide out from under the kneeling Jiles.

Nick Stuart: A brutal headbutt and the momentum shifts once more.

Richard Parker: All I want from Christmas is for Cancer Jiles to bleed out in this match.

It’s clear that Jiles can’t see what’s going on with the absolute pain from the headbutt, and if he wasn’t in pain before, he certainly is now, with Coral rushing towards him, a flying uppercut to him, almost knocking his head clean off.

Nick Stuart: That may have been the nastiest Secace that I’ve ever seen. The blood from Jiles and Avalon has sprayed in all directions.

Avalon doesn’t let up this time, taking what may already be an unconscious Jiles, and hoisting him between his thighs. A quick double underhook afterwards and Cancer Jiles’ head is grinding against the mat with a Camelot’s Turntable.

Richard Parker: That’s a second armament! I don’t know how, but Coral Avalon is still able to fight!

CORAL

CORAL

CORAL

For the second time this evening, Coral climbs the turnbuckles, Cancer Jiles head lulling about as he’s down on the canvas. Coral looks out to the crowd, he absorbs their energy, he absorbs their support, he feels their love, he feels the love of Annabelle cheering him on from ringside. He looks down at the fallen Jiles and for a moment, there’s sympathy in his eyes. A bit of Coral that loves being a Bandit and knows that if he does what he’s about to do, there’s no guarantee of what the future holds with the rag tag crew. Then he looks back over to Annabelle and remembers how much Jiles were trying to fuck around with her, so doesn’t hesitate for a second as he leaps off the top rope.

Nick Stuart: Carnwennan! For the second time tonight, Coral Avalon has looked for the double foot stomp from the top, and that time he has hit it straight to the heart of Cancer Jiles.

Richard Parker: Oh, so now we’re pretending Cancer Jiles has a heart? What has this match done to you, Nick?

With three armaments in a row, the Universal Champion realises that he has to strike, he has to take this moment, Cancer Jiles is the undead, he rises over and over again, if he doesn’t pin now, he may never get another opportunity. Coral rolls over Jiles, hooking the leg. Lindsay Troy leaps down to count the fall.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Lindsay Troy calls for the bell, and Annabelle gleefully does so, as Bobby Dean looks on, uncertain, confused, lost… or maybe just hungry. Always hard to tell with Bobby.

Ding ding ding

Vince Howard: Your winner of this match… AND STILLLLL…..

The Seattle crowd are just absolutely mental right now, just completely off their tits, completely lost their minds. When they hear the “and still” call, they once again explode with joy.

CORAL!

CORAL!

CORAL!

Vince Howard: … PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION… CORALLLLLL AVAAAALONNNNNNN!

With Cancer Jiles still out on the mat, Lindsay Troy raises Coral Avalon’s arm high and presents him with his Universal Championship. Troy raises the arm high for just a bit longer than normal, allowing Coral to absorb the absolute love of the crowd that helped him get through this match.

Nick Stuart: One year ago Coral Avalon was beaten, he was kidnapped, he was dragged out of Ultraviolence in a decision that Vince Howard called “Banditry”, he’d lost the Five Star Championship, he was heading towards retirement… one year ago, Coral Avalon’s future was in question and yet… exactly one year later, in his adopted hometown, with his wife cheering him on… Coral Avalon has AVENGED the ghosts of his past. He absolutely deserves to soak this moment in.

Richard Parker: I breathe easier in a world that Cancer Jiles is not champion, but… is Coral still a Bandit? Once a Bandit, always a Bandit they say… and that means we still have a Bandit champion… I hate this cursed existence.

The cameras cut between Annabelle’s cheering from the timekeeper’s table and Troy raising Coral’s arm in victory as we start to fade out.

Nick Stuart: What does this victory mean for The eGG Bandits? What does it mean for Cancer Jiles? What does it mean for Lindsay Troy, who will not be happy about that Terminal Cancer. Who is next for Coral Avalon? Can anyone conquer the conqueror? As we head to ReVival 56, there’s still so many questions in the air but for tonight, Coral Avalon is victorious. He is our Universal Champion and I would like us to sign off by enjoying this Seattle atmosphere one more time.

The show disappears off the air with roaring support of the Universal champion, the Bandit section has fallen to silence, unsure how to react. Our list glimpse of the show is Coral looking at a fallen Jiles.

THE

KINGDOM

REIGNS