ReVival 59

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Nick Stuart: Welcome to PRIME, everyone! It’s Friday Night and we’re ready for some action, starting off with Seán O’Neill and Alex Stryker!

First though, Nick (Naughty Nick), we’ve got signs.

NO ONE EXPECTS PHANTOM OF THE OPERA AT 4AM!
RED ARMY SUPPORTERS ARE GARBAGE

SMOKING NEWPORTS BY THE THREES IS WRONG
THE DEVIL KEEPS MESSIN AND FATHER DON KEEPS BLESSIN
WTF IS BAEZ SAYING
WADE ELLIOTT GOT FRONT ROW SEATS TO A BROADWAY SHOW AND DIDN’T EVEN INVITE LT
HESSIAN’S DUMPSTER TOSS: YOU BUY A TICKET, YOU RIDE THE RIDE
COWBOYS FOR CHRIST = FAKE NAIL ENTHUSIASTS
GET READY, VAENGERS… IT’S VICTIN’ TIME! (LOHANADON! SEYFRIEDACTYL! CHABERTATOPS! MCADAMSAURUS!)
COWBOYS CHAMPIONS FOR CHRIST
ROOTING FOR FRED DICK MAKES ME FEEL FUNNY IN MY PLUMBS
DAYDAY AND DONDON 4EVER
DONDONGO DISLIKES SIN
WEB-TOED-LITTLE-SOURPUSS-WITH-NO-SENSE-OF-HUMOR 3:16
EVERRRRRYYYY ROOOOSEEE HAS ITS GIANT SCOTSMAN TRYING TO THROW THEM IN THE GARBAGE – POISON
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD LOVES OWL CITY
FLAMBERGE IS FOR THE CHILDREN
COLOSSUS WATCH PARTY GOLD’S GYM PICO MUNDO BOULEVARD VENICE BEACH CALIFORNIA

The lights in the arena dim and begin to flicker. The opening riffs to “You Only Live Once” by Suicide Silence begins to play. Alex “Deathwish” Stryker steps out onto the stage, you can barely make him out as his cold and dead stare is scanning the crowd with a smirk on his face. The lights illuminate more and his silhouette shines to the back of the stage. He walks slowly down to the ring tilting his head.

As the lyrics “You only live once, so just go fucking nuts” he picks up the speed sliding into the ring. He sits on his knees, putting his head down in the center of the ring before lifting his body up with his hands in the air. He looks down at the hardcam with a cold dead stare tilting his head.

He stands up walking toward the hardcam ropes and hangs one of his arms over them while smirking, readying to unleash utter chaos.

The arena is buzzing with anticipation as the lights dim, casting the crowd into darkness. The opening chords of “Comfortable Liar” by Chevelle reverberate through the speakers, sending a buzz of excitement through the fans in attendance. The intense, haunting melody sets the stage for what is to come.

As the lyrics begin, a spotlight pierces the darkness, illuminating the entrance ramp.

Broad is this sea…
The salt enters the wounds…
My take on you is simple.

Seán O’Neill steps into the green shaded spotlight at the top of the entrance ramp, his long coat billowing behind him, adorned with intricate designs in black, gold, and green matching his pants and boots. The crowd erupts in cheers, their support washing over the Irishman like a crashing wave. O’Neill pauses for a moment, absorbing their energy. A smile spreads across his face as he begins his walk to the ring; his stride full of purpose.

So heal your fear…
To heal your fear…
Time spent waiting offshore…
The calm before the storm.

O’Neill raises both arms in acknowledgment of the fans, and the cheers grow louder in response. As he reaches the ring, he climbs the ring-steps and then takes a moment to look out at the sea of faces showing the newfound admiration they have for him.

My take from you is simple…
So heal your fear…
To Heal your fear.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland… weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds… He is SUUUUURRRRRREEEAALL SSSEEAANN OOO’NNNEEEIIILLLLL!

You’re such a comfortable liar…
You’re such a comfortable liar…
You’re such a comfortable liar…

O’Neill vaults effortlessly over the top rope to enter the ring. Turning to the nearest turnbuckle, he climbs to the second rope and spreads his arms out, wide to each side forming the powerful symbol of a cross.

So calm ’cause I said wrong…
You’re comfortable liar…
You’re comfortable liar…
You’re comfortable liar.

The Irishman removes his coat and hands it through the ropes to a member of the ringcrew. He makes his way to the centre of the ring, and raises his arms once more. A gesture of gratitude to the fans as the final chords of “Comfortable Liar” fade out, leaving the arena charged with anticipation for the match to come.

Seán’s eyes burn with determination, ready to prove he belongs in PRIME. Ready to prove he is better than his win loss record shows – focused on making much more of an impact as he begins his second year in the company. The crowd chants his name, in testament to this new connection he has forged with them.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Alex Stryker immediately going on the offensive! He charges at O’Neill and goes for a clothesline but O’Neill ducks! And–oh my!

Nick says that because O’Neill tried to grab Stryker from behind, but the bigger man sent a back elbow that was so loud that the crowd in the rafters could hear it. It connected with Seán’s face, and sends the smaller man staggering back.

Nick Stuart: Stryker hits O’Neill with that stiff elbow, and we’re off to a roaring start!

Stryker lifts O’Neill over his side in a hip toss, then immediately drops him with an elbow. Before Seán can recover, Stryker puts his entire body weight on Seán’s back and locks in a camel clutch.

Nick Stuart: Will it be over within a minute?

Richard Parker: Nick, how many of these matches have we called?

Nick Stuart: Thousands.

Richard Parker: And has it ever ended in the first minute after the first submission?

Nick Stuart: There’s a first time for everything, partner, and O’Neill looks like he’s in trouble.

Richard Parker: I will give you fourteen million dollars if he taps out here.

Nick Stuart: You don’t have fourteen million dollars.

Richard Parker: I’ll borrow it from Cecilworth.

O’Neill is struggling, but Stryker uses his strength advantage to prevent the Belfast native from escaping. He pulls back, making O’Neill scream in pain.

Nick Stuart: It doesn’t look good for O’Neill!

Richard Parker: He’s going to get out of this. He better, because Cecilworth hasn’t returned my calls for a few months. And you can’t say he hasn’t seen them, all he does is stare at his phone!

The veteran is still in the hold, screaming and reaching for the ropes. Stryker sees O’Neill’s fingers growing increasingly closer to the ropes, so he releases the hold so he can pull O’Neill back. Using incredible timing, O’Neill lunges forward as he feels Stryker’s grip loosen, breaking the hold and rolling under the ropes. He doesn’t stay out there too long though, climbing back onto the apron.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Stryker – woah!

Alex Stryker saw that Seán O’Neill was on the apron and decided it was the perfect time to charge at him to knock him off the apron and back onto the floor. However, O’Neill anticipated it and used the ropes to pull down, sending Stryker tumbling to the floor. He then jumps off of the apron and lands on Stryker with an elbow drop.

Richard Parker: I’m so happy I don’t owe you fourteen million dollars.

Nick Stuart: I was never going to make you pay.

Richard Parker: Thanks buddy.

O’Neill lifts Stryker up, then guides him to the announce table.

Richard Parker: Speaking of fourteen million dollars, I hope they don’t break the announce table!

Nick Stuart: Why is that speaking of fourteen million dollars?

Richard Parker: I’m pretty sure that’s how much these cost to replace.

Nick Stuart: Are you serious?

O’Neill grabs Stryker’s head and bashes it into the table, causing the big man to flop back and grab his head. He stays on his feet though, and O’Neill grabs his head to do it again.

Nick Stuart: These tables maybe cost a few hundred dollars.

Richard Parker: Then why is it such a big deal whenever one is broken?

Nick Stuart: Because – look out!

This time Stryker blocked the attack, then lifted O’Neill and dropped him face first on the table.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill’s face just dropped straight into the table!

Richard Parker: It’s still standing, though. Which is good, because –

Nick Stuart: They don’t cost fourteen million dollars!

O’Neill struggles to get away, holding his face, but Stryker won’t let him. He grabs him from behind, then tosses him over in a German suplex.

Nick Stuart: Oh my! Seán O’Neill just landed right on his back! Stryker lifts O’Neill up…and he just threw him into the ring post!

The Surreal One is leaning against the ring post, breathing heavily. Alex Stryker measures the distance, takes a few steps back, and charges, damn the fact that the first time he did this it didn’t work well.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

0 for 2.

Nick Stuart: He moved! I’m not sure if it was a dodge or if he just slumped over, but O’Neill moved and Alex Stryker ran face first into that ring post!

Richard Parker: It still looks intact, which is good because…

Nick Stuart: The ring posts also do not cost fourteen million dollars.

As Seán O’Neill and Alex Stryker lick their wounds, referee Jimmy Turnbull decides that he’s had enough of the outside shenanigans and begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

O’Neill stands up, shaking out the cobwebs. He sees the ref counting, but he also sees a stunned opponent on which he needs to press his advantage. So ignoring the count, he walks over to Stryker and delivers a stiff forearm to his face, then grabs Stryker and slams his head into the apron.

FIVE!

SIX!

And because we don’t need to wait until nine every time, Seán O’Neill decides it is time to end the outside game and he rolls Stryker up on the apron and pushes him through. O’Neill gets up and pulls himself into the ring…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!

…Only to be clotheslined so hard he flipped in the air.

Nick Stuart: Alex Stryker with a huge clothesline, and now he goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Seán O’Neill gets the shoulder up.

Nick Stuart: It’s been back and forth so far into this match, but Alex Stryker is looking to change that now. That clothesline looked like it could’ve decapitated him!

Richard Parker: Even fourteen million dollars couldn’t fix that.

Stryker pulls O’Neill up and moves him towards the turnbuckle, then traps him there using his size. He begins to deliver body blows to O’Neill, who tries to cover himself as he slumps in the corner. Stryker backs up a few paces and charges once again.

Recall that he has already tried this twice in the match and has missed both times. You’d think he would try something different, but here he goes, charging straight at Seán’s slumped body.

Third time’s a charm.

Nick Stuart: Ooof! Stryker just crushed O’Neill in the corner!

As Seán starts to fall forward, Stryker grabs him and falls down in a sidewalk slam, then goes for another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Nick Stuart: Another kickout from O’Neill, but he’s got to be feeling it.

Richard Parker: He’s really clutching his back now, and I know that’s an old injury!

Indeed, O’Neill looks to be in incredible pain as Alex Stryker looms over him. Stryker grabs him and pulls him up again, this time looking to put it away.

Nick Stuart: The call notes here say this is called Cease to Exist, and I think if he hits this, the match will be over!

Richard Parker: And if he doesn’t, it won’t be!

He lifts O’Neill up, but before he can hook him into the driver, O’Neill slips over his shoulder. Alex turns around quickly, but not quick enough to avoid a fist to the face. While he’s stunned, O’Neill grabs Stryker and takes him over in a snapmare, then immediately hits him with a rolling neck snap.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill is seizing the momentum back! He leaps up…falling fist drop! Now the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Stryker kicks out!

O’Neill is cooking with gas now. The man from Northern Ireland lifts Alex Stryker up, then hits a backbreaker. Before the newcomer can recover, O’Neill lifts him back up and hits a russian leg sweep.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill starting to wear him down now, wanting to take advantage and end this if he can. Alex Stryker is going to have to try something if he wants to win this match!

Try something? Well, he can do that.

As O’Neill lifts Stryker up again, presumably for some more old-school offense to wear him down, Stryker grabs O’Neill’s legs and rolls him up in a small package. As he locks in the pinning combination, his hand reaches up and pulls O’Neill’s tights, exposing the tiniest bit of Irish ass.

Nick Stuart: STRYKER’S GOT THE TIGHTS! HE’S CHEATING!

Richard Parker: Don’t look, Jimmy, just count!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE…NO!

Nick Stuart: Thank goodness O’Neill muscled out at the last minute! Stryker almost stole this one away from him!

O’Neill pops up at the same time as Stryker, and the bigger man kicks O’Neill back. He once again signals that it’s over, but before he can even lift him, O’Neill hits him with a stiff kick, causing him to bend down. O’Neill then puts Stryker’s head between his legs.

Nick Stuart: Here we go, O’Neill has him up…

WHAMMM!!!

Nick Stuart: Celtic Tiger Bomb! Now he moves over Stryker’s body, he’s trying to cinch it in…yes! He’s got Tír na nÓg locked in!

Richard Parker: What’s that about crying eggnog?

Nick Stuart: They’re in the middle of the ring! Stryker’s got nowhere to go!

After a several long moments of struggling, Stryker makes the business decision and taps.

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: Yooooour winner…SURREAL! SEÁÁÁÁNNNNNNN OOOOOOO’NEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLL!

Richard Parker: Somehow the old man did it!

Nick Stuart: It was a back and forth match and Alex Stryker has been very impressive in his first two career matches in PRIME, but O’Neill has managed to win this one!

And now we go elsewhere.

Family can mean everything, or nothing.  There are people all over the world that do not have a family.  In Puerto Rico the nuclear family is celebrated.  The Baez family observes that tradition even if most of them now reside in the United States.  Their migration did not eliminate their culture.

The following video package is dedicated to better understanding the relationship between Black Sheep Baez, his father, grandfather, and great grandfather.

Eduardo Baez was a latino Adonis.  He was rock solid with a wonderful smile and bright blue eyes.  His all natural physique was created by a routine of hard work and a dedication to being a man.  The video is Eduardo in trunks, flexing, smiling, recorded in black and white.  There’s a reason he was a respected performer in the early 60’s even if his record doesn’t portray that.  Eduardo was a physical specimen and an example of a long gone era.

Today, Eduardo sits slumped in a chair surrounded by darkness.  The skin sags under his sad eyes.  His demeanor is unclear because he’s a difficult man to read.  There’s still muscle underneath his aged epidermis but it’s atrophied.  The camera zooms in to capture a head and shoulder shot of the golden age performer.

Eduardo Baez: There’s a saying in the Baez familia.  El que trabaja con su familia comparte la riqueza de sus conocimientos.  Your family is a wealth of knowledge.  Work with them.  They are your blood.  The zeitgeist is entitlement.  We paid our dues to earn respect, and a life.  The requirements today are far less yet the unnecessary complexities clog our way of living.  Everyone wants what they don’t want to work for.  If you want to be great then you must put in the work.

His son Joe was born into the business.  There’s a cut to a black and white scene showing Eduardo rocking Joe in his arms.  They’re in the center of the wrestling ring.  Roberta, Eduardo’s naturally gorgeous wife, stands next to them.  They’re smiling.  Everything was right in the world.

Joe grew to look more like his mother, and he came to realize that he wasn’t going to have the same genes as Eduardo.  He didn’t share the muscular frame but he was still very athletic and what he lacked in bulk he made up for with speed.  The next scene transitions with color as an old recording of Joe Baez, known then as Jobber Joe, racing across the ring after an Irish whip.  He’s met upon return with a back body drop from The Great Nico Santangelo, the greatest wrestler Buffalo ever produced.  Joe lands with a thud.  He’s hurt, and moments away from losing to one of the best to ever do it.

Today, Jobber Joe no longer sports that athletic build as he sits straight.  The lighting is dim for his surroundings so that the many pictures of family members, and heirlooms, can be seen in the background.  He’s put on weight and it’s more noticeable in the face than anywhere else.  He has bulldog cheeks with innocent eyes that make him seem more approachable than his father.  Unfortunately his hairline went a different direction and his scalp shimmered from the above lighting.  The camera is set for a head and shoulders shot of the great undercard performer.

Joe “Jobber Joe” Baez:  We spent days, weeks, months even, getting beat down, verbally abused, used as a ragdoll in the ring.  We were wrestlers.  We did as we were told and we got paid.  The only thing on our mind was family.  La familia es el numero uno.  I will never be in a hall of fame.  I’ll never be able to show off gold belts to my grandchildren.  What I have to share are the lessons that I learned along the way.  I can share the teachings of my father and the wisdom of the old guard.

The decade of the 1980’s was an exciting time for professional wrestling.  The sport was taking off and more opportunities began to develop.  The Baez family continued their tradition as Joe’s son, Joe Jr, traveled with the family and developed a passion for the business.

Joe was trained by his father, who taught the same lessons he learned from Eduardo.  A cut to another scene shows Joe Jr taking bumps at the age of 14.  The video quality is modern.  His bowl haircut splats on the mat.  He’s wearing a t-shirt supporting The Great Nico Santangelo.  Joe Sr. lifts him up and puts him in a headlock.  More smiling.  The happiness never seemed to fade.

Jobber Joe #2 may not have been Joe Jr’s dream persona.  The skinny 14 year old became a chiseled powerhouse during the mid-90’s.  Eduardo’s genes were in full effect.  The reputation of the Baez family brought forth a challenge that Joe Jr faced with grace.  No promotion was hiring him to be their next top star.  His voice didn’t match his build.  He didn’t have the look, but he had the skill.  He was perfect for legends to demolish; legends like Torque Tanner, or Barnaby S. Dwindlesniffer the Fourth.  Joe was put into Dwindlesniffer’s Hickory Nut Crunch many, many times.

Today, Jobber Joe #2 is middle-aged, but sports the most impeccable dad bod, and looks damn near identical to a younger Eduardo.  The lighting in the room is brighter.  All of the pictures are easier to survey.  There are 8×10’s of Eduardo wrestling, Joe Sr. executing power moves, and Joe Jr. shaking hands with the 30 time Buffalo Heavyweight Champion The Great Nico Santangelo.

Joe “Jobber Joe #2” Baez Jr: I could have been anything, but I chose the path of my father, and his father.  It is a blessing that my son took the same path.  I understand that this is a different time.  This is a different era.  As long as he’s not ashamed of his family then para mi eso es todo lo que importa.

Joe’s sincerity is evident by the twinkle in his eye and an innocent smirk.  There’s no doubt that his feelings are genuine.  The generational ideology brightens as the Baez family tradition carries on with his son, Alejandro.

Black Sheep Baez watched the video from the monitor in a dedicated area of the arena.  His father’s visage fades, but not into darkness.  The post produced effect is a fade to bright white.

He turns to the camera, smiles, and slaps his bare chest.  His match against Josh Conway is next, and ya boi has something to add before he walks to Argyle.

Black Sheep Baez:  Bet.  Ya boi finna get in that ring and put the world on notice.  Aint no hard feelins’ on the fam, but they need to understand that I’m built different.  Y’all ‘bout to witness.  God got me on a path aint nobody finna get in my way.  Call it what you will.  I aint mad atchu.  This is my callin’.  This is my passion.  I’mma fight my way to the top.  I’ll earn my keep.  Tonight – the fabric of PRIME will change.  That’s on GOD!

Now, onto the match…

At the sound of the bell, Conway comes out of the gate in a hurry and uses his veteran experience quickly, forcing Baez into a series of quick exchanges. Conway uses his experience to dodge a wild right hook from Baez and counters with a perfectly timed dropkick to the spine, causing Baez to stumble into the corner. The North Star follows up with methodical precision, delivering a series of knife-edge chops that echo through the T-Mobile. When Baez attempts to create space with a roundhouse kick, Conway ducks under and executes a textbook Back Suplex, deliberately targeting Baez’s documented back issues. The impact causes Baez to writhe in pain, and Conway maintains control with a Romero Sleeper, working to wear down his younger opponent early.

Nick Stuart: And Conway comes out firing on all cylinders.

Richard Parker: I’d be happier if they both connected with a right hand at the same time and knocked each other out.

Nick Stuart: This is how the future of PRIME comes up through the ranks, Richard.

Richard Parker: Yay. So excited. Can’t wait.

Nick Stuart: Baez is going to need to get into rhythm if he’s hoping to get a victory in his debut match.

Conway continues his assault on Baez’s back, transitioning smoothly from the Romero Sleeper into a tight Boston Crab. The veteran demonstrates his ring awareness by positioning himself in the center of the ring, eliminating any hope of a rope break. Baez, showing tremendous heart, refuses to submit despite the excruciating pressure on his spine. After nearly a minute of struggling, Baez manages to use his superior leg strength to kick Conway away, but the damage has clearly been done. As Baez slowly rises, Conway charges in with his signature Handspring Back Elbow, catching the Puerto Rican star flush and sending him crashing back to the mat.

Richard Parker: Cool. Pin him. Let’s go home.

Nick Stuart: You’re such an ass. Conway is taking it to the rookie and he’s looking impressive in the early portions of the match.

Richard Parker: I’m looking at these ladies over here and they’re fawning over themselves about Baez. Great.

Nick Stuart: You sure it’s not Conway they’re fawning over?

Richard Parker: Old Man Conway? Yeah, no.

Sensing an opportunity to end things early, Conway scales the turnbuckles for a Diving Back Elbow, but Baez rolls away at the last second, causing Conway to crash and burn. Both men are down, but this moment gives Baez his first real breathing room of the match. As they both struggle to their feet, Baez strikes first with a series of his signature right jabs, backing Conway into the corner. The younger star follows up with a devastating combination of right hook, left jab, and a thunderous right elbow smash that leaves Conway dazed. Baez maintains his momentum with a quick cobra clutch slam.

Nick Stuart: And Baez is getting his offense in and he looks sharp and crisp.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well when your bones don’t pop just walking across your bedroom, you’re going to at least look sharp and crisp.

Nick Stuart: I feel that.

Richard Parker: I had the guy in the hotel room next to me call the police because he thought he heard gun shots in the htoel.

Nick Stuart: Ouch.

With momentum shifting, Baez takes to the air with a picture-perfect missile dropkick that sends Conway tumbling through the ropes to the outside. Without hesitation, Baez races across the ring and launches himself over the top rope with a spectacular corkscrew 630 senton, crashing onto Conway at ringside.

BA-EZ! BA-EZ! BA-EZ! BA-EZ!

With the crowd getting into it, both men lay motionless on the floor, but it’s Baez who stirs first. He manages to roll Conway back into the ring before the count of ten, but rather than following up immediately, he takes a moment to catch his breath, still feeling the effects of Conway’s earlier back work.

Nick Stuart: Baez grimacing over there, you have to wonder if he’s done some damage to that back of his — he was recovering for the past year from an injury to it.

Richard Parker: Well, maybe less flippy do bullshit and he wouldn’t be grabbing at his back like he’s an old man.

Nick Stuart: It’s like you’re looking in the mirror, Richard?

Richard Parker: You have no idea.

As both men get to their feet, they meet in the center of the ring and exchange strikes, with Conway mixing in his veteran craftiness by targeting Baez’s lower back between shots. The exchange culminates in both men attempting clotheslines simultaneously, resulting in a double knockdown. Conway recovers first and attempts his North Star DDT, but Baez counters with a quick spinning back fist. Conway staggers but stays on his feet, responding with a jumping enziguri that catches Baez on the temple, sending him reeling into the ropes.

Richard Parker: Can one of these guys just give up? Thanks.

Nick Stuart: You ask this at least once a show. Does it ever work?

Richard Parker: I think it worked that one time.

Nick Stuart: What time would that be?

Richard Parker: Let me get back to you on that.

Conway then hits a beautiful Tilt-a-Whirl Backbreaker, but Baez responds with a Shiranui. Conway fights through the pain and answers with his Flying Headscissors, but Baez counters with a Dragon Whip kick. The exchange continues until Conway catches Baez coming off the ropes and executes a perfectly timed Flatliner. The crowd watches with anticipation, seeing both men dig deep into their bags, trying to get an advantage over one another without much luck.

Nick Stuart: These two are getting a lot of attention from the fans here in Vegas! Needless to say, they’re putting on a show and representing how badly they want to be the future of PRIME.

Richard Parker: Great. Are we going to get another Youngblood? I’d rather not.

Nick Stuart: What’s wrong with Youngblood?

Richard Parker: Oh, I’m saving my material for tonight’s main event, you’re just going to have to wait for that.

Conway begins to show signs of frustration, unable to keep the younger athlete down. He attempts to wear Baez down with a La Magistral Cradle and Ashley Barlow immediately begins her count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Immediately following the kickout, Conway transitions into a Running Bulldog planting Baez into the canvas, and then quickly scales the ropes for a Diving Back Elbow. The impact connects flush with Conway quickly hookoing both legs and Barlow going for another count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Conway, you’re not doing yourself any favors with me.

Nick Stuart: Baez digging down deep here and he’s showing just what his mettle is.

Richard Parker: Mettle? What are you, from the 1800s?

Nick Stuart: Just because you get your words from your toilet paper roll doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have a varied vocab.

Richard Parker: Nerd.

Sensing he needs to put this one away, Conway charges up his True North strike in the corner. As he rushes forward to deliver the shotei strike, Baez ducks at the last second and catches Conway with a release German Suplex. The impact stuns Conway momentarily, but he fights back to his feet though clearly trying to figure out which way is up. Baez capitalizes on Conway’s disorientation with a devastating Bomaye knee strike that echoes throughout the arena.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: I don’t know how Conway is still standing, but he looks like he’s out on his feet.

Richard Parker: Conway must have a bit of the booze before the match. Or the sniffy sniff.

Nick Stuart: A smell them scratch em?

Richard Parker: You really are a nerd.

With Conway reeling, Baez seizes his opportunity. He hoists the veteran up for his Divine Intervention, executing the Northern Lights Suplex transition into a brainbuster with perfect precision. As Conway crashes to the mat, Baez immediately pounces, locking in the Cayado del Pastor crossface chickenwing. Conway fights valiantly, trying to reach the ropes, but Baez has it locked in the center of the ring. Barlow checks on Conway, who is trying to grit through the pain, but Baez uses his slight size advantage to ground the veteran, forcing him to tap out.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner… by way of submission… BLACK! SHEEP! BAEZ!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: And an impressive victory for Baez, who definitely needed to shake off some rust in the early moments of this match.

Richard Parker: Yeah, yeah. Move on. Let’s go. Chop chop.

Conway — feeling the effects of the crossface chickenwing as he rubs his shoulder and neck — rises to his feet and extends his hand to Baez in a show of respect. The younger star accepts, and Conway raises Baez’s arm in victory.

Nick Stuart: Now, that’s sportsmanship!

Richard Parker: I’m going to vomit. Where’s a trash can?

Conway then slips out of the ring and allows Baez the chance to celebrate his debut victory in PRIME before we cut to commercial.

The scene cuts back to ringside.  Standing in the ring is an unfamiliar man wearing an unfamiliar neon green suit with the sleeves pulled up sporting an unfamiliar hot pink and green mask, holding a very familiar PRIME microphone.  The Mountain Dew Sonny Crockett Luchador begins.

Mountain Dew Sonny Crockett Luchador: Gentlemen! Prepare to be green with envy! Children! Prepare to meet your new role model and the man your mother’s will inevitably, as the song goes, “bang”! Ladies between the ages of eighteen to forty-two! Prepare for the fire that will 0soon be within your loins!  It is my pleasure to introduce you to……THE. GREATEST. TAG. TEAM. CHAMPIONS. IN. THE. HISTORY. OF PRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMME!!!! The Magenta Megastar!  The Nightingale!  MISTER PPV!  THE MAN WHO MAKES TONY GAMBLE PISS HIMSELF IN FEAR!!! KOHIME MORI’S WET DREAM!!!! THE MAN NATE COLTON WISHES HE COULD BE!!!! HE IS…..THE GREAT! THE AMAZING! THE INCREDIBLY MESMERIZING!!!!  ZAPP SCAAAAAATIIIIIIINNNNOOOO!!!!!!  And his partner, the Anglodore.

The sounds of David Pomeranz’s “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Me Now” blares across the arena as Sunday emerged from the curtain carrying a cloche in one hand and opening the curtain with his other as Zapp Scatino, smug and excited, emerges with the PRIME Tag Team Championship around his waist.  The Anglo Luchadore, as confused and befuddled as a caveman with a condom, follows with the Tag Team Championship around his waist.  The team ridiculously known as “Twins?” (stupid fucking name) makes their way down the ramp and they enter the ring.  The Lime Attired Announcer with a fashion sense that expired before Kurt Cobain hands TAL and Zapp microphones of their own.  Sunday stands off to the side, cloche in hand.

Zapp Scatino: Thank you!  Thank you!  Please give a hand to my new personal ring announcer, Sy Fincher! Love the suit, by the way.

Sy Fincher gives a slight bow before exiting the ring.  Zapp Scatino turns towards the crowd.

Zapp Scatino: As mellifluous as that introduction was, I’m afraid I’m a little upset.  There’s some shit that gone down, which, if I can be perfectly candid here, has been festerin’ in my gut these past few weeks. And no, it ain’t gettin’ beat by Tony Gamble. That prick was a third string nobody before he beat me, he’s still a third string nobody after beatin’ me, whereonfore, I’m still a fuckin’ champion. No, this shit that’s eatin’ me up inside like a mutated fucking tapeworm-roach eating away at my stomach, it’s personal shit.  It’s affectin’ to the degree of which I need an apology.

Zapp Scatino turns towards his Co-Tag Team Champion who is still as confused as ever.

Zapp Scatino: So, let’s have it then.

TAL: An apology? From me?

Zapp Scatino: Don’t act all innocent like you’re the Wife of Bath or some shit! Coral Avalon, Tommy? Coral Fuckin’ Avalon??? I’ve bent over backwards so much for you, I could be a confectionist! I ate a raw fuckin’ heart for you so we could becone tag team champs!!! No gratitude for it  I welcome you into my home, which you shit on. I pinpoint all the security flaws in your home, which you get all pissy about. I get us a butler, who you barely acknowledge. I even gave you Old Max, a beautiful gift, I don’t mind sayin’ and you go runnin’ to Eggy Lord Shitpants? I’m startin’ to feel a little disrespected here.  I ain’t a fuckin’ squirrel, Tommy!!! I ain’t a fuckin’ squirrel!!!!

TAL: My brother in Huitzilopochtli, calm your fuckin’ tits.

The Vegas crowd gasps.

Richard Parker: What language!

Nick Stuart: Rich, do you know how many f-bombs get dropped on this show? I’m surprised the FCC hasn’t appointed us a nanny.

TAL: One, Coral didn’t call you a squirrel. He called the erstwhile OTHER American luchador who used to wrestle here one. Second, I went to Coral because have you seen the racket he hangs out with? Big Hess, who will squash you and tell you in Shakespearean prose why his berserk pituitary gland causes him to act out on people he doesn’t like in near-permanent fashion? And the only fuckin’ person in the world he likes is his dwarven half-brother.

The Luchador pinches the bridge of his nose.

TAL: Then there’s Jiles, who hasn’t met a person he hasn’t wanted to use. Then there are our prospective opponents for our first defense of these, Tony Gamble whom both of us know quite well as a misanthrope, and Bobby Dean, who only loves cake, pie, and fried meat. Then there are his past acquaintances, like Joe Fontaine…

The Luchador bows his head and makes a sign of the cross.

TAL: Peace be upon him. A man who plotted to kill him even before he made his feelings known. There’s Mega Job, and the less said about them, the better, mainly because I don’t want to offend all the lovely parents out there who are waiting for the next episode of their hit children’s show. Seriously, what is it with these kids shows and appealing to parents. First Bluey, then Mega Job and the Ten True Fruits. What’s next? Eh, I’m getting off track here. You have Codemaster and Jeff Garvin and Inoue Doi and Lowell Dot Com…

Zapp Scatino: Is you gonna wish peace be upon him too?

TAL: Oh no, I never respected Lowell. But my point is Coral Avalon knows a thing or two about making difficult partnerships work, and I went to him because I wanted advice on how to make this fucking thing work.

The Luchador looks as if he’s going to throw the microphone down but he holds up at the last second before putting it back to his mouth.

TAL: The point is, this partnership is the only thing right now that keeps me going when every other single thing in my life wants to tear me down. So I wanted some guidance, Zapp. Guidance. Lord knows being in this tag team has shown me you can’t go through life alone, and the only thing I’m sorry for is not being the macho man dorkshit wolf-dicked alpha that every single promoter expects out of a fucking babyface wrestler.

NOW The Luchador spikes the microphone like he’s any player in history to score a touchdown other than Barry Sanders.

Zapp Scatino: Fine. Not gonna apologize? Whatever. Guess I gotta try harder. But keep this in mind, bro: Coral is a piece of shit. The biggest fuckin’ phony since Bernie Madoff. He’s phonier than a Nigerian Prince with email access. He’s a bigger fraud than Nate Colton. And that prick was comparin’ me to some other prick he called a squirrel which in effect is, in totem, callin’ me a squirrel. I read Shakespeare, I know about, whaddyacallit, subtext. And if he thinks I’m a fuckin’ squirrel, then he’d better watch his nuts! In fact…..I just had a serendipitous idea….if this don’t get your respect, Tommy, I don’t what will….0

Zapp turns his attention towards the curtain.

Zapp Scatino: Coral Avalon, the great Coral Queef, the King of Eggy Yolk Fucks…..I’m challengin’ you to a match. You and that wormy, smilin’ choad, Tony Gamble versus Me and Tommy here.  You win, we beneficiously grant you two jerk offs a Tag Team Championship match at a time and place of your choosin’.  But you lose? Tony Gamble has to come to the ring and lick my boots.  And you, Coral? Well, you gotta give Tommy here a Universal Title shot at a time and place of his choosin’, assumin’ you haven’t lost it by the time that scheduled meetin’ would take place.

Zapp, turns towards TAL, smiling and nodding looking all too pleased at himself and back at the camera, hoping to shoot hate filled laser beams from his eyes into the lens through the cables and radiowaves into that phony Coral Avalon’s rotted soul.

Zapp Scatino: Who’s the fuckin’ squirrel now, you spoogey piece of shit?!

The Luchador is dumbstruck. He fumbles, bending over to pick up the microphone he unceremoniously spiked before, taps it, and after seeing he broke the damn thing (fine delivered by Lindsay Troy’s junior-ranking owl incoming), extends his hand towards Zapp, motioning for his microphone. Zapp slowly hands it over.

TAL: What do I have to say?

A tense silence.

TAL: …I’m sorry. I had you pegged all wrong. And… thank you.

There’s a murmur.

TAL: This is… the kindest thing anyone’s done for me since Nate agreed to come with me to visit my brother at work.

The Luchador puts the microphone down more gingerly this time and outstretches his arms, mouthing “bring it in.” Or at least we think he’s mouthing it. Without aid of a mic, no one can really hear what he’s saying. Zapp looks confused, inching back almost as fast as his partner inches towards him. But after a few tense moments of silent approach, the Luchador lunges in…

RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: The fans here at the T-Mobile Arena love a great moment of bonding between our Tag Team Champions!

Richard Parker: I think I’m going to be sick.

The Luchador squeezes Zapp, who initially is limp, unsure what to think of the gesture. But after a few moments he reciprocates, causing the loud pop from the Vegas PRIMEates to go nuclear. Finally, they break, and “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Me Now” hits back on the PA as the Champs exit the ring.

We move on.

We cut to the Throne Room. You know, the skybox that Coral Avalon’s been commandeering on nearly every ReVival since becoming the Universal champion. Avalon is sitting upon his throne, the Universal championship on display, and he’s just spent all of the last segment sighing and rolling his eyes at Zapp Scatino’s challenge towards himself and Tony Gamble.

Coral Avalon: Man, I can’t go a single day without some guy putting my name in his mouth and trying to dictate terms to me. 

He sighs, and scans the Throne Room. Hessian is away, off to go fight Rose in just a few minutes from now. Bobby and Tony are also out of the office, as Bobby also has a match later in the night. Wherever Jiles is, he isn’t in the Throne Room either and he might even be in Disneyworld for all Coral knows. Who is there is Lunchbox Larfleeze, covetously hovering around like he’s an actual real roster member and not someone that Avalon beat with contemptuous ease two years ago and couldn’t remember his actual, God-given name.

Coral Avalon: As though I’m not sitting right here, in my Throne Room, listening to every freaking word he’s saying. Why does Zapp have such a bug up his ass about squirrels, anyway? I didn’t think he was that big a fan of Peanut the Squirrel.

Lunchbox Larfleeze: May he rest in peace.

Coral Avalon: …Sure, okay.

Avalon looks like he has a headache, and let me tell you, a headache that could affect that noggin would probably kill a normal human being. Just saying.

There is a knock on the door. More like a pounding. Avalon nods to the door and looks over at Lunchbox Larfleeze.

Coral Avalon: Hey, Lunchbox, uh… crap. LunchBox LeBron, go answer the door for me.

LunchBox LeBron: …That’s not my n– Fine.

LunchBox LeBron opens the door, and…

ENTER THE DEMON OF PISS HIMSELF BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD HE IS FULL OF WATER AND GATORADE AND HE IS READY TO PEE FOR THIRTY STRAIGHT MINUTES AGAINST FLAMBERGE. But actually, he’s not loaded up on Gatorade. Not yet. That comes later. Much later. To drain the lizard. See. This is being utilized to hype a main event match between the two ReVival era Wrestler of the Year winners. It is a big deal. There’s graphics for it and everything.

In…actuality, yes, it is Brandon Youngblood. White combat shorts with black and red trim, with the Diamond logo on the lower portion of the short leg. On top? A shirt that says “The Youngblood Suplex Family Reunion”. In a collection, in illustrated form, is The Tower of Babel, executing various different suplexes on various different mooks. Some of them may be Draws, like Terry Woods. Or purveyors of bee apples. Pepperoni Nipples? Whatever DID happen to Alexander Redding? Underneath this multitude of human destruction and carnage are little ribbons, stating the name of the given suplex. German. Half-Nelson. Full Nelson. Belly-to-belly. This is not all. Not by a long shot. Center mass though? Diamondplex. On someone who totally isn’t at Disneyland. And wasn’t just drilled into the canvas with one of these for the third straight time. Nope.

Get yours today.

Enough of the sillies. Because the man wearing the shirt, he is not exactly the jovial type. More the intense kind. As if doing something more than grimacing causes him legitimate pain and existential dread. Youngblood stands in scene, arms folded across his massive chest. Lunchbox Lunchables stares in abject horror, as The Diamond stands before the King of Conquerors.

Inside T-Mobile Arena, the feeling is palpable.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

For a moment, these two war dogs, oddly not as worn and weathered as others who were their contemporaries, stay nothing. They just look at each other. Someone probably is saying ‘Just fuck already!’ This is NOT that kind of tension. This is something more. Something that has been upon a horizon, slowly creeping forward.

Whether either of them wanted it. Again.

Whether either of them knew it.

Brandon Youngblood: Congratulations on doing what I couldn’t. What nobody else could.

Coral Avalon: Thanks. Never easy, is it? I think Fred slapped me so hard that I stopped thinking conscious thoughts for a bit, and I’ve been slowly trying to get those back ever since. Oh, and good job taking down Max.

Coral looks over at Lunchbox Lou-Allen, who’s still standing there like he’s still important in this scene or something.

Coral Avalon: Little privacy if you would, Lunchbox Luka, this is the big kids room now.

Lunchbox Luka: That’s not m–

He stops when both Coral and Brandon stare at him with withering glances. He shrinks, and then excuses himself. If you listen very carefully, you might hear him screaming like a little girl.

Coral Avalon: So, Brandon, I’d offer you a drink, but I know you’ve got a lizard person thing to worry about.

A somber nod.

Brandon Youngblood: He started it here. Over two years ago. Tonight…back in Vegas…I finish it.

Ooooooooooooooooh. Or something. Finger wiggles. Scary. The Tower’s eyes scan the Throne Room. As opulent as can be expected. The hors d’oeuvres are not his focus. It’s something both of them have spent quite a bit of time with. Around.

The PRIME Universal Championship.

Brandon Youngblood: I told you, after I fought Byrd at Tropical Turmoil…after he took my head off…after I thought maybe…just maybe…after UltraViolence…after shredding my arm…after being trapped with Cecilworth destroying both my arms and choking me…

He once again faces Avalon.

Brandon Youngblood: I said you knew who you should be facing for the Universal Championship. And I said it with a straight face. And you said to me, with a straight face…that you knew too. Not Jonathan-Christopher Hall.

A slight head tilt.

Brandon Youngblood: World’s done a lot of changing since then. I didn’t believe it when I said it. But I knew you would get the job done. And you’ve remade everything in doing so. Made so many people who thought you weren’t charismatic enough, or marketable enough…that they had to hide you under a blackberry mask…look like absolute jackasses.

Avalon lets out a chuckle.

Coral Avalon: There’s a whole cartoon out there on the ACE Network with that silly little mask on full display. It’s as the saying goes: When life gives you lemons, you paint them gold.

Avalon stands from his throne.

Coral Avalon: And you, last time I was in the ring with you, you were a full-blown “Pariah”. Now look at you, Mr. Brand Ambassador. You’ve got yourself a lifetime contract, you’re PRIME for life. Man, there was really a time when we were both untouchable, and not in the way we are today.

A smirk. OH GOD. THIS IS WHERE THE DREAD CREEPS IN! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Brandon Youngblood: Just wanted to tell you congratulations.

From his fold, an arm extended.

Brandon Youngblood: To whatever the future brings. For both of us.

Avalon takes the hand. He winks.

Coral Avalon: See you soon.

An omen?

A prelude?

Wishful thinking?

Perhaps the answer will be known by the end of the night.

We go elsewhere.

Backstage, where two people walk down a hallway.

One of them is Nate Colton–the New Diamond, former Five Star Champion, etc. etc. We all know him.

The other is a young person with a blue pixie cut and a cute little nose ring; they wear a set of clunky headphones around their neck and carry a clipboard full of very important information. Longtime PRIME viewers might recognize them as Patricia, a production assistant at the MGM Grand back in 2022. This is unfortunate, because their name is actually Samantha. All this time, and people still can’t get it right? Unacceptable.

Anyway, Nate and Patricia are walking down the hallway, carrying on a conversation.

Nate Colton: All the way to Assistant Producer in two years? You’re killing it, Samantha!

Patricia: Thanks. The work I put in at the Grand looked great on my resume, so when I jumped over here I was able to climb the ladder pretty quickly.

Nate Colton: That’s awesome. I wish I’d been able to follow closer, but…

He gestures broadly at everything; Patricia nods in agreement.

Patricia: I can imagine. This way.

They point down another hall, leading Nate Colton along as they make the turn at the intersection.

Nate Colton: You’re really good at navigating these halls. I’d be so lost right now otherwise.

Patricia: I spent a lot of time here earlier today. One of our techs threw his back out while he was installing the big door. What’s the deal with that thing?

Nate Colton: Dunno, but I’m pretty sure it’s Ivan Stanislav’s fault. Here we are.

Here we are indeed; Patricia has led Nate Colton to the Steel Door o’ Doom, and presumably to his own o’ Doom as well.

Patricia: Well. Good luck, I guess.

Nate Colton: Oh, I’ll be all right. Gonna suck for a while…but I knew what I was getting into.

The friends share a quick side-hug, then Patricia goes about their business while Colton knocks on the door.

CLONG CLONG

A stern and perpetually annoyed voice comes from the other side.

“Hurry up.”

With considerable effort, Colton opens the door and enters the office. There he sees (and we see) Lindsay Troy behind her desk, working on some “urgent” matter that would have been resolved hours ago if people just used their heads and/or left her alone for five goddamn minutes.

Heavy is the head.

Nate Colton: Hey, boss.

Lindsay Troy: Nate. Ready for the firing squad?

Nate Colton: As ready as I’m gonna be.

Lindsay Troy: Uh huh.

She grabs a paper from her desk and gives it a quick look up and down.

Lindsay Troy: So. You’re the one who let Sammy in the building at 57.

Nate Colton: Yep. That was me.

Lindsay Troy: And again two weeks ago in Reno.

Nate Colton: Right.

Lindsay Troy: And you helped him screw with the PRIME*View. Want to tell me you managed that?

Nate freezes for a moment, clearly not expecting any follow-up questions.

Nate Colton: I…helped set up the sound a lot for Dad’s shows. Principle’s the same; it’s just bigger.

Lindsay Troy: Uh huh.

Don’t look now, but Nate might be sweating a little bit. Openly confessing to something shouldn’t be this difficult.

Nate Colton: Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m the one who let Sammy Broadway in the building. I put people at risk, and I’m ready to face punishment for that.

The Queen taps her index finger on top of her desk while staring at the Next Diamond. After an uncomfortable minute of silence, she speaks.

Lindsay Troy: All right. You have to bring cupcakes to the PRIME office on Monday.

Nate Colton: …

Don’t just stand there slack-jawed, dummy. Accept the terms.

Nate Colton: Umm…sure! That seems like a reasonable punishment for what I did.

Lindsay Troy: Glad you agree. I feel like if someone’s going to waste my time, they should at least bring cupcakes.

Nate Colton: …what?

Lindsay Troy: I know it wasn’t you, Nate.

Nate Colton: …what?

Lindsay Troy: We got a tip that helped us narrow the search. Because of that, we saw Jenny open the door for Sammy in Salt Lake.

And…now he’s sweating a little bit more.

Nate Colton: How do you know it was her?

Lindsay Troy: Well, as it turns out, those sweet ring jackets you Coltons like to wear all have your last name on the back.

Nate Colton: Yeah. That…must have been me.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, did you somehow shrink half a foot? Or do you really think I can’t tell the difference between you and your sister?

Nate is about to answer, but quickly clamps his mouth shut. Smart boy.

Lindsay Troy: We also know she was in Reno two weeks ago. She got Sammy in touch with one of our crew, who snuck him in with the local stagehands and then set up the video.

The game is up, only Nate can’t quite admit it. He desperately tries to plead his case again, even though he knows how futile it is.

Nate Colton: Jenny had nothing to do with this! I’m the one who–

Lindsay Troy: Your mouth. Zip it. Right now.

Nate does as he’s told.

Lindsay Troy: I understand what you’re trying to do, Nate. But you can’t protect her from everything, and as much as I like Jenny, you shouldn’t protect her from the consequences of her own actions. Effective immediately, she’s banned from PRIME.

Nate Colton: This is bullshit! You can’t just–

Lindsay Troy: I can’t what, Nathan? Tell me exactly what I can’t do with my company, when someone–anyone–is fucking with it?

The New Diamond fumes, but says nothing. Troy barely takes notice; she’s been mean-mugged by better.

Lindsay Troy: I’m not going to ruin Jenny’s career, or even Sammy’s career, over this. But I will not put PRIME at risk over two people who don’t work here, no matter what the situation. End of discussion.

Emotions fight for dominance on the New Diamond’s face; anger, desperation, confusion all make their play. The Queen’s face is perfectly stoic.

Lindsay Troy: We’re done here. You can go.

Colton stands up, still looking like he wants to hit something. Seeing no viable options in the office, he turns to leave, pausing only briefly at the Steel Door o’ Doom. He grabs the edge with both hands and puts his weight behind it…

Lindsay Troy: DON’T–!

But he does.

CLONNNNGGGGGG!

That door is not easy to slam, but Nate Colton pulls it off.

His brief mantrum complete, he walks away from the boss’ office, while we walk towards something else.

Cut.

We’re back ringside in the T-Mobile Arena, and we’ve got the sirens going. Ignore the sirens.

The lights dim and “What’s Up Danger” hits the PA system before Rose simply bursts through the curtains without a single care in the world. It’s time for business.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from San Diego, California! She weighs in tonight at one hundred and thirty-five pounds! Representing KING… SHE IS THE SECOND COMING! SHE! IS! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!

Rose isn’t one for hesitating, and she instead she marches down the ring. Once she gets halfway, she makes a sprint for the ring and slides underneath the bottom rope. Standing up quickly, she jumps up onto the ropes of the hard camera side and screams for all to hear.

Richard Parker: Rose doesn’t exactly make a lot of friends, but the ones she has have been dropping like flies lately.

Nick Stuart: We’re still not sure who exactly is behind the attacks on the members of KING, but… Well, Rose is here, at least.

Richard Parker: No thanks to Hessian. He threw her into a dumpster two weeks ago! A dumpster!

Speaking of… Hello, darkness, my old frenemy.

There’s a rumbling of drums, a visceral guitar, and then light explodes out of the entryway in rhythm with the drums. It’s Motorhead’s “Kingdom of the Worm”, of course. Fog pours out of the entryway as a massive juggernaut emerges from behind the mist accompanied by a smaller, less juggernaut-y little man.

The Murder Show is live and in living color. He stands at the top of the ramp, soaking in the crowd’s reaction.

Vince Howard: Her opponent… Being accompanied to the ring by Minion the Imp! He stands at SEVEN FEET AND TWO INCHES! HE WEIGHS IN TONIGHT AT THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POUNDS! REPRESENTING THE EGG BANDITS! HE IS THE MURDER SHOW! A PRIME HALL OF FAMER! HE! IS! HESSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIAAAAAAANNNNNN!!!

The big man raises his arms in the air in two fists, and starts stomping down the ramp.

Nick Stuart: Hessian’s been in a rut lately, but this is still a massive force of nature heading to the ring.

Richard Parker: I hope that ramp is up to code.

Hessian reaches the ring and reaches up to the top rope before easily climbing up and stepping over the top rope. The Murder Show parades around the ring, lights shining upon him as he is ready to bring the show to life in front of a live studio audience.

Rose quietly re-enters the ring as this is going on, but Hessian sees her before she can lay in an ambush on the Murder Show. She’d have to wait for the bell to ring. “Kingdom of the Worm” ends with one last line…

ALL MEN MUST SUFFER.

…and the PA system falls silent.

Elvis Nixon obliges this, calling for the bell.

DING DING

There is no sugar-coating it. Rose is at a disadvantage here. There is more than a foot of height difference and two hundred pounds of bulk separating her from the Murder Show. She knows she has to play this fast, chop the big tree down. Hessian approaches slowly, like a great tree that uprooted itself and started mauling everyone and everything in its path. You know, like that one part of the climax of the Two Towers where a bunch of trees beat the shit out of Saruman and his mans.

Rose is not Saruman, though, she’s not staying up in her tower and then completely disappearing in the third movie. She’s got places to be, and that place is at a decent enough distance from Hessian that she can kick him right in the knee and then dart away when the big man reaches for her.

Nick Stuart: Big mismatch here tonight.

Richard Parker: It’s important to me that Rose finds a way to beat this lummox, because I don’t really need the eGG Bandits winning anything, ever. I’m willing to sell at least Nick’s kidney to get this done.

Nick Stuart: Why my kidney? You have two perfectly functioning kidneys of your own for your Faustian bargains.

Richard Parker: Look, I’m saving those for more important bargains.

Nick Stuart: Like what?

Richard Parker: For Cancer Jiles to explode, Facey-style.

Rose darts in again with another kick to Hessian’s leg. Then another. Then a fourth, and then a fifth.

Hessian is reacting to all of these kicks with a mixture of amusement and irritation. He’s waiting for Rose to get careless, like the veteran monster that he is. The carelessness comes early, as Rose lands the sixth kick and then jaws at Hessian to do something. She’s defiant. Determined. Fearless. And…

OHHHHH!!!

…is sent skywards with a throw that literally sends her several feet above the ropes before she crashes down on the canvas on the other side of the ring.

Nick Stuart: What a throw from Hessian!

There’s no technique in what Hessian did. It’s just a man who stands 7’2” throwing a woman sixteen inches shorter across the ring like one would throw a burlap sack full of potatoes. Rose hits the ground, bounces through the middle and bottom ropes, and ends up on the ring apron. She has an expression on her face that’s outright bewildered, as though she’d never been launched by a human trebuchet before.

She does the only smart thing she can do.

She bails to the outside. Outside is safe, right?

Well, it’s Hessian, a former Intense champion who is at home in violent situations as you and I would be sitting on a couch and watching bad sitcoms so… Probably not. Hessian calmly steps out of the ring to go after Rose. Rose is generally a defiant individual, unshaken by anyone. Even the fact that Hessian dunked her into a dumpster like Charles Barkley performing a Chaos Dunk doesn’t really deter her.

But even she decides to run away from Hessian in this situation.

What occurs next is a bit of a chase around the ring. Round and round. Rose grabs the ring post as she passes by one of the corners and uses it as a fulcrum to swing back into the ring. Hessian, seeing this, goes to the apron to try and catch her. Rose proceeds to blast him with a dropkick, using all of her body mass at her disposal, to knock the giant off of the apron and to the floor.

Nick Stuart: Huge dropkick from Rose, and Hessian is knocked to the outside!

Richard Parker: Incoming!

Rose doesn’t hesitate. She sprints off the ropes almost as soon as she gets back to her feet and then launches herself like a torpedo at Hessian on the outside with a suicide con hilo. Hessian takes this attack like he’s been hit with an anti-materiel rifle and nearly topples the barrier on the outside, which would’ve been a fun way to have a lawsuit if it collapsed into the fans nearby. Rose scrambles to her feet, slides back into the ring, and then does it again.

Nick Stuart: Rose is putting it all on the line here!

Richard Parker: Well, I mean, points to her for not doing what I’d do if I were facing Hessian.

Nick Stuart: Curl up in a ball and cry and hope Hessian takes pity on you?

Richard Parker: …Yes.

Hessian is wobbly on his huge legs as Rose slides back in the ring and hopes for the countout win. But at the count of five, Hessian slides back into the ring. Rose hits him with a dropkick on his way back in, and tries to physically push the giant out of the ring again. She’s successful, thanks to the leverage she gets from grabbing the middle rope as she uses her feet to push Hessian out.

This doesn’t last long, of course.

Hessian is back on his feet quickly and Rose has little choice but to grab the top ropes and launch herself over the top rope with a plancha.

Nick Stuart: Rose, over the top…

And she regrets this.

Nick Stuart: CAUGHT!

As easily as catching a bouquet thrown by a bride at a wedding, Hessian snatches Rose out of midair and casually scoop slams her into the ring apron. Rose bridges up in pain, and Hessian climbs back in the ring to continue the assault. He drags Rose almost kicking and screaming back to the center of the ring. Rose is lifted up off the canvas in a tilt-a-whirl, then she goes for another revolution in the tilt-a-whirl before Hessian casually just lets go and sends her flying to the canvas with the Tilt-The-World.

Richard Parker: I think Rose wants off of Mr. Hessian’s Wild Ride now.

Hessian’s having a good time. His smile is wide. His eyes wildly look for the nearest dumpster, but he doesn’t see one. No matter. If you believe hard enough in it, the outside of the ring is like the world’s biggest dumpster.

He pulls Rose up and lifts her up in position for a powerbomb. Only, he’s walking really dangerously close to the outside.

Nick Stuart: No! If Hessian does this to the outside, we’re going to need some EMTs out here!

Richard Parker: Or a priest.

Fortunately, neither are required here. As Hessian lifts Rose up again into a crucifix position, it frees her legs and allows her to start kicking. Hessian loses his grip, and Rose lands on her feet behind Hessian. A dropkick to the back of his leg follows, and it’s enough to cause the Murder Show’s leg to buckle under him and drop him to one knee. Rose quickly runs into the ropes, and…

Nick Stuart: THORN PRICK!

Hessian finally falls onto his back, and Rose falls on top of him for a cover.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

And when I say “kickout”, I mean that Rose is launched bodily into the air and it’s only her natural agility that gets her to land on her feet. Rose looks down at Hessian, and then looks over at the turnbuckles. She knows the gambit she must play if she wants to win this one. She needs all of what’s about to happen. So when Hessian is close to getting to his feet, Rose leaps onto the middle rope. She jumps onto the top rope.

ROSE 2 RO—

Okay. Yeah, about that.

R2R is a move that requires very precise positioning to land. It’s a move based around equal parts skill and agility, one that involves a tremendous amount of concentration. Rose has won matches with this move. The point being, Hessian isn’t where Rose wanted him to be by the time she got to the top rope. So when Rose performed her flip, Hessian caught her in mid-air onto his shoulder.

From there… Hellevate her. Hell-hellevate her to the ground, whoa-oh, she’s so Hellavated. 

Nick Stuart: HELLEVATOR!

Richard Parker: Oh, dammit! I knew I should’ve sold your kidney!

Rose is compacted to the ground off the impact of the Gonso bomb half of the Hellevator, and Hessian drops down for the cover and Elvis Nixon drops down for the count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING.

Fans are still catching their collective breath from the way Rose was seamlessly dropped mercilessly to the Earth by the Murder Show. Hessian raises his arms in triumph as Vince Howard makes things official.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match, HESSSSSSSIIIIIIIAAAAAANNNNNN!!!

Nick Stuart: What a way for the longest losing streak in PRIME to get snapped!

Richard Parker: That was Rose’s neck.

Nick Stuart: Hopefully, she’ll be okay after that.

Rose lies on her stomach, holding the back of her neck, but after a few moments of pain, she’s able to slide under the bottom rope under her own power and stagger away.

CRASH!

That’s the sound of her kicking a barricade in frustration on her way out.

Richard Parker: She’s fine.

In the ring, Hessian watches her go with a modicum of amusement.

And then ReVival moves on.

The T-Mobile Arena explodes with a mix of cheers and confused murmurs as Sunny O’Callahan bursts onto the entrance ramp. Her frizzy blonde hair bounces wildly with each determined stride down the ramp, one rebellious curl falling across her forehead. The loose fabric of her flouncy halter top swirls around her as she snatches the microphone from a startled Vince Howard.

Sunny’s blood boils as she locks eyes with Richard Parker at the broadcast table.

Nick Stuart: What in the world?

Richard Parker chuckles.

Richard Parker: Looks like someone’s got their panties in a twist.

Sunny’s nostrils flare as she marches toward the table, her faded denim jeans hugging her legs with each step.

Nick Stuart: She’s coming over to the broadcast table.

Sunny O’Callahan: Video people. Play the first clip.

(REPLAY: ReVival 58- Adam Ellis vs. Ivan Stanislav)

Ivan hasn’t given Ellis any space and as soon as the bell rings, his hand engulfs Adam’s face, dragging him out of one corner and hurling him into the other. Ivan charges in hitting a massive splash, the entire ring shaking as he impacts Ellis like a Soviet locomotive.

Nick Stuart: This is not going well for Ellis.

Richard Parker: I can’t wait to see this guy get torn apart!

Adam crumbles out of the corner as Sunny rushes to that side of the ring with a worried look on her face. Ivan slowly turns, looking down at Ellis with a confused look on his face. That confusion turns to disgust as he grabs Ellis by the throat, dragging him to his feet before shoving him away.

Nick Stuart: This… this is crazy, Ellis isn’t going to just let Ivan crush him here, is he?!

Richard Parker: Suicide by Stanislav, that’s a hell of a way to go.

(END VIDEO)

Sunny leans in close to Richard, her voice a low snarl.

Sunny O’Callahan: You just couldn’t wait to see Adam Ellis torn apart. Well, are you happy now, Richard?

Richard Parker: Now, Sunny, let’s not-

Sunny O’Callahan: Suicide by Stanislav… yeah, that’s pretty funny.

Sunny motions to the back.

Sunny O’Callahan: Play the next clip.

(REPLAY: ReVival 58)

A furious Ivan Stanislav sends his hand crashing down across Ellis’s chest. The contact sends ripples across Adam’s flesh, his body crumbling beneath the force of the blow.

Nick Stuart: Somebody needs to stop this.. This execution!

Richard Parker: Ellis could just surrender but I think this sicko wants this!

(END VIDEO)

Sunny’s accent thickens with emotion, her voice rising.

Sunny O’Callahan: You said Ellis could just surrender but… and I quote… I think this sicko wants this? Really?

Nick attempts to intervene.

Nick Stuart: Sunny, let’s calm down and-

Sunny O’Callahan: Calm down?

Sunny whirls on Nick, her loose top swaying with the movement. Her eyes blaze with a mixture of fury and fear.

Sunny O’Callahan: I’m perfectly calm, Nick. Adam’s been missing for two weeks. Do you think that’s funny?

Sunny whips back to Richard, her frizzy blonde hair wild and untamed, mirroring the storm of emotions within her.

Sunny O’Callahan: Do you? Do you think it’s funny… Richard?

Richard begins to speak but Sunny cuts him off.

Sunny O’Callahan: Did you think it was funny when Wilhelm Kael put his hands on me and stopped me from throwing the towel in to stop the match?

Sunny’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper, her Irish lilt more pronounced in her fury.

Sunny O’Callahan: Did you think it was funny that he prevented me from saving Adam from Ivan continuing to massacre him in the ring?

Richard swallows hard, his usual wit evaporating under Sunny’s intense glare.

Sunny O’Callahan: Did you?

Richard Parker: I-I was doing my job, calling the match as I saw it.

Sunny O’Callahan: Your job?

Sunny’s grip on the microphone tightens.

Sunny O’Callahan: Your job is to have a fucking shred of human decency. Your job is not to make light of a human being… a person who had no business being in that ring in the first place that night… getting completely annihilated by a fucking psychopath who thinks he can destroy people with impunity without any consequences for his actions.

Leaning closer to Richard, Sunny’s voice trembles with barely contained fury, her breath hot on Richard’s face.

Sunny O’Callahan: Adam could be dead at the bottom of that reservoir and you’re sitting here acting like it’s all just all one big fucking joke?

Richard Parker: Sunny-

Sunny O’Callahan: SHUT UP! Adam made a mistake. He’s paying a price for it. He did NOT deserve what happened to him two weeks ago… Richard.

Sunny’s eyes narrow as she takes a step back from the announce table.

Sunny O’Callahan: Guys. Come on down.

The crowd’s murmur turns to a roar when her free hand makes a sharp, cutting motion through the air and three men come out of the crowd and jump over the guardrail onto the floor.

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute. That’s Drew Mitchell from HOW, and R.G. Jenkins and David Bonnett aka… The Alabama Gang from MVW.

They stride purposefully toward the broadcast table.

Nick Stuart: Sunny, no. This is getting out of hand!

Sunny’s lips curl into a dangerous smile. She watches as Drew and the two rugged Alabamians approach, their imposing figures radiating barely contained violence.

Sunny O’Callahan: Getting out of hand? Nick, where was PRIME Security two weeks ago when things got out of hand with Ivan Stanislav. I tell you where they were… they didn’t let my guys come to my aid.

She leans in close to Richard, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper that somehow carries through the microphone.

Sunny O’Callahan: How funny do you think it would be if my guys dragged your fat ass out of that chair… took you to the ring… and do the exact same thing to you that Ivan Stanislav did to Adam Ellis two weeks ago?

Nick Stuart: Sunny, you can’t do that.

The scent of her Southern Comfort-laced breath mingles with the fear-sweat now visibly forming on Richard’s brow.

Sunny O’Callahan: How funny would that be?

Richard’s face pales visibly and his eyes dart between Sunny and the three men standing behind her.

Richard Parker: Now, Sunny, let’s not do anything rash-

Man’s Voice: Sunny, bruh… no, don’t do this!

Sunny’s head swivels towards the stage. There stands Bryan Dawkins, microphone in hand.

Nick Stuart: Thank God. Maybe Bryan can talk some sense into Sunny.

Bryan slowly strolls down the ramp.

Bryan Dawkins: Whoa, whoa boys! Although ole DICK over here has done and said plenty in his career to warrant what you’re about to do to him, let’s just think this through for a minute.

Dawkins shoots a glare towards Richard and then addresses Mitchell, Jenkins, and Bonnett.

Bryan Dawkins: Don’t get me wrong. I get it. This is the same Richard Parker who used to openly wish for my deportation back to Hawaii back in the ReVolution days.

Richard Parker: A sentiment I still stand by, by the way.

Nick Stuart: Richard, don’t make things worse…

Bryan Dawkins: Dick, you do know Hawaii’s a state in the United States, right? We’re over that, aren’t we?

Richard rolls his eyes at Dawkins, but flinches and moves closer to Nick as the Alabama Gang inches closer.

Bryan Dawkins: So I mean, if you really wanna do it, be my guest! I’m certainly not gonna stop ya…

Bryan shrugs before pointing at Mitchell, Jenkins, and Bonnett hovering menacingly over Richard Parker.

Bryan Dawkins: But unless you guys are interested in pullin’ together bail money to get out of one of Las Vegas PD’s finest jail cells, I think you might wanna reconsider.

Sunny O’Callahan: Bryan, you don’t understand.

For a second, the anger raging inside of her subsides and Sunny’s eyes well up.

Sunny O’Callahan: I failed him.

She bows her head.

Sunny O’Callahan: That’s right. I failed him, Bryan. Adam told me everything about what happened with Vickie Hall the night I agreed to become his manager. I told Adam he needed to tell Ginny right away. He had to tell her… deal with the consequences… and try to work through it with her. And he wouldn’t. I begged him to tell Ginny before something happened. And then it all blew up.

Sunny makes eye contact with Bryan.

Sunny O’Callahan: Adam stopped talking to me… Adam stopped talking to everyone… Adam stopped caring. And now… I don’t know what happened to him.

Bryan Dawkins: Look, you don’t gotta tell me. I haven’t spoken to him since the news broke…

Her emotions again switch and her eyes flash with anger as she turns towards Richard.

Sunny O’Callahan: But for you to make it a huge joke two weeks ago.

Sunny shakes her head ‘no.’ Mitchell, Jenkins, and Bonnett glower down at the color commentator. Richard moves his chair back.

Sunny O’Callahan: No.

Bryan Dawkins: Sunny… don’t.

The color drains from Richard Parker’s face. Sunny’s piercing glare bores into him, stripping away his carefully cultivated bravado.

Drew Mitchell’s knuckles crack ominously, the sound echoing in the suddenly tense arena. Jenkins and Bonnett, the imposing Alabama Gang, take a menacing step forward, their rugged Southern frames towering over the commentator’s desk.

Just as the situation teeters on the brink of violence, “Put ‘Em In The Grave” by Jedi Mind Tricks slices through the air. The crowd erupts as Sunny whirls around, her wild blonde hair whipping across her face. Her eyes lock onto a very annoyed Lindsay Troy striding purposefully onto the stage, flanked by the imposing figures of Wade Elliott and Dametreyus.

The Queen motions for her music to stop, and as it’s cut she raises a mic to her lips.

Lindsay Troy: Alright, Sunny, that’s enough. I think you’ve made your point.

Sunny O’Callahan: Oh… NOW you have security come out.

The arena falls silent, tension crackling in the air like electricity before a storm.

Sunny O’Callahan: Where the hell were you guys two weeks ago when Ivan was tearing Adam apart?  Why were these guys who were supposed to run down and help when the match got out of hand stopped from coming to the ring?

Lindsay looks at Sunny like she’s suddenly grown three extra heads.

Lindsay Troy: First of all, the fact you have the audacity to bring someone from the Pit to my show, unannounced, while having an absolute meltdown is just…it’s rich, Sunny, truly. That aside, Drew Mitchell, as well as your cohorts in the Alabama Gang aren’t members of my roster and, as such, weren’t going to get near my ring. I’d expect Ray McAvay to have the same policy in MVW if the situation was reversed.

Sunny O’Callahan: Did you book Adam against Stanislav to punish him for the Vickie Hall affair?

Sunny’s voice is raw with emotion and the words tumble out before she can stop them, fueled by two weeks of pent-up anger and worry.

Sunny O’Callahan: I mean, wasn’t Ginny walking out on him and taking their daughter with her punishment enough? No, let’s really punish the kid by putting him in the ring with a fucking monster.

Lindsay’s eyes narrow and her jaw clenches, but Sunny plows on, two weeks of pent-up frustration pouring out.

Sunny O’Callahan: You know, Lindsay, Adam Ellis stuck up for PRIME when he went back to HOW last year for that match with John Sektor. He made it clear how nice it was to work for a company where the owner doesn’t try to stick it to you like Lee Best did to him.

The crowd gasps at Sunny’s audacity. She knows she’s crossing a line, but she doesn’t care.

Sunny O’Callahan: And this is how Adam is repaid? He makes a mistake – a big mistake, I know – but then you book him against Ivan Stanislav?

Lindsay Troy: You keep talking about the mistakes Adam’s made, Sunny, but we need to talk about the one you’re making right now. I’ve been nothing but supportive of Adam throughout his time here. Not only supportive of him, but of Ginny too, because God knows I probably should’ve fired her more than once for smuggling weapons into the locker room. I didn’t, though. Because they’re young, and they make mistakes. And for you to accuse me of throwing Adam to Ivan because of his mistake is not only horseshit, but it’s way out of line.

The crowd murmurs, tension thick in the air. Sunny barely registers Bryan Dawkins’ arrival at her side.

Bryan Dawkins: Whoa, bruh, let’s take this to the back.

Dawkins takes her arm and tries to get Sunny and the group to go up the ramp. Sunny’s chest heaves as she fights back tears. She meets Lindsay’s steely gaze, refusing to back down.

Sunny O’Callahan: If anything’s happened to Adam. If they find him in the bottom of the reservoir…

Sunny jerks away, her eyes blazing. Bryan’s gentle hand on her back guides her up the ramp. Jenkins and Bonnett flank her, their imposing presence a shield against the world.

She barely registers the crowd’s murmurs or the bright lights above. Her legs move on autopilot, carrying her towards the backstage area.

Drew Mitchell brings up the rear, he shakes his head and walks past the Queen of the Ring without comment.

The Staff contingent watches them all head backstage, Wade Elliott especially glaring at Drew Mitchell after the Brit’s reproachful head shake. The camera picks up a resigned sigh from the Boss and ReVival heads elsewhere.

The screen fades to black. A commercial for Colossus starts up, promising of high flying thrills and wild excitement in none other than the SoFi Stadium in sunny Los Angeles, Ca… wait. What is going on?

STATIC

Fade in through the static slowly. A wobbly piece of corrugated sheet metal frames the shot. The corrugated metal and the camera move in counter-motion, crudely simulating a very eighties wavy lines effect. We see a giant man with his back to the camera. He wears a giant mask of a head with hard, straight lines in the slicked-back blonde hair. The grainy and distorted audio can be described, at best, as an accident. A calamity not intentionally created by god or man. It’s all reverb and screeches.

The man twists on a dime, firing finger guns at the camera with a giant and uncomfortable smile plastered across the plastic face of the mask. Dark, block shades cover the eyes. Why, that’s the eighties TV ad sensation of Pepsi’s marketing genius: Max Headroom.

Max Headroom: SEBASTIAN GOLD IS A FREAKING NERD AND A FREAKING CRAVEN!

Headroom rips the mask off to reveal every PRIME mark’s favorite alcoholic trainwreck grouch, Rob Williams. With a reverse kick, Williams sends the corrugated metal flying behind him. The camera stops moving and Rob pulls a microphone from inside his sportscoat.

Rob Williams: Slightly better Johnny Cash impersonation Hello, I’m Rob Williams. Welcome to The Fucking Show™.

Rob does a snap kick in the air towards the camera. It’s totally awesome. If your wife is watching you better make sure she’s not pregnant.

A militaristic drumroll starts in sync with a distorted electric guitar. Rob closes his eyes, feeling the music way down in his belly and letting it guide his hips as he begins a sultry sway. As the first lyrics begin, Williams raises his arms over his head.

Grandpa pissed his pants again
He don’t give a damn
Brother Billy has both guns drawn
He ain’t been right since Vietnam

Moving like a graceful gorilla, Rob gets intimately close with the camera, his shoulders carrying the beat as he mouths the lyrics into thousands of homes.

“Sweet home Alabama”
Play that dead band’s song
Turn those speakers up full blast
Play it all night long
I’m going down to the Dew Drop Inn
See if I can drink enough
There ain’t much to country living
Sweat, piss, jizz   and blood

There’s no fucking way Warren Zevon’s people approved this and Rob is going to get PRIME sued. Again.

Rob Williams: Come one, come all wink to the most electrifying fifteen-ish minutes of your pathetic little week. WELCOME TO THE FUCKING SHOW! Now, let me aplogize to all of you pieces of shit at home for the audible on theme music. SOMEONE forgot to get licensing rights. Whoops!

Studio laugh track

Rob Williams: Anyways, I digress. I have to, once again, remind all of you shit burgers at home to never try anytihng you see here. Personally, I think if you’re dumb enough to try this shit, it’s just natural sele-

A disclaimer flashes across the screen:

Once again… PRIME absolutely does not condone nor endorse any of the actions on this telecast. PRIME will not be held liable for any injuries sustained trying to reenact anything witnessed on this segment or any other segment. Despite appearing to be deceased, Harley Walker is a trained professional.

Rob Williams: Aw fuck you guys. Hey Harvey, HOW’S IT HANGING UP THERE?

A mischevious smile crosses Rob’s face as he holds up his left hand in a circle. He then pushes his index finger through it multiple times while looking up. Our view cuts up to where everyone’s favorite (and PRIME’s only real) stuntman Harley Walker is suspended from the ceiling, dangling lifeless in his harness.

Harley Walker:…

Rob Williams: HAHAHA! What a spitfire up you are. Speaking of fire, boy do we have a doozie for you folks at home tonight. We secretly put out a Google form on 4chan for the masses of Harvey’s fans to fill out after the last ReVival. First of all, a WHOLE lot of you need to repent. Harvey is a human man.

The camera cuts to Harley and zooms in on his face. A single tear rolls through the wrinkles of his weathered face. Back to Rob.

Rob Williams: After we removed all the fucking weird stuff, we landed on tonight’s expertly crafted stunt. Our boy Harvey here is suspended from a zip line. Well, his roofing harness is suspended from a steel cable we’ve ziptied across the ceiling, but the guys at Lowes basically assured me it would hold him. Tonight you will all witness Harvey complete THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE OF DOOM!

DUN DUN DUN

A hoola hoop is suspended from the ceiling down the zip line from Harley walker. It is doused in some type of liquid.

Rob Williams: Harvey has been smeared in hot baby oil, glitter, and zippo lighter fluid. Sounds like a party in Brandon Youngblood’s locker room! My kind of party, am I right? Anyways, I digress. In a few short moments I will use the guide rope we’ve attached to Harvey to send him flying across the zipline. He will thread the needle through that fancy flaming ring before landing safely on the other side. For heightened dramatic effect, we’ve rigged up a clapper to spark the ring at the PERFECT moment. This is gonna be the tits. You ready big guy?

Harley Walker:…

Pan out to a panoramic view as Rob nods in approval at Harley’s response.. A thin, steel cable is hastily fastened to two hookeye anchors at opposite ends of the ceiling. The ring sits dead center, literally just thread through the rope. Dangling from one of Harley’s white pant legs is a string of nylon rope, which Rob uses to move Harley. The ring has not yet sparked.

Rob Williams: On the count of three. GODSPEED, HARVEY! One, two, THREEEEE!

With a hard yank on the guiderope, Rob sends Harley speeding away down the zipline. Rob’s eyes light up as he watches Harley’s vacant body spinning wildly away. He begins clapping wildly, but nothing happens.

Rob Williams: Aw, goddamnit.

Harley is fast approaching the ring and it has yet to catch fire.

Rob Williams: Clapping CLAP ON YOU FUCK!

Just as Harley meets with the ring, it explodes in a boquet of spark and flames. Why? Because the rigged clapper device suddenly introduced electricity to it, turning this predestined shit show into a death trap. Who the hell proofed this? Where is OSHA? Not fucking here, that’s for sure.

The line is quickly destroyed from the initial arc. Harley plummets from the sky like a monkey returning from space whom glimsed the secrets of the cosmos only to be doomed never to share them. Flaming baby oil and glitter rain down on the concrete floor below. Luckily for Harley, he somehow manages to find a soft landing straight through a catering table.

Bad day to be a catering table.

Pure carnage. Little gleams of light beam from the glitter melting away in the flaming pockets of baby oil. Gabagool is everywhere. A pickle has somehow found its way into Harley Walker’s open mouth. Backstage personnel rush to check on Harley and put the fire out.

Staff Member: Good God almighty! Good God almighty! That killed him! As God as my witness, he is broken in half!

Rob Williams: Aw, he’ll be fine. Rub some dirt on ‘im and he’ll be good as new.

Rob turns back to the camera.

Rob Williams: Well, I hope all of you had as much fun as I did this week on The Fucking Show™. Remember, it doesn’t take brains or wits or talent to be a stuntman. Anyone can do it! See y’all next week.

A disclaimer streams across again:

This is not true. Harley Walker is a professional. Unbeknownst to Rob Williams, medical and emergency response crews were on hand ready to mobilize. Please do not try anything you see Rob Williams or Harley Walker do at home. Anything.

We move on.

“”J.O.E.L.” by JT Music blares out over the Lawlor Event Center as the lights dim. The stage fills with smoke, provided by the numerous PRIME fog machines, while red light strobes like flickers of lightning through it. Boos begin to well up as the crowd reacts to the arrival of the Lord-Commissar of the Red Army.

Nick Stuart: Do you think Wilhelm Kael ever genuinely smiles?

Richard Parker: Of course he does! He’s a human being.

Nick Stuart: Debatable..

A tall, dark figure lurks in the fog standing in the center of the stage. As the music hits the first beat drop, all the fog is sucked away to reveal Wilhelm Kael, glowering out at the hostile crowd. He’s in his Red Army gear though there seems to be considerably more black compared to the red and Soviet gold.

Folding his arms behind his back, Kael slowly makes his way toward the ring. He holds his head high, his chin pushed proudly forward. Pale, gray eyes scan his surroundings while a look of constant disgust is etched into his face. Despite being one of the “youngest” members of the roster, Wilhelm looks older somehow, the lines of his face more severe.

Climbing up the ring steps, Wilhelm wipes the bottom of his boots off on the apron before stepping between the rooms. He gives the referee a threatening look before stepping to the center of the ring. He folds his left hand behind his back while his right fist high.

Vince Howard: From Arkham, Massachusetts by way of Moscow, Russia.. He stands at Six-Foot-Four and weighs Two-Hundred-And-Fifty-Five pounds… the Lord-Commissar of the Red Army… WIIIIILHELM KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEL!

Wilhelm retreats to his corner and prepares for the match to start.

“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🎵

But as the song continues, there’s no RIA. After a few more bars, the music dies down. There’s a buzz of confusion that spreads throughout the crowd. The music fires up again. A minute passes, and still, the Psychoberry has yet to make an appearance.

Nick Stuart: This is pretty strange, Richard. From everything I’ve heard, RIA was quite amped up to have this match.

Richard Parker: Sure, but maybe as the match got closer, she got scared and chickened out.

Nick Stuart: RIA would never!

Richard Parker: Hey, I’m just offering a possible explanation!

A production assistant rushes out the curtain from backstage, going to confer with Vince Howard and Jimmy Turnbull. Things calm down at ringside after the conversation ends. Then the lights go out.

Nick Stuart: What the heck?!

Richard Parker: It feels like it got colder… Did it get colder? It feels colder.

The cover of “Brand New Numb” by Motionless in White blares over the PA system as a purple light encases the arena.

🎵I’ve got a shotgun tongue
And a tick like a time bomb
All black everything
I’ve got a switchblade wit
That cuts like a bitch
And I think you two should meet🎵

Someone walks out of the back, a long ratty leather cowl covering their upper body. The camera attempts to zoom on the face of the individual, but there’s a mask covering their face, with only their right eye visible. They slowly stride down to the ring.

Vince Howard: From the Paraphernalia Wagon… Weighing 155 pounds… RIIIIIIAAA NIGHTSHAAAAAAAADE!

The methodical pace of Nightshade stays unchanged as she approaches the ring stairs.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Ria Nightshade here in PRIME. I think things are about to get violent.

Richard Parker: Ya think?! Who the hell approved this psycho coming back?!

Nightshade goes to the nearest corner, whipping the cowl off. The mask, the one Ria Lockhart had used after the Sage Pontiff injury, is yanked off her face and tossed carelessly to the corner. The lights come up as the song fades out, giving all a good look at the reborn Ria Nightshade.

Richard Parker: What the hell is wrong with her eyes?!

What Richard is referring to is how the Toxic Queen’s eyes are all black, minus the grayish purple iris breaking things up. Nightshade squats in the corner, scowling, ready for the action to begin.

Turnbull checks each combatant for weapons, reaching inside Kael’s pockets to confirm there is no sand.  They stand and face one another, hearts beating in anticipation – ready to be set loose at the sound of the bell. The bright house lights above cast down on them create giant copies of their shadows across the ring, highlighting the real-life David versus Goliath dynamic fans are witnessing. Everyone knows how David versus Goliath ends, but this is PRIME and there is no such thing as an eternal return.

DING DING

Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell and steps the fuck out of the way.

Ria Nightshade tears the distance between her and Max Kael with predatory speed. Her shoulder lands square in the center of Kael’s abdomen, a loud slap of skin on skin audible at ringside. Using her one-hundred-fifty pounds like it was a steel great hammer, Nightshade follows through to splay herself on top of her fallen foe. Kael’s back connects hard with the mat. A resounding thud reverberates through the ring followed closely by the sound of knuckles smacking against skin as Ria unloads volatile and wild fists down like munitions from above. Kael’s head rocks back and forth, bouncing off the mat.

Nick Stuart: Ria Nightshade is off to a blazing start here and completely dominating the match early on. Kael seems caught completely off guard by this brazen offense.

Richard Parker: He’s playing o-possum.

Nick Stuart: I think the O is silent, there, Rich.

Richard Parker: See! I told you.

While the two announcers were plying their witty banter, Kael managed to slither a hand through the chaos of Ria’s attack undetected, firmly placing said thumb into one of her black eyes. He doesn’t let go, though, using the knee-jerk reaction of Nightshade pulling her head back in pain as momentum to roll over on top of her. Kael opens the floodgates of his own offense, brutally laying fist after fist upon Ria in a hammer-fist-type motion. This goes on about as long as Ria’s initial fusillade until they begin rolling back and forth.

As the speed of the blows decreases to single swings, it grows in intensity. Both belligerents are bloody already. Eventually, they run out of steam and begin just slithering as a single unit, pushing the way of one contender and then the other, smearing blood across the mat. They run out of road finally, wrestling their way under the bottom rope and falling to the ground outside the ring prone beside one another.

Richard Parker: Two minutes in and these lunatics already ruined the ring. Have bio on speed dial for whoever is following this shitshow.

The ten count begins as Kael and Nightshade both stand, but it’s Nightshade who connects the first blow. Kael rocks backwards dramatically, but returns with a vengeance, landing an uppercut cleanly on Nightshade’s chin. Taking advantage of the momentum, Kael grabs a handful of Nightshade’s locks and bounces her head off the barrier. Fans boo loudly in his face, but Kael pays them no mind, pulling Nightshade in tight for a snap suplex.

Nick Stuart: Kael quickly to his feet now, pulling Ria up by the wrist. He points to the fans across the way and then sends Ria Nightshade bounding towards them with an Irish Whip that almost tears her arm off. Kael follows behind, looking to further capitalize, but no! Ria leaps in the air just before connecting wit the guardrail. She’s standing on top of the guardrail!

Richard Parker: Hope Kael has good insurance.

Ria takes a millisecond to balance herself before launching into the air for a reckless moonsault. Just barely in striking distance, Kael catches her knee and pelvis to the face. Both competitors fall to the ground and into the side barrier with a sickening thunk.

Richard Parker: Hope Ria has good insurance.

Neer but a stir is coming from Kael or Nightshade as Turnbull reaches the five count. Fans begin cheering, not necessarily for either competitor, but for this brutal match to continue. They’ve tasted blood and they want more. Ria and Kael begin to get up to a raucous clamoring of the fans.

Nick Stuart: Energized by the roaring crowd, both competitors are now using the bottom rope to pull themselves back into the ring. Jimmy Turnbull stops the count, but neither of them is back to their feet yet. Both covered in a crimson mask they kneel in opposite corners. Nightshade looks across the ring at Kael and smiles, blood covering her pearly whites.

When Kael doesn’t respond, Nightshade strikes like a viper, mustering all her energy to charge across the ring and deliver a devastating dropkick to the knelt Kael. At the last moment, Kael moves out of the way. The turnbuckle rings as Ria’s feet make contact, her ankles bending grotesquely.

Richard Parker: That will give her all kinds of trouble when she gets older. After thirty-five, you never really recover from a rolled ankle.

Nick Stuart: Great. Anyways, Kael pulls Ria back up to her feet before throwing her into another Irish Whip, but Ria holds on and reverses. Kael into the ropes and runs back with a head of steam. He’s looking to return with a back elbow, but Nightshade leapfrogs over him and tears off to the opposite rope now. Kael drops under the oncoming Nightshade. Off the ropes one more time for Ria who leaps for a cross-body, but no – Kael catches her mid-air and delivers a fierce bodyslam in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: Kael looks spry for an old man trapped in a baby’s body.

Nick Stuart: Right. Kael takes a moment to breathe before pulling Nightshade up from the ground. He puts her head in between his legs and lifts her up for… Weapons of Mass Destruction! Dear God, he nearly broke her neck! Turnbull is warning Kael now. We can’t hear what they’re saying, but he’s pointing to his neck and the top of his head.

As soon as Turnbull turns around, Kael pulls Nightshade up again into the underhook stance. Before Turnbull can object, Kael lifts Nighshade up and once again drops her down on the top of her head with another Weapons of Mass Destruction. Before Kael can even stand the whole way up Turnbull is on him, yelling and threatening to call the match if this behavior continues. With hands raised, Kael assures Turnbull it was a misunderstanding. Jimmy Turnbull, a paragon of professionalism, gives Kael a final warning.

The moment Turnbull is out of the way, Kael goes to pull Nightshade up into the piledriver set up again. He waited too long, though. Ria Nightshade has gotten enough of her wits about her to drive up from the four-point stance, firmly placing the top of her head into Kael’s crotch. Comrade Kael’s knees buckle from the pain, setting up an easy backdrop suplex from Nightshade. Despite her antics, the fans have bought in. A loud cheer erupts at the sudden burst of aggression.

Nick Stuart: Kael with a quick rebound after that backdrop, but Ria ducks underneath and catches the arm. Exploder Suplex! The whole arena is buzzing now as Ria rolls Max up for the cover.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

A chorus of boos.

Nick Stuart: Somehow Kael managed to kick out, but he’s not out of the danger zone yet.

Richard Parker: High-way-to-the-DANGERZONE!

Nick Stuart: I love that song.

Richard Parker: It’s unAmerican not to.

Trying to find shelter from the storm, Kael crawls over to the corner. He is looking for a moment of respite, a moment to sit with his head against the turnbuckle and figure out where the fuck it all went wrong. Instead, he gets a faceful of Ria Nightshade’s hip.

Nick Stuart: Blessed Sin! Ria is on fire now, commanding the fans and the match. She grabs ahold of Kael’s foot and pulls him back from the turnbuckles to lay prone with his head just a few feet from the bottom rung. Nightshade smiles at the fans as she climbs up the turnbuckle, stopping on the middle rung. The fans rise cheering as she bounces once – twice – three times before leaping backward for HELL ABOVE!

Richard Parker: That lucky bastard. I would pay a mint to be on the receiving end of that.

Nick Stuart: Calm down, Rich. You can’t afford any more fines.

Ria once again goes for the cover, hooking the leg this time and leaning back for some extra leverage.

ONE

TWO

T-KICKOUT!

A collective sigh escapes the crowd. Ria Nightshade pounds the mat three times, yelling at Jimmy Turnbull in frustration. Kael just will not die.

Richard Parker: Less bitching, more kicking!

Nick Stuart: It looks like Nighshade has given up on arguing with Jimmy Turnbull, opting to levy some more damage on Kael. She picks him up and locks in under his arm again for another exploder suplex, but Kael manages to drop an elbow on her forehead to break free. Kael grabs ahold of the dazed Nightshade’s wrist and tosses her into the ropes with another Irish Whip. He tries for lariat, but Ria ducks under and one again bounces off the ropes.

Richard Parker: Wild swing from Kael there.

On the rebound, Ria dives at Kael for a lariat of her own, but it is in vain. The much larger Kael swings Nightshade’s legs behind him like a ragdoll before delivering her to the mat. Ria is completely immobile after impact and Kael isn’t far from it. The fans begin chanting “Nightshade, Nightshade, Nightshade”, hoping they can will Ria to her feet, but it is of no use. Jimmy Turnbull checks in on both competitors before beginning the ten count.

ONE

TWO

THREE

Pushing himself to all fours, Kael looks around confused. Still lying prone beside him, Ria has yet to even open her eyes.

FOUR

A twitch from Ria gets the fans absolutely roaring. Her eyes flutter open and she takes a deep breath. Her body hurts, but she soaks in the cheers.

FIVE

Ria sits up about the same time Kael leans back to kneel. They exchange an exhausted look.

SIX

The two combatants lean into one another, using each other’s bodies to pull themselves up. A few weak blows are exchanged, neither having the gas to capitalize on their strike before the other delivers a report. They finally push off from one another, turning around and taking a few steps before turning back. Both lunge at the same time, fist drawn back.

Nick Stuart: What the hell! Ria has locked in Devil’s Claw and Kael has Ria in the Monkey’s Paw! Both of them have the other in a variation of the Iron Claw. Turnbull looks on, confused, with his hands on his hips. Neither seems to be getting the upper hand, an equal exchange of force back and forth.

Richard Parker: Deviant minds think alike, I guess.

Nick Stuart: No one is giving an inch here. Despite the extreme pressure being applied by both and the visible pain they’re in, both of them refuse to let go. Jimmy Turnbull is trying to get them to break it up now, but neither is listening.  He’s warning them both that he is going to call the match if they don’t let go now.

Ria loosens her grip just slightly, signaling to Kael that he can let go. A peace offering of sorts between two maniacs. Kael reads the signs and lets go. Both of them fall back to lick their wounds, exhausted from the constant barrage of offense. This momentary truce lasts mere seconds as Ria once again charges Kael, who begins moving towards her, refusing to sit back while Nightshade commands the match again. Just as Kael goes for a lock-up, Nightshade drops the shoulder and falls, taking out Kael’s leg with a diving tackle.

Trying to close the book on this one, Ria scrambles behind Kael and locks him up for a german suplex. Kael has other ideas, however, and throws a foot up to her crotch. The moment Ria doubles over from the low blow, Kael grips her head in his arm and goes for a running bulldog. All the weight of Kael’s upperbody lands sickly on Ria’s neck.

Nick Stuart: That looked wrong, something about the way they landed was off. Kael stands up, holding his hands up at different angles as if he were sizing Ria up. What is he doing here?

Richard Parker: Some vile, crazy shit for sure.

Nick Stuart: He sits on Ria’s back now, nodding in approval. Poor Ria has no fight left in her as Kael locks in a camel clutch.

Richard Parker: What the hell is he doing?

Instead of wrapping his hands under the chin of Ria, Kael focuses on her throat. Digging in, he applies a modified camel clutch with an Asiatic Spike. It’s mere moments before Ria is completely out. Jimmy Turnbull lifts Ria’s arm high and the fans roar. It drops once, inciting even more noise from the fans.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull lifting Ria’s arm again. It’s hard to even hear yourself think as the fans try to cheer Ria back to life.

It drops a second time.

The broadcast team can hardly be heard over the roaring crowd. They congeal into one gutteral scream.

Nick Stuart: Referee Jimmy Turnbull lifts up Ria’s arm a third time and…

The energy changes from cheering Ria to booing Kael. Ria’s hand hits the mat for a third time. She’s out and this is over. Turnbull calls for the bell and tries to get Kael to release the hold.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: I have no clue what we just saw, but that cannot be a legal hold. He is refusing to let go and a flood of Enimigos and referees are coming from the back now to peel Kael off Nightshade.

DING DING DING

The timekeeper continues ringing the bell, hoping to break whatever psychotic hypnosis Kael is in. He doesn’t realize, though, that this isn’t a psychotic hypnosis – this is just Kael.

Richard Parker: This is ridiculous.

The PRIME staff finally manages to peel Kael off of Ria and a whole rack of security carries him to the back.

Nick Stuart: Between the bulldog maneuver and whatever that hold was, you can tell how tenacious Kael is, but even more so, that RIA didn’t give up.

Richard Parker: That kid has a hell of a heart.

As Ria Nightshade stumbles to her feet, she manages to raise an arm and give a big fuck you to the camera. The fans go absolutely ape shit over this.

We cut to commercial.

Nick Stuart: We’re back folks for another segment of ReVival wrestling action, and look who we have coming down to the ring!!

Richard Parker: The Starsky Prapporishchik himself!!

Nick Stuart: I’m pretty sure Vickie Hall says his title better than you do!

As the two bicker, “The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir blares its usual, patriot music through the T-Mobile Arena, and The Red Army as a whole makes their way down the ramp. With Ivan Stanislav lumbering at the forefront, The Russian Bear is in his customary crimson uniform, bedazzled with military medals and commendations from a life of service to Russia. Most of the crowd roars with displeasure at The Russian Bear, but there are a few who actually cheer. Some others, when face to face with the sheer enormity of Ivan Stanislav, stare in awe.

In lock-step behind Stanislav walks Wilhelm Kael, with Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz not far behind. Even Speedy Riggs is there, pulling up the rear as he walks behind the more active members of The Red Army. Stanislav ignores the jeers and yells from the crowd, his eyes focused solely on the wrestling ring. He enters in the way he typically does when not ready for combat: up the stairs, one ponderous step at a time, and upon the apron he wipes his boots and steps over the top rope as if he was stepping over a skipping rope.

He allows the rest of The Red Army to enter after him, until all five of the assembled members stand with him. Stanislav the tip of the spear at the front, Wilhelm and Kenny flanking him, and then Randall Schwartz and Speedy on the outer fringes. As the music dies down, it’s replaced by the boos and vitriol of the crowd. Stanislav, towering over the other members, is unfazed.

Nick Stuart: Alexei Ruslan is still conspicuous by his absence…

Richard Parker: Oh he’s here… somewhere. I’m sure of it…

Stanislav pulls a microphone out of his back pocket and opens his mouth to speak… and the volume of the crowd grows. He pauses and smirks, and lowers the microphone. He goes to speak once more after a moment, and once more the audience’s anger grows, and he lowers his microphone once more.

Richard Parker: Puppets, all of them. Ivan is toying with them!

Finally, he speaks, and the rest of The Red Army mill around behind him, pointing at the crowd, relaxing in the corners, and so on.

Ivan Stanislav: How nice it is to be back in Las Vegas!

Richard Parker: Well hey, that’s a nice way to start things off!

Ivan Stanislav: Where lazy Americans piss away their hard earned money day by day. DYAAHAAHAA!!

Nick Stuart: You were saying?

Ivan begins to pace slowly to one side of the ring, sweeping a hand as he speaks. The crowd, naturally, reacts negatively.

Ivan Stanislav: As we move closer to Colossus, I have to think about those who have disappeared from PRIME. Those who have stood against The Russian Bear and have fallen by wayside. Do you remember Chandler Tsonda?

The crowd pops.

Nick Stuart: First off, Ivan wrestled Tsonda and seriously injured him, but he wrestled…

Richard Parker: That’s enough, Ivan’s talking!

Ivan Stanislav: I crushed his head against apron and where is he now? Sipping orange juice out of straw! DYAAHAAHAA!!

The sound system labors as Ivan’s raucous laugh nearly blows out the speakers.

Ivan Stanislav: And then there was Jared Sykes. Remember him?!

Richard Parker: See! That’s right!

Ivan Stanislav: Oh, and then Adam Ellis. The adulterous bastard got what he deserved last week, did he not? The panty-waist needed to have his handler throw in a towel to save him! Where is he now? Has anyone seen him?

Nick Stuart: Got any smart aleck comments to say about Adam Ellis, Richard?

Richard Parker: After what happened earlier tonight? Nah.

Ivan shakes his head and talks to another section of the crowd.

Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army has always been here, fighting for all of you, whether you know it or not. Take our Universal Champion, Coral Avalon! Crownless King indeed! Man of people, yes? Silly Coral Avalon, who was given Universal Title by Cool Cancer Jiles! Funny Coral Avalon, who went from Alias Title straight to Universal Title even when it was not supposed to be!

Ivan roars.

Ivan Stanislav: Meanwhile, Kerry Kuroyama, friend of Lindsay Troy and fellow Vae Victis member does all that Avalon does and is snubbed. Talk about loyalty! If Lindsay Troy wants to play favorites regardless of rules, she should at least be consistent! But, where is Coral Avalon now? Where is Mister “everyman” who you all cheer so loudly?

Ivan levels his finger up high into the air, pointing across the T-Mobile Arena to the ever-present skybox.

Ivan Stanislav: He is up there. With his gold around his waist, sitting on a THRONE each night, looking down on each, and every one of you. No.

Ivan stares into the camera, rage BOILS in his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav: At each and every one of US!! He fancies himself a king to lord over all of us, and you idiots cheer him!

Ivan looks to another section of the crowd.

Ivan Stanislav: You may dislike me. You may argue against me. You may question my motives, downtrodden, faceless masses of PRIME. But I would never sit on a throne. I would never lord from on high over you. I would never abandon you! I have been fighting this battle for decades, whether you have liked it or not! And I have beaten Coral Avalon before. I barely broke a sweat. Lindsay Troy hides him away, protects him from me? So be it.

Ivan shrugs.

Ivan Stanislav: So why am I out here…?

Nick Stuart: Yes please… what are you doing out here!?

Richard Parker: Careful, if he hears you we’re all dead!

Ivan growls.

Ivan Stanislav: As much as I would like to beat that Skybox door down and throw Coral Avalon out of his beautiful glass window, gnats, the likes of Adam Ellis, Chandler Tsonda, and Jared Sykes, all deserve swatting and therefore divert my attention. And what do those three fools have in common beyond being annoyances?

Ivan smirks and chuckles.

Ivan Stanislav: All of them were bottom-feeding journeymen, who wished to have a little bit of my legendary status rub off on them in the ring!

Nick Stuart: Now hold on! Chandler Tsonda, a journeyman? He holds records in PRIME that Ivan could only hope to hold!

Richard Parker: Easy Nick. Ivan holds more “wrestlers sent to the hospital” awards than I think anyone in the roster right now.

Nick Stuart: This is outrageous! Adam Ellis is a championship talent! Jared Sykes was our Universal Champion…

The disturbance catches Ivan’s eye, and he turns to look down at the announce table, where Nick and Richard argue.

Ivan Stanislav: Do either of you parrots have anything you wish to add?!

Both Nick, and Richard, go silent while Ivan stares them down.

Ivan Stanislav: And so, I think about Rose. Dear Rose. The young girl trying so hard to fill her father’s coffin…

Ivan feigns confusion.

Ivan Stanislav: Ahem, I mean shoes. No need to worry about coffin. I can do that for her! She has barged into my office. She has gotten in my way. She has done everything to set her trajectory on same path as those other journeymen who have tried to get a sniff of what it is like to be Ivan Stanislav.

Ivan straightens his back and turns to face the entryway and roars.

Ivan Stanislav: And now, Rose, you buzzing little gnat, you have my attention! Get your little жопа out here now because, finally, after all your incessant prattling and preening. After all of your annoying barbs and threats. You finally, after a year of trying, have your wish. You finally, after a year of bending and twisting, will finally get what you have so desired. Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav finally is taking notice of you. After all this time, I finally have decided that I have something to say to YOU!

Nick Stuart: She had a hellacious match against Hessian earlier this evening and now he wants her to come out here and confront The Red Army?! This is ludicrous!

Richard Parker: Well, if she doesn’t, then I’m pretty positive he’ll send Kenny Freeman or Max Kael in after her.

Ivan stands in the ring, growing impatient with each passing second.

Ivan Stanislav: Rose, I don’t have all da–

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. Now, usually, Rose isn’t one that gets a ton of cheers from the fans. She normally receives the complete opposite.

However, considering who is in the ring, she gets the benefit of the doubt.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Stanislav visibly reacts, roaring at the crowd. After all, he should be getting the cheers! Speedy Riggs motions with his hands for everyone to ‘calm down.’

From the backstage area comes Rose — left shoulder bandaged up with an ice pack on it — with a slight limp to her step. Her battle with Hessian has clearly done a number on her and if you’re tuning in to the show late, you can watch it anytime on the ACE Network.

She stands at the top of the ramp, eyes narrow, but refuses to take another step. The music cuts, the lights return, and she stands at the top of the ramp, alone. Ivan smirks, seeing the lone Rose standing at the top of the ramp. He rocks back on his heels.

Ivan Stanislav: Ahhh… there she is! Rose!

Ivan feigns confusion.

Ivan Stanislav: But where are your friends? Jamal and Cory, yes? Oh… and how about dear David Noble, where might he be?

Ivan looks around at the rest of The Red Army and together, they all share a nice, big laugh.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh… yes that is right? We destroyed them last week, did we not?! DYAAHAAHAA!! And do you know why we did that? Because of you Rose. Because you cannot leave well enough alone, can you? Their blood, their screams, are all on your hands, little girl! Don’t send a ragtag group of upstarts to stand against The Red Army!

Rose gingerly folds her arms across her chest, eyes narrowing in the process as she hones in on Ivan.

This might be the longest in her PRIME career that she hasn’t spoken.

Stanislav doesn’t stop. He points at her and smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: At loss for words for once?! What, you thought you could march up to me, Starshy Praporschik Stanislav, and not pay the price? You should have known better. Think of those three boys, puffing up their chests and believing they could stand up against The Red Army?! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Ivan levels his gaze directly at her from afar.

Ivan Stanislav: But this isn’t about them, Rose. No. This is about you, and I, isn’t it? Because that is what you wanted. That is what you begged for. But I think I know exactly why, Rose. Because, when you…

Ivan points at Rose.

Ivan Stanislav: …look at me…

Ivan points at himself and then thumbs over his broad shoulder at the rest of The Red Army.

Ivan Stanislav: …you see something you could be proud of!

Ivan places his hand on his barrel chest, his gloating seems to subside as he speaks thoughtfully.

Ivan Stanislav: Rose: I wish to turn PRIME into premier federation it deserves to be. To have respect, honor, and sense of history to it. Not Lindsay Troy’s sandbox for her own gain and ego. And we, The Red Army, systematically destroyed every would-be friend of yours! But that is not all!

Ivan points out to the fans.

Ivan Stanislav: Has any of these fans properly mourned the loss of your father? A Hall of Famer. A pillar of PRIME! Has Lindsay Troy offered, once, to give him dignity of a ten bell salute?! Of course she hasn’t. Why, has anyone, other than myself, even considered such an honor for your father?

Ivan thumbs at himself.

Ivan Stanislav: I do! Because I have respect for the great wrestlers who have been with me and have passed! Because Ivan Stanislav looks beyond himself to others! You might think I am brutal, but why not, Rose? Is it really that bad? Don’t they deserve it? Each and every person outside of this ring could give a damn about Dusk!

That sound you’re hearing? That’s Rose grinding her teeth. It’s her restraining herself from rushing down the ramp and sliding into the ring knowing full well she’d never even get a hand on Ivan before Randall and Kenny and Max swarmed her.

That other sound you’re hearing? Is the cracking of Rose’s knuckles.

That third sound you’re hearing? The fans proving Stanislav wrong.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Nick Stuart: The faithful here in Vegas showing their appreciation for the deceased PRIME Hall of Famer.

Richard Parker: Exactly. This is… low… for Ivan.

Nick Stuart: The restraint that Rose is showing is tremendous.

Richard Parker: And she’s not one known for that.

Ivan looks to the left, and then to the right as the fans begin to cheer and chant Dusk’s name. He too grinds his teeth and beckons Rose to the ring, filled with frothing Red Army members.

Ivan Stanislav: You have nothing to say now, little girl? Come on!! Barge into my business now!

Rose looks around the T-Mobile Arena, looking at the fans who are on their feet, and shakes her head in disbelief as the wall of sound only increases. She fights the tears back that have welled in her eyes and holds her good arm out, as if to say that the fans are doing it for her.

The rest of The Red Army show their displeasure at the overwhelmingly positive tone of the crowd on behalf of Rose. Ivan looks ready to jump out of skin as the huge Russian steps on the bottom rope, as if to somehow use it to stand even taller as he points at her. But instead, he simply flattens the bottom rope under his weight.

Ivan Stanislav: You are a lot better when you remain silent, you little brat! You want to be in my business so much? Then I will make you MY business! Colossus. You and I wrestle and should you lose, you join The Red Army and serve under ME until I see fit to release you! You will be my crimson Rose!

Richard Parker: Wait, what?

Nick Stuart: I guess it’s not a year in PRIME if you don’t have a ‘if you lose, you must join our stable’ match.

Richard Parker: Is that becoming a thing in PRIME?

Nick Stuart: Zapp and Tony Gamble. Our own Universal Champion Coral Avalon and Cancer Jiles. Now… we could have our third.

As the chants for Dusk subside, Rose looks down the ramp at Ivan and her eyes narrow before she produces a microphone from her back pocket. She takes a moment as she stands there before responding to Stanislav.

Rose: Thank you…

Richard Parker: She accepted!

Nick Stuart: Stop. Talking.

Rose takes a moment, before she slowly nods her head.

Rose: Thank you… for allowing me to do what needs to come next.

She then drops the microphone on the microphone and walks to the back.

Nick Stuart: Wait, what?

Richard Parker: What was her answer?

Nick Stuart: I… don’t think she gave an answer?

There’s a quick moment where Ivan looks truly confused. He looks over at Kenny and then Wilhelm, who both shrug, and then to Speedy who makes a ‘crazy’ circle with his finger along his temple. Ivan watches the ramp for a moment, before roaring at the crowd.

Ivan Stanislav: She ran away! DYAAHAAHAA!! Look at the daughter of your great Dusk!? The wilting Rose! DYAAHAAHAA!! You had better learn lyrics of my Soviet Anthem, because you will be singing it for a good long time! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Stanislav drops the microphone on the mat without a care and looks to the gathered throng of The Red Army, and making no attempt to rush back to where Rose exited, he and his assembly exit the ring to a chorus of boos.

ReVival goes elsewhere.

Here we are, backstage again, to answer the question that everyone wants to know: what does an angry gator do backstage when he doesn’t have a match?

The answer appears to be…whittling?

Yes, Paxton Ray, fresh off of a victory over PRIME Hall of Famer Wade Elliott, is sitting in a chair in the hallways of T-Mobile Arena, hunched over holding a stick and a small knife. His tongue shoots out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and he is very focused on his task until he sees a shadow blocking his light.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH

The shadow belongs to none other than Nate Colton.

Fully decked out in his ring gear and satin jacket, the New Diamond is ready for battle. He’s got a big one coming up very soon, in the form of Jason Snow. But you know what they say about fights in PRIME. It’s the same thing they said about Lay’s potato chips, back in the day.

“Betcha can’t eat just one.”

Colton’s already got a sour look on his face, but it gets exponentially worse as he spies the Lafayette Bruiser. Still, he seems more than willing to walk on by, letting their issues wait for another day.

Unfortunately.

Paxton Ray: Hey there Diamond. Come t’sic any more a’my past on me? Maybe find an ex girlfriend from high school?

Nate Colton: Paxton. Still crying about having to face the consequences of your actions?

Paxton looks back down at his stick, then nods and puts the pocket knife away.

Paxton Ray: I think ya know me better than that. I ain’t much of a cryer.

Paxton stands up and stares at Nate.

Paxton Ray: Course, I thought I knew ya well enough that ya wouldn’t help somebody attack me from behind. After all, ya shook my hand right in the middle of the ring after our match. I wonder what changed between now and then.

Nate Colton: Lot of things.

Nate matches Paxton’s stare, sparks of anger flaring up in his eyes…but he maintains his composure. For now.

Nate Colton: Sammy’s a good kid. But he’s…confused. He’s angry.

Paxton Ray: Believe me, I know what that’s like. I can’t think of a time that I wasn’t angry.

Paxton is nodding and looking understanding. Are we reaching common ground here? Is there a path back to civility for these two?

Paxton Ray: But he picked a fight with me, no matter the reason. An’ I ain’t backin’ down from a fight.

Paxton sneers at Colton.

Paxton Ray: An’ it seems like ya made it pretty clear which side’a the fight you’re on.

Nate Colton: Side? What the hell are you talking about? I was trying to keep him away from you!

Paxton Ray: Yeah, but your family is close with him. An’ your sister helped get him in the buildin’. So ya help him out, ya share a last name with his accomplice…what the hell am I s’posed t’think?

Nate Colton: Don’t really care. This shit was already way out of hand, and you just–

At that moment, a couple of random twos bouncing around in Nate’s head come together. Wouldn’t you know it, they make four.

Nate Colton: Hang on. How did you know about Jennifer?

Paxton grins. It’s not unlike the grin he made two years ago when he tried to hurt Jennifer after their match and was stopped by every member of the Belmont uniting against him.

Paxton Ray: I didn’t, but ya jus’ confirmed it for me. I knew she did it. Can’t even really blame her, but I’m still gonna have t’deal with that eventually. After I deal with Sammy.

Nate Colton: Fuck’s that supposed to mean?

The question is rhetorical. And also punctuated by a shove.

Nate Colton: You so much as mention my sister again, and I will fucking end you.

The words are spoken from the gut, and pick up every speck of gravel on the way out. His fists are clenched tight, knuckles going as white as his face is red. He’s barely holding on, and all it would take to make him lose control is one little push…

Paxton Ray: See, this is the thing that drives me nuts about ya and the people that love ya. You’re a pillar of goodness, of what’s right an’ all that other sparkly shit. But ya got the same anger that made me a pariah. Ya got the same attachments t’people that make ya lose your mind. But they call ya a family man, an’ they call me a monster. No matter how hard I try t’come back from what I did, you’ll always see me that way. Well lemme tell ya somethin’, Colton.

Paxton steps forward, cutting the distance that was created with the shove moments ago.

Paxton Ray: I see ya in the exact same way. Ya ain’t a hero, you’re jus’ a villain that ain’t snapped yet. Maybe I’ll be the one t’get ya there.

And Paxton gives Nate a shove of his own.

Colton staggers back, but closes the distance just as quickly as Paxton. The two men stand almost nose-to-nose, their eyes boring into each other.

Nate Colton: Bullshit. I’m nothing like you.

Paxton Ray: Ya are, an’ I can prove it with one word.

Paxton’s lips curl and he utters the word.

Paxton Ray: Jenny.

Nate Colton’s right arm is up before Paxton has even finished saying the name. He rears back, ready to send a fist flying into the Bayou Butcher’s sneering face.

But it does not fly on its own.

Nate Colton: No.

The New Diamond steps back, lowering his arm back down to his side. While he doesn’t seem to be opening his hands anytime soon, at least he’s trying to control himself.

Nate Colton: I’ve wasted enough time on you today. But this isn’t over.

Paxton nods.

Paxton Ray: You’re right about that.

He walks over and sits down in his chair and puts the stick on his lap.

Paxton Ray: Shame, because this stick coulda used a good test.

Nate Colton: Try shoving it up your ass.

With that, Colton storms down the hallway, probably in search of someplace quiet where he can cool down and regain his bearings.

Good luck with that.

Paxton looks in the direction that Nate walked off, then snorts. He lifts the stick, stands up and holds it near his rear end. Then he shakes his head.

Paxton Ray: Nah, I don’t think I will.

Then he sits down and continues to whittle as we go elsewhere.

No matter what he does, Bryan Dawkins cannot pull his gaze from the object in his hands. He stares, mouth slightly agape, at the locket. His fingers trace the contours of the gold, admiration of the workmanship mixing with the queasy feeling that’s been haunting his stomach for a couple weeks now.

The camera pans out to reveal that Bruh is not alone in the dressing room.

To his left sits Sub-Marquis Bently Tennyson Primrose-Farthington, sitting in a wheelchair fresh off of being murdered last week on the Red Manifesto by Wilhelm Kael.

Also present are the ticking timebomb Red Herald Charles Montgomery Theophrastus Bombastus von Armageddon, stump of a man Green Herald Giuseppe Gargamelo dela Schlupp III and the…horse(?) that is the Orange Herald Secretariat Van der Crush.

Whether the Orange Herald is an actual horse, a man in a horse costume, two small horses inside a human costume inside a horse costume, or any other combination imaginable is up to you, the reader.

Together, The Heralds ©.

Between puffs of a half-smoked cigar, Giuseppe is the first to chime in.

Green Herald: So kid, you just gonna sit there and stare at it?

Dawkins continues to follow examine the locket, completely tuned out to the rest of the group.

Finally, Bryan’s trance breaks as he finally returns to reality.

Bryan Dawkins: I don’t think I can do this…it’s just not right.

He drops the locket into his shirt pocket and stands up.

Bryan Dawkins: I’ve gotta go tell him what’s goin’ on so we can just end this.

The Herald: THE BRYAN DAWKINS!

The wheelchair comes to a screeching halt in Dawkins’ path, blocking his exit from the room. The Orange Herald gallops to the door to offer reinforcement.

Orange Herald: whinny

The Herald: I, Sub-Marquis Bently Tennyson Primrose-Farthington, feel obliged to inform you that you accepted the terms of Commisar Kael’s agreement and therefore must deliver that locket to its intended recipient at once!

Dawkins takes another step toward The Wheeled Herald, balling his fists simultaneously.

Bryan Dawkins: You’re gonna let me out of this room right now, bruh.

The Herald: I understand your trepidation, The Bryan Dawkins. However, I must warn you, those who do not fulfill their obligations to Commisar Kael always face grave repercussions.

Green Herald: He’s right, kid. Better to not mess with Commisar Kael.

The Herald anxiously rubs his hands together.

The Herald: I think I can speak for my fellow Heralds when I say I would hate to see a situation arise where you were never able to see your dear Nicholas ever again.

Another step by Dawkins.

Bryan Dawkins: Is that a threat?

Orange Herald: whinny

The Herald retreats slightly until the wheelchair is butted up against the door. A nervous smile creeps across his face.

The Herald: Why heavens, no! What would ever make you think that, The Bryan Dawkins? I am just informing you so that you can make the best decision possible, of course!

You can see the wheels turning behind the orange and teal sunglasses lenses. Ultimately, Dawkins relents and everyone can exhale.

The Herald: (wiping sweat from his brow) Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, I do believe we need to get going! We want to make sure we deliver the package, post haste!

Bryan Dawkins: (sighing) Fine. But we’re getting this done and then getting the hell outta here. I don’t wanna be around when the shit hits the fan.

The Herald: FanTASTIC! Off we go!

The Herald whips the door open, nearly crushing Dawkins’ face in the process. Both the Green Herald and Charlie Armaggeddon mount Secretariat and follow behind like Lewis and Clark on their trusty steeds.

Charlie Armageddon: ONWARD, WE MUST DELIVER THE END TIMES FROM WHICH ALL LIVING BEINGS SHALL PERISH! HAHAHAHA!!!

Led by The Herald, Dawkins and the rest of his merry band of Heralds make their way down the hall, passing a few bewildered PRIME staff in the process. I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not every day you see a Herald in a wheelchair and two more Heralds riding another Herald who is a horse that probably isn’t a horse but just might be four horses inside two humans inside another horse and maybe we’ll all just be better off not putting any more thought into what Secretariat may or may not be, right?

As they approach their destination, the Green Herald taps Dawkins on the shoulder.

Green Herald: Ya know kid, when this whole shebang goes south, remember it’s your responsibility to protect us…all of us.

Orange Herald: whinny

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah yeah, I get it, bruh. We’re not gonna let it get that far. We’re gonna drop this off and get outta dodge. Now pipe down, his door is up ahead.

Dawkins knows this because it’s the closest dressing room to the hot dog stand. He sneaks over to the stand, slips the attendant a twenty and grabs a paper plate  two fresh dogs from the cart. He carefully nestles the locket between the wieners and tiptoes to the door. After setting the plate down, he turns to the Heralds with his finger over his mouth.

The international sign for “shut up”.

The sign that Charlie Armaggeddon completely ignores. Before Dawkins can react, the Red Herald yeets himself from the back of Secretariat and lands right next to the plate of hot dogs. Dawkins’ life flashes before his eyes as Chuckie A. rears back and knocks on the door like his life depends on it.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Bryan Dawkins: Son of a…RUN!

Just as the door opens, Dawkins sprints down the corridor and ducks around the first corner he can find. Secretariat (and the Green Herald atop his back) gallop around the corner shortly after, followed closely by The Herald, who arrives with Charlie Armaggeddon hitched to the back of his wheelchair.

The Herald: The Bryan Dawkins! How could you just leave us all behind like that?

Orange Herald: whinny

Dawkins turns to face him, his face a shade of red that rivals The Herald’s tunic.

Bryan Dawkins: You’re kidding me, right? Maybe if SOMEONE didn’t feel the need to draw attention to us, I wouldn’t have had to make such a quick exit.

He turns to face the Red Herald.

Bryan Dawkins: Let’s…not do that again, ‘kay?

Charlie Armageddon: …Gomenasorry.

Meanwhile, around the corner, Crash exits the dressing room. His eyes scan the hallway before rolling a bit, knowing he’s the latest victim of the ole ding dong ditch shenanigans that these crazy guys pull on the road. Silly wrestlers.

Crash: Doth mine noseholes betray me, brohemian?

You can’t see it. You can’t even feel it. With the way the Northern Light takes in a deep, exhaustive breath through his nostrils, everybody on this side of the bun knows what’s happening. His eyes burst open before dipping out of frame, quickly emerging with an empty plate and mouth full of his newfound treasures, eyes now shut with blissful tears growing at the edge.

Crash: Oh damn…

The hard click of metal can be heard from afar. It’s soon enough no damage is done but, using only his tongue, Crash discovers there’s something besides hotdogs in his mouth. Not to mention the elegant gold rope hanging from the corner of his mouth. As he pulls it out, his eyes grow wider and wider, before it pops out and he gives it a once over. Instinctively, Crash reaches for the closest vessel of liquid, which happens to be a Miller Lite from a lousy Cancer Jiles fan. He pours it all over the locket to clear up the doggie debris.

Crash: Well now, this is fancy as fuck, bro!

He prepares to pry it open as a smile splashes over his face. That smile fades when he notices the folded piece of paper in between the plates. He lets the paper fall into his hand first and then looks inside to see a ghost that causes him to drop the jewelry on the ground. He unfolds the paper to find a lock of hair.

Purple hair.

This sends the Hot Dog Hero into a frenzy. His eyes burst wide. His heart drops low, so low, super fuckin’ low, bro. His head snaps up, eyes still wide, and scan for somebody, anybody within sight that can explain what in the royal fuck is going on.

That’s when he sees an orange horse that’s maybe four horses in two human – whatever, anyway, he sees something that piques his interest. But that’s just before he spots his old friend.

Crash: Bently…

The Northern Light slams the door shut and the sound echoes through the hallway. Crash reconsiders the door’s purpose at this moment and decides it will best serve as a weapon and rips it off its hinges. He then proceeds to launch it over the heads of many to smash into the wall where the Pineapple and his pals were last seen. Crash does his best to fight through the stream of traffic but gets held up enough that the Herald(s) and Dawkins can make their getaway.

And ReVival moves on.

The show cuts back to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Up next in singles competition we have Bobby Dean, fresh off a loss to The Anglo Luchador, going up against a former 5-Star Champion in Rob Williams. Of course, Rob is now part of the Whoresmen, and Bobby Dean is an eGG Bandit. So, yeah, there’s that.

Richard Parker: I’m sure everything will be fine.

Bobby is already inside the ring. He’s disrobed, is AWAKE, and looks ready, at least more ready than usual, to take a big old nasty bite out of Rob Williams. Notably, no other Bandits are with him, which means Tiny Tony is probably underneath the ring flipping through the pages of a telephone book.

Nick Stuart: I suppose it’s worth noting there’s no bags underneath the Honaleean’s eyes.

Richard Parker: After his last outing he should be well rested so I’m not so surprised.

The lights dim. Alice in Chains takes over the soundwaves. Then, after a suspenseful second or two, Rob Williams emerges from the back with Harley Walker in tow. Before heading down to the ring, The Legend takes a moment to posture with his stable mate at the top of the ramp.

Nick Stuart: Harley had quite the experience on the last show.

A quick replay of The Fucking Show cool trademark thingy plays, showing Harley stunting around in the Wheelchair of Doom.

Richard Parker: He’s in good hands, and that is what matters. Now, I don’t know much help he’ll be when the Bandits inevitably make their presence known, but maybe he can flail an arm in their direction.

Parker is speaking to the general condition of Walker. Needless to say, the daring whoresman is not all there. You might even say in regard to his condition that he’s putting the Bernie in the Weekend At.

But, spirit does count for something.

Williams, and ironically enough Walker, roll their way down the ramp and to the ring. The Legend parks Harley near the ring steps before making his way up them and stepping between the ropes. He shares a not so friendly word with Bobby Dean, then finds his corner and awaits the bell.

Nick Stuart: I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say Elvis Nixon might have his hands full with this one.

DING~!

Williams charges across the ring, and Dean, being a savvy, lazy vet, quickly leans between the ropes to avoid The Legend’s devious intent. Nixon quickly gets in between the two, and gets Rob to go back to his corner after some serious pleading.

Richard Parker: Classic Dean.

Williams once again charges across the ring, and once again Dean stays put in the corner; ducking between the top and second rope. Nixon fidgets his way between the two, but this time around Dean takes advantage of the situation, and slyly jabs his thumb into Williams’ eye.

Richard Parker: Classic Dean.

The Legend rears back in agony, Dean waddles past the ref, and plants the former 5-Star Champion with a scoop slam.

Richard Parker: What the?

Nick Stuart: Bobby got his weight behind that one.

Richard Parker: Is it just me, or is it weird seeing Bob use an actual wrestling move?

Nick Stuart: Let’s just say it’s easy to forget that he’s been around the sport of wrestling for close to twenty years now and leave it at that.

Richard Parker: Fair.

Dean drops an elbow onto Williams’ back. He labors getting back up to his feet, and goes to do so again. However, Williams rolls out of harm’s way, and all Bob’s elbow finds is the ring canvas. The Legend shakes free of the remaining cobwebs, all one or two of them, then starts to assault Bobby Dean.

First Rob starts working over Bob’s legs, kicking and stretching them in all the wrong ways. Then, he moves on to Bob’s arms, kicking, and stretching, and twisting them in all the wrong ways. Then, refusing to relent, he starts to wrench on Bob’s neck while screaming out to Harley about the weather.

Richard Parker: That doesn’t seem very therapeutic.

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean is getting straight up disrespected by Rob Williams right now.

Richard Parker: You miss one elbow. Let’s be honest though, Bobby was probably already shot after the scoop slam. No cap.

After twisting and contorting Bobby in ways his many unique rolls never thought possible, Rob attempts to pin him but is only able to secure a two count. He argues with Nixon that Bob probably farted and that’s the only reason his shoulder got up in time and that it should be illegal for him to do something like that.

I guess there’s an argument to be had that if Bob did fart, then the gas traveled up his back fat and escaped out a crevice around his shoulder blade. Which, when passing through, boosted his shoulder up. Though, being that both Williams and Nixon would be in such close proximity to the gas out so to speak, if indeed that were the case, both would probably be dead right now, and they’re not.

So, probably an actual kick out.

Anyway, Williams helps Bob up to his feet by pulling him up by the hair, and Bobby thanks him with a stiff right hand. Williams shrugs the punch off, and then kindly returns the favor. Bobby does not shrug it off, and instead goes stumbling backwards into the ropes. The Honaleean uses the gained momentum to spring forward, and tries to clothesline Williams with all his might. Even with the added momentum, Bobby remains not the fastest man around town, and as such, he telegraphs the clothesline by lifting his arm up about eight seconds too early. It doesn’t help that he moves in slow motion, either. Williams ducks under, and locks in a sleeper hold before Bobby and his bellybutton can react.

Nick Stuart: He’s really got it locked in, and it doesn’t take much for Bobby to fall asleep!

Richard Parker: The irony.

Dean struggles to break free of the hold. His flailing arms start to flail even less, and his wobbly legs are ready to give. In a last ditch effort he drops down on his butt, and breaks free via a devastating jawbreaker.

Both men are down.

Bobby is laying there, breathing heavily, yearning for mayonnaise… and victory. Williams is laying there, grabbing at his mouth and face, probably trying to cover the disbelief and shame that comes with Bobby Dean hitting two wrestling moves against you.

Nixon is checking in on both competitors.

Harley Walker remains parked near the steps in the Wheelchair of Doom, incoherent and occasionally mumbling to himself.

Nick Stuart: First to his feet might win this thing.

Richard Parker: So you think Rob is going to win then?

Williams is up first, avoiding further shame at Bob’s hands. Dean is close behind him though, and both eventually find themselves battling in the center of the ring. Rights and lefts are exchanged. Kicks and open hand chest slaps, too. Williams lands a comedic knee to Bob’s gut, which of course has no effect at all. Well, it does put Williams directly in front of Bob, and in prime position for Bobby to wrap his arms around The Legend and deliver a belly to belly suplex that surely breaks a rib or two.

Richard Parker: He’s dead.

The impact causes both men to bounce off the canvas, and for Elvis Nixon to go tumbling out of the ring. He quickly receivers though, which is good, since Bobby rolls over and covers Williams with a pin!

Albeit a lazy one.

Obviously.

2!

Foot on the rope!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it can get any closer than that!

A quick replay shows Rob getting his foot on the rope just before Nixon counts three.

Bob slaps the mat in frustration, and a few seconds later, out from underneath the ring emerges Tony Gamble. Bob and Tony share a confused look, which leads Richard Parker to make an interesting conclusion.

Richard Parker: I bet when Bob slapped on the mat Tony thought he was trying to signal him!

Nick Stuart: The look of confusion on both of their faces makes me think you might be right, Dick! OH GOD! WALKER OUT OF NOWHERE! HOW IN THE HELL!!?!?!

Gamble, still confused, miffed even, doesn’t see it coming but Harley Danger Walker miraculously finds his feet. He emerges from his chair, and then proceeds to run through Gamble, taking him over the guardrail and into the third row. The two scrum it up, with Walker eventually getting the better of the exchange. Meanwhile, in the ring, Bobby, still shocked, still miffed even, stands with his back to his opponent.

An opponent mind you, that has recovered enough to surprise Bobby with a rollup!

1!

2!

Richard Parker: No hate, but if ever there was a time for a Bobby Dean fart, it’s right now.

Nick Stuart: I imagine if you’re Rob Williams that’s the type of thing that makes you retire.

Richard Parker: From life.

A very suspenseful second later…

…no fart.

3!

Williams releases the roll up, and gets his hand raised by Elvis Nixon. Bobby rolls out of the ring, and back up the ramp. He doesn’t break rolling stride.

Vinny Howard: Here is your winner, THE LEGGGGGGGGENDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOAWWWWWBBBBBBBBBBB!!!!!!!! WILLLLLLLLLLLLLLIAMSSS!

The shot cuts away with Rob checking in on Harley, who is trying to find his way back to ringside.

We join Ria Nightshade backstage. The Toxic Queen has her bag, cutting through the staff and equipment littered hallway like an impatient snake. She walks until she comes to an open corridor. Nightshade’s dark eyes dart back and forth before she picks the direction of her destination. She doesn’t get far before she hears a voice calling out.

She rolls her eyes, stops and turns around. Approaching her with a light jog is The SurReal One himself, Seán O’Neill. He looks her over for a moment before he speaks.

Seán O’Neill: Hey bud, sorry you didn’t get the right result tonight. You’ll bounce back next time I’m sure – How’ve you been? Sorta got used to you being about recently – everything ok? The new look is certainly… different from what I’m used to. You pull it off though!

Nightshade glares at O’Neill before scoffing.

Ria Nightshade: I like it better when the rainbow bitch has to talk to you. This positivity shit makes me wanna gag. She’ll be back soon enough, but until then? Do yourself a favor and stay away from me.

An involuntary look of ‘Oh, what have I got myself into’ comes across O’Neill’s face.

Seán O’Neill: Alrighty then. Less of the positivity eh? It might be a bit of a struggle for me ya know, I don’t get the hand raised too often, but I’ll give it a go. Wow… what about that eh… shitty weather out there huh?

Nightshade tilts her head, scowl ever present on her face. She steps closer to O’Neill.

Ria Nightshade: Aren’t you fucking hilarious? What sucks is that Kael is still breathing! You really don’t get it, do you? I’m not interested in bullshit pep talks from you. The rainbow bitch warned you. Maybe you should start listening?

O’Neill smiles with sadness in his eyes as he nods his head.

Seán O’Neill: I’m guessing you and… ‘The Rainbow Bitch’ don’t communicate too much? I would’ve thought if you did she’d have warned you that I’m not known for my listening skills. I get it that there is more than a simple swap-up of the color pallet going on here but friends accept each other for who they are, so you can blame her if you like, but whilst you’re around, you’re stuck with my ‘bullshit pep talks’ too!

The Irishman takes a deep breath but he doesn’t take his eye off Nightshade, there definitely isn’t the trust there that he has for the Technicolor Comforter of Wrestling.

Seán O’Neill: Maybe you haven’t noticed, Max Kael has friends too, people who have his back. Would it really hurt to have the same insurance?

Ria snorts and smirks maliciously.

Ria Nightshade: You don’t know me well. I don’t bother with insurance. If I’m that worried about others, I’ll make sure I get them before they get me. And even if they find a way? They better make sure I’m dead, cuz I WILL get payback!

Seán shakes his head with an air of defeat, he raises both hands – palms facing out in a gesture of submission.

Seán O’Neill: If you say so. So how does this lovely timeshare thing work then? When can we expect to see RIA again?

Nightshade rolls her eyes, stepping back from Seán. Her arms cross on her chest.

Ria Nightshade: If I had my way? You wouldn’t. But unfortunately, I made a deal. She’ll be back shortly. But I’ll be back eventually. And next time? I might not go back in.

O’Neill doesn’t look particularly thrilled with that prospect.

Seán O’Neill: Alrigty, well how about when RIA is back in town you have her call me? I need to talk to her about an idea for Colossus.

Without waiting for a response the Irishman departs the scene, things clearly hadn’t played out how he’d hoped. Nightshade grumbles something undecipherable under her breath before turning around and sulking off herself.

ReVival heads elsewhere.

Cameras cut over to a hallway in the T-Mobile Arena, and… it’s FLAMBERGE! (Applause!)

He’s doing FLAMBERGE things, which is to say (since he’s outside the Guite/Gloffice/Glonference Room), he’s progressing in a very intense, somewhat reptilian, yet fully dripped out manner. He’s got a war face about him – or better phrased, he’s got a face of singular focus, for better and worse. He’s not leaving Las Vegas without a neck.

As he walks down the hallway, though, he passes by a man relaxing on top of a production box. His hands are behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The very conspicuous Universal championship lies on his chest, as though glued (heh) to it. Ladies and gentlemen, he’s out of the Throne Room and he’s feeling a little frisky, let’s give it up for Coral Avalon! (Applause!)

Avalon doesn’t even look up to acknowledge FLAMBERGE approaching, but he knows he’s there. It’s almost casual when he speaks to FLAMBO.

Coral Avalon: Hey, FLAMBO. Got a second?

It breaks FLAMBERGE’s focus, and we see something like a short circuit happen. He turns, and his gaze doesn’t lock onto Coral’s eyes at first. It locks onto a lost love.

L’Uni.

FLAMBERGE: ………….quoi?

Coral Avalon: So, I can’t say I know what you’re thinking most days, not really a mind reader or anything, but… Let’s say I have a vested interest in what goes on with you and Youngblood tonight. And let’s say that I want to see you go out there, beat up the Brandon Youngblood, and I’ll see you at Colossus.

FLAMBERGE: ………well, the Coral Avalon. What an interesting wish you have. I wonder why this is…after all, it would only bring me one step closer to the old acquaintance…

FLAMBO holds out two fingers and presses them to the Universal Championship, which brings out the ooooooooooh!’s…and then he takes those fingers and walks them upwards, one step at a time, until his middle finger is squarely on Coral’s esophagus, to even more OOOOOOOOOOOH!’s.

FLAMBERGE: It is the rare thing, this value in a neck.

Coral Avalon: Yeah, by the way, kinda want mine back.

FLAMBERGE: Ouais, I am sure you do – and I kind of want the Gem Mint neck of the longest-reigning L’Uni of the ReVival Era. Quelle coïncidence.

Coral Avalon: A fun coincidence for everyone, I’m sure.

FLAMBERGE realizes he’s been tenderly touching this man’s throat for an uncomfortable amount of time (and to his credit, Coral hasn’t flinched for a damn second). The Lizard King slowly pulls his hand back.

FLAMBERGE: Jusqu’à ce que nous nous rencontrions à nouveau.

Avalon nods the nod of a man who had no idea what in the fuck FLAMBERGE just said.

Coral Avalon: 幸運を祈ります, yourself.

FLAMBERGE nods the nod of a man who had no idea what in the fuck Coral Avalon just said. He turns, re-lizards, and departs.

Avalon returns to lying on top of the production box.

Coral Avalon: That man is going to be the death of me someday.

Let’s take ReVival 59 and move it towards more Hall-shaped.

ReVival heads outside and more specifically a few blocks away from the T-Mobile Arena, outside the strip, next to Excalibur to be exact. Jonathan-Christopher Hall sits on the curb beside the parking lot, leaning forward, face in his hands. He takes a moment to lift his head, scan around and then put it back down.

Soon enough, however, he is joined by a shadow hovering over him. Unsure of who it is, but knowing he has company nonetheless, JCH raises his head from his hands ever-so-slightly once again, wiping tears from his eyes.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: We used to CONVOY here.

He sobs through his speech.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Vickie was certain Lindsay Troy and upper management weren’t giving me real, honest opportunities so she orchestrated the LOVE CONVOY, in an attempt to draw attention to me.

He stares blankly into the parking lot.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: She did that… for me.

The figure behind him says nothing. Honestly, Hall has no clue who it could be. Probably just a random drunk wandering the Vegas Strip, a dime a dozen, and the majority of individuals the CONVOY came across back in the day.

Hence why the movement failed.

Well, not according to one half of the Amazing Life Partners.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I owe her everything.

Clearly, JCH remembers differently.

Working the cries out of his system, the former Universal Champion sniffles and looks behind him.

His eyes go wide. He wasn’t expecting…

Don Winters.

The Revelator smiles warmly at Jonathan-Christopher and clasps a reassuring hand on his shoulder and lightly squeezes.

Don Winters: God be with you, Jonathan-Christopher.

His smile continues as he lets go of the shoulder and walks in the direction of T-Mobile Arena.

We go to ringside.

Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALL!

YES, YES, MOTHER F’N YES! ONE FALL, let’s go everyone! It’s that time Vince randomly goes into business for himself. Anyway…

Vince Howard: Introducing first, weighing two-hundred-thirty-five pounds… he is The Original Villain… JASON SNOW!

The “old man” merely walks down the rampway.

Richard Parker: Typical no frills entrance. Just once I’d like to see Jason enter to, oh, I don’t know, something daunting. The Jonas Brothers, perhaps?

Nick Stuart: There is no way you know who the Jonas Brothers are.

Richard Parker: I do. The guys that sing Mmmbop.

Snow is already in the ring, so Nick doesn’t have to reply.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Evansville, Indiana… weighing two-hundred-forty pounds… NATE COLTON!

The arena’s lights go out and the fans erupt in anticipation. Soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear:

THE

NEW

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles and the fans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain. He looks laser focused and ready to go, clearly wearing his trademark jacket.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nate marches to the ring but he doesn’t stop to specifically acknowledge the fans. It’s not that he’s shunning them. He’s simply looking to wrestle and is appreciative of the support.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton holding it together remarkably well here, considering his state half an hour ago.

Richard Parker: Rough night for the golden boy. His sister gets banned, then he gets into it with Paxton Ray…and now he’s gotta fight the Original Villain.

Nick Stuart: He’ll have to be at the top of his game to beat Snow… and he’s clearly not.

Richard Parker: Maybe he should start playing the game he used against Stanislav. Using weapons, breaking the rules… maybe get some backup? I mean, he’s got that offer from the Red Army-

Nick Stuart: -which he turned down, A-SAP.

Richard Parker: He’s a bigger fool than I thought. Golden tickets– excuse me, no, RED tickets don’t come around like that every day.

Colton climbs the steps, ducks between the top and middle ropes and enters the ring. He heads directly to his corner and undoes his jacket, revealing his typical ring gear. He hands the jacket to a ring attendant and waits for referee Ashley Barlow’s instructions.

DING DING

Ashley Barlow calls for the bell as both Nate and Jason circle the ring. Nate is slowly nodding to himself as he looks ready to take on the vet. They meet horns in the middle of the ring aka locking up, although Colton quickly wrenches Snow’s hands upright, which forces a break in the hold. Nate latches onto Snow’s head with a snapmare takedown and a kick to the back. Colton bullets off the ropes and tries for a missile dropkick but Snow has eyes in the back of his head and he rolls away as The New Diamond hits the mat.

Richard Parker: If you’re asking me-

Nick Stuart: (Interrupting) And I’m not.

Richard Parker: (Carrying on anyway) Nate should take Ivan up on the Red Army. Look at him, he’s seeing red!

Nick Stuart: There are reasons for this; we mentioned them. And as much as Nate came out of the gate with some aggression, he missed the dropkick. He needs to be careful, Jason knows his ins and outs. I doubt anything surprises him.

Snow is on his feet and so is Colton. They lock up again. This time, however, it’s the crafty vet that gets a handle on Colton’s right wrist. Snow makes sure he’s got solid wrist control before flipping Colton to the mat. Snow kicks Colton in the back, bounces off the ropes and looks for his own missile dropkick-

WHACK!

Square into Colton’s back.

Potentially showing Nate how it’s done, Jason lifts the former Five-Star Champion to a vertical base and attempts a suplex… but Colton wiggles free, hits the ropes and clobbers Snow with a running forearm smash! Colton leans over, lifts Snow up and then lands a running release suplex throw, sending Snow into the buckle as he lets go.

Jason meets the padding hard but immediately comes off with a clothesline from hell, tearing Nate Colton’s face off in the process. The New Diamond flips inside out as his face eats the mat. But as Nate slowly rises from the canvas…

He has a smirk on his face.

Richard Parker: Does Colton have a death wish?

Nick Stuart: Pretty sure when you go toe-to-toe with Ivan Stanislav and defeat him, Nate can handle his own.

Snow cracks his neck and calls Colton on as the two lock horns again but this time both men break the hold to fire forearm shots into the side of each other’s faces. Over and over again, both men unload as the crowd cheers. It looks like Jason gets the better of Nate and is working him into a corner while The Original Villain hooks his mitts around Nate’s neck and sends him to the mat with a modified bile throw.

Snow with a boot to the back. Snow with a falling elbow into the crown of Colton’s head. Snow with a deadlift, into a German suplex and holding on for the first cover of the night!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

Nate Colton is DIRECTLY back on his feet. He sprints towards Jason and catches the vet with a STRONG and stiff-as-shit looking knee under the chin. Snow goes limp, so Colton picks him up for an exploder suplex, sending Snow across the ENTIRE ring!

The crowd cheers as Colton falls down on both knees, attempting to catch his breath.

Nick Stuart: I have to say, that was very impressive. Colton has quicker legs than Snow.

Richard Parker: That’s what a seventeen-year age difference will do for ya. I feel like I could take on Nate in a match very easily, if I was twenty years younger than him…

Nick Stuart: (Loss for words) Alright.

Colton holds onto the back of his head, likely hurting it when he was hit with the German suplex for a pinfall. Needless to say, The Diamond marches over to Jason Snow, who lays motionless halfway across the ring.

Colton grabs Snow.

Desperation jawbreaker!

Colton shoots in the air, lands on his feet and stumbles around the canvas, giving Jason enough time to find his wherewithal, hit the ropes and come storming through…

Colton with a kick to the gut and an implant DDT follows!

Both men are down again!

Nick Stuart: Incredible counters by both men!

The crowd rumbles their feet, hoping to see more action as Ashley Barlow administers her TEN count. She’s at THREE…

Nick Stuart: We saw a double count out two weeks ago between Cecilworth and Winters. Let’s not hope for another one!

Barlow’s count is at SIX, which allows Jason Snow to roll into the ropes and use them to pull himself up.

Meanwhile, the crowd gives a LOUD cheer because Nate Colton is already up, too!

And he didn’t even need the ropes.

Colton sprints towards Snow… but Snow with a purposefully low bridge. Colton falls out of the ring and onto the apron. Snow grabs Colton by the chest and swings him around, tying him up in the ropes before he starts clubbing Colton’s chest with his right forearm again and again.

And again.

So many!

The crowd is heavily into it as Colton’s chest is now beet red. NO, not Army red. Don’t even think about it, Richard.

Anyway… Nate’s facial expression seems to suggest that he’s loving the pain.

WHAM!

One hard, final blow into Nate’s chest ensures The New Diamond removes his arms from the ropes and doubles over. Might not love it anymore. Meanwhile, Snow hits the ropes on the far end and then right as Nate spins around-

Colton can’t do a thing about it.

A hard shoulder block sends Nate flying off the apron and into the guardrail below! Replays show Nate’s right shoulder and the side of his head hit the metal hard before he falls to his knees. Snow exits the ring, collects his opponent and throws Colton back into the ring. Jason follows suit.

Stomp, to the chest of Colton.

Stomp, to the head of Colton.

Stomp, to the neck of Colton.

He sees Nate twitch upon the latest boot driving into his neck.

Bingo.

Nick Stuart: I think Jason’s found his target.

More stomps into the neck as Nate cries out, trying to find the ropes for leverage. The only thing is he’s in the dead center of the ring. Ain’t no ropes.

About ten more stomps go into Nate’s neck before Jason pulls his opponent upright and looks for an elbow into that very same spot.

NO!

Backdrop by Colton!

Both men roll on the canvas but it’s clear Jason is still the fresher of the two. Snow is up first, he fires a forearm into the side of Nate’s neck and Colton claps his teeth together. Colton takes a couple steps back, eyes dead-locked on Jason Snow.

Looking straight pissed.

Nick Stuart: Colton better watch himself…

Snow attempts another forearm blow but this time Colton blocks it. There’s a brief second of sanity back in Colton’s eyes where instead of doing something drastic, he tries to take a smart approach and Irish whips Jason into a corner of the ring.

Snow meets the padding chest-first. He hits and sticks, leaving Colton to barrel in with a massive leaping splash.

Followed by a leg sweep.

Richard Parker: Is that a SIDE RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP!?!? Colton to the Red Army… CONFIRMED.

Nick Stuart: Will you just-

Colton grits his teeth again. He has a solid hold of Snow and hurls him across the ring with an exploder suplex.

Colton closes his eyes and locks his jaw tightly as he races in hard and fast.

Snow moves at the very last second and Colton EATS the top buckle padding.

And by eats, he absolutely eats it. The pad goes right into his mouth. A little blood even trickles out after. Colton looks down and sees it. It looks like he’s about to f’n snap. Nate quickly scans the canvas for his opponent, except he can’t find The OG V.

It looks like Nate starts to calm down because he needs to figure out where his opponent went.

Only thing is, Jason Snow is right behind him.

Snow looks like he’s loading up for Snake Eyes but Colton moves at the last possible second. Nate finds the ropes, flies off them-

And into the waiting arms of his opponent.

The veteran with a powerslam into a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Colton powers out and looks pissed as he does. He rises at the same time Snow rises and the two go blow for blow again. This time, however, as Colton is hit with forearms, his eyes become more red… and his teeth start to chatter.

Snow seemingly overpowers Colton in the blow-for-blow department. Maybe it’s because Jason is a little stronger… maybe it’s because Nate isn’t mentally as grounded as normal. Regardless, Snow hurls Colton into a corner and The New Diamond meets it back-first. As Colton bounces out of the buckle, Snow comes running across with a clothesline attempt but Nate sees it and moves at the last second.

However, and this is a BIG however, as Nate tries to move away it’s clear Snow caught some of his opponent. Just with the edge of his hand… his index finger to be exact. It seems to catch Nate dead in his right eye.

Colton doubles over. Ashley Barlow throws her hands up but she most certainly isn’t going to make a call. Even though she saw it, it was totally inadvertent.

Snow, meanwhile, readies for a fight as Colton rises to his feet, with one hand over his “damaged” right eye.

He screams, Colton does. His entire face is rosey. The anger that has been bouncing in and out of him, it’s no longer bouncing in and out.

Oh, it’s in him alright. And it needs somewhere to go.

Colton races towards Snow but the vet knows what’s up, so he moves a little out of the way and sends Colton ricocheting off the ropes and backwards into a running knee smash on the formerly injured neck. It looks like Snow tries for a DDT but instead, he works Colton into a cradle pinfall!

ONE!

TWO!

LAST SECOND KICKOUT!

WHAM!

Colton with a blistering knee shot under Jason Snow’s jaw as they both get to their feet. It’s clear Snow is dazed and confused… and Nate Colton ain’t seeing any other color than the red Russian flag.

Or so Richard Parker would have you believe.

But we cut out his dialogue for now, nobody wants to deal with that shit. Inside the ring, Nate Colton hits an exploder suplex, recklessly throwing Snow so close to the ropes he almost sent the man OUT of the ring.

Colton rises ASAP and delivers a snapdragon.

Another.

Another.

He screams again, pointing to his eye.

Nick Stuart: It was an accident, Nate.

Richard Parker: No it wasn’t, KILL, KILL, KILL!

The New Diamond doesn’t waste much time. He goes to lock in the STF, the Colton Clutch ‘24… but Jason Snow comes to life before the submission hits a point of no escape. Snow starts hand-to-hand combat with Nate Colton, fighting his way out of it-

Colton. Clutch. Suplex.

No matter, Nate was able to wrap his arms around his opponent in a different way. He nails the cobra clutch suplex.

And AGGRESSIVELY smashes his forearm across Snow’s neck during the pinfall.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… NATE COLTON!

The crowd cheers but it takes Nate a solid few seconds to even snap back into reality and realize he won the match. AND has his forearm dug right into the OG Villain’s neck.

Richard Parker: I- Well- Hmph.

Nick Stuart: My partner is at a loss for words. A good victory for Nate Colton and a valiant effort for Jason Snow.

Nate’s theme plays as Ashley Barlow raises his hand but not for long, as a rather brooding Nate Colton drops his arm, slides out of the ring and walks up the rampway.

ReVival goes elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got tag team action coming up next, folks, and potentially a preview to what’s to come at Colossus! The Five Star and Intense Champions, Don Winters and Daytona Diamonds, reunite this evening in the form of COWBOYS FOR CHRIST!

Richard Parker: Heaven have MERCY on us all if DONTONA is in the building! If the movie Pale Rider was a tag team, then this is it!

Nick Stuart: And they’ll be going up against the man set to challenge either one of them at the Pay Per View… “The Emerald Apex” Kerry Kuroyama, along with the Wingman that got him there, Scott Hunter!

Richard Parker: Guess you could say things are about to GET SERIOUS, Nick!

Nick Stuart: Let’s take it to the ring!

The house lights come down, enveloping the arena in shadows. Two words appear on the PRIMEview, letting the world know what’s up.

VAE VICTIS

This would be where the ominous piano tones that begin “Stranger Fruit” would hit. Instead we get the piano intro to… a deep cut from obscure Danish hip-hop group, Cut ‘N’ Move??

The wallscreen on the stage lights up, revealing the silhouetted outlines of three men, arranged and posing like Charlie’s Angels. At least, if Farrah Fawcett were seven feet tall and wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat.

Get ready, get down, yet another round

Weekend coming up in this funky town

Homeboys and homegirls, shaking loose

Some come to be seen, some come to drink juice

Some get it, some get more than enough

Some don’t, you can tell, ’cause they always play tough

For a lady, four o’clock, cracked up, backed up

Against the wall, some get smacked up!

The lights come up, revealing VAE VICTIS — “The Emerald Apex” Kerry Kuroyama, his wingman Scott Hunter, and the towering “Cowboy Colossus” Clay Byrd.

Come on, baby, GET SERIOUS! Yeah!

Come on, baby, GET SEE-REE-OOUS!

Come on! Come on! Come on, yeah!

Come on!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by CLAY BYRD… they stand at a combined weight of four-hundred and seventy-seven pounds, and a combined height of twelve feet and four inches… please welcome the team of KERRY KUROYAMA and SCOTT HUNTER… they are… VAE VICTIS!!

Kuroyama and Hunter reach ringside and post up on opposite corners on the hard camera side and pose in unison, Kerry showing off as much of his Yakuza dragon backpiece and Scott dabbing like the chad he is. The ever looming Byrd sticks to ringside, standing with his arms folded over his chest and laying his murderous scowl upon the ringside fans.

Come on, baby, GET SERIOUS! Yeah!

Come on, baby, GET SEE-REE-OOUS!

Come on! Come on! Come on, yeah!

Come on!

Richard Parker: I’m not sure I can tell which team is the odder couple here, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Well, despite their completely opposing personalities, the Wingmen Kuroyama and Hunter have shown they can get on the same page and work together. If you recall, back at UltraViolence, they picked up a win over the Femme Furies.

Richard Parker: I guess hotwings can bring anyone together.

While they pose, rockets fire off in the ring, forming double “V” shapes. Or maybe a giant “W”… it’s not immediately clear. Regardless, the music cuts while Kerry and Hunter regroup in the Vae Victis corner. But just then…

A weird, and frankly abominable amalgamation of Sturgill Simpson’s “Fastest Horse in Town” and Primal Scream’s “Movin’ On Up” begins blaring horribly over the sound system, but subsides after about ten seconds. The lights in the arena dim and the dark screen above the entrance comes to life with a simple phrase in massive Rio Grande font:

THE COWBOYS FOR CHRIST

Music fades back in first with an acoustic guitar, followed by the bass, drums and hand clapping. The crowd instantly realizes what is playing and begins swaying to the music. The two men coming out from behind the curtain together still aren’t pleased with the song choice from production.

Well I don’t know why I came here tonight

I’ve got the feeling that something ain’t right

I’m so scared in case I fall off my chair

And I’m wondering how I’ll get down the stairs

The Revelator and Rhinestone Cowboy, now both champions, look at each other and then together, glare back toward the curtain. The crowd is happily singing along despite their animosity for Diamonds.. The pair glower at each other and begin making their way to the ring.

Nick Stuart: These two men are not happy about this song choice.

Richard Parker: (singing under his breath) … here I am … in the middle with you.

Stuart lets out an audible sigh.

Clowns to the left of me

Jokers to the right

Here I am stuck in the middle with you

Vince Howard: AND THEIR OPPONENTS, WEIGHING IN AT A COMBINED 496 POUNDS AND STANDING AT A COMBINED TWELVE-FOOT-TWO, THEY ARE THE REIGNING INTENSE CHAMPION – THE RHINESTONE COWBOY DAYTONA DIAMONDS, AND THE REIGNING FIVE STAR CHAMPION – THE REVELATOR DON WINTERS – THE COWBOYS FOR CHRIST!

Winters climbs the ring steps and vaults over the top rope, before dropping to a knee in the center of the ring and throwing his arms out into a crucifix. The Five Star Title glimmers around his waist. It really does not have the same effect with this song playing, but he’s a professional. Diamonds climbs the ring steps and through the ropes, holding his hat in place as he does. While Winters poses, Diamonds walks behind him, giving him a ‘what the fuck are you doing?’, and hoists the Intense Title high above his head before beelining to their side of the ring and placing his hat on the turnbuckle.

Richard Parker: I can’t fathom how this is gonna go, Nick. It’s like oil and water in that ring… and sand… and wax.

Nick Stuart: Anything can happen as soon as that bell rings… but hold the phone, here, it appears as though we’re going to have some words before we get to the action.

As Jimmy Turnbull makes his final checks on both teams, Kuroyama calls for Vince’s mic.

Before Kerry can be handed the mic, Scott Hunter snatches it away from Vince and gives the poor announcer a very disappointed look, like your dad if you stand in front of the fridge holding it open looking for a snack. You can practically hear Scott telling Vince to ‘find something and shut the door, we aren’t refrigerating the whole house!” He doesn’t actually say this with words, but you see it in his eyes. Slowly, Scott turns and hands his partner the microphone, keeping two narrowed eyes on the ring announcer.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hey… before we get to business here, I’ve got something to say…

Kuroyama has the attention of Don and Daytona, the reigning champions, standing across the ring.

Kerry Kuroyama: As everyone knows, I’ve earned the right to challenge one of you at Colossus. And tonight, I’d like to formally announce my decision. Because I don’t think there’s a better time and place to do this than here and now, with two of you in front of me, out in front of all these people.

He turns his attention to the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: I doubt this comes as a surprise to anyone, but just to make it official… just so there’s no mistaking my intentions… I’m declaring to challenge for the Five Star Championship.

The fans cheer the announcement as Kerry turns and points to Winters, who nods back. Scott puts a mic to his lips.

Scott Hunter: And we all know, that’s the maximum number of stars a championship can have!

Kerry Kuroyama: (perplexed) Where did you get that?

Scott looks down at the microphone, then back at Kerry, then back at the microphone, then back at Kerry, and finally, to Vince standing outside the ring.

Scott Hunter: DAMMIT VINCE!!

Kerry Kuroyama: ANYWAY…  my reasons go beyond that championship hanging on your waist, Don. And the years of prestige that come with it. It’s more than just the Five Star Title. It’s more than just… not really having much interest what the Intense Title what-have-you.

He mouths “no offense” in the direction of the rhinestone cowboy.

Scott Hunter: I have been instructed by the Vae Victis lawyers to interject here that the Intense Title is also a very prestigious title and that Daytona Diamonds is a man amongst men, which you know means something because there is a ‘ssssst’ at the end of the word. Only the most important championships and men get a ‘ssssst’. Having said that, Kerry my friend, please continue… ssssst.

Kerry Kuroyama: Thank you, Scott. It’s more than just knowing that the two of us will likely put on a wrestling spectacle to be remembered for the ages. The reason I’m making this choice, Don Winters… is because of you.

Scott points at Don Winters like a living prop.

Kerry Kuroyama: You know, you and I arrived here at PRIME right around the same time. We both debuted for the blue and white as far back as ReVival Three-Six, over in St. Louis. And yet, a year and some change later, here we are.

He gestures to Winters.

And Scott is still pointing.

Kerry Kuroyama: Your path has led you to the top of the wrestling mountain. The longest reigning Five Star Champion. A future legend in the making…

He nods with respect. Veneration. Likewise, the audience applauds the Revelator’s achievements.

Scott does that thing that baseball players do when they step on home plate, where you chest bump yourself with a fist and then point to the sky.

Kerry Kuroyama: My path? (shrugs) It’s been a rocky road to get here, I’ll admit… but now I can say I’m in reach of the top. And there’s nobody else that can be there other than you, Don. Because in the last year, our paths have never crossed. So I’m choosing for them to finally cross, at the stage of stages. To show the world what a year in PRIME does to two of the finest to ever grace this ring.

He walks closer to ring center.

Kerry Kuroyama: Because when I claim the top of the mountain, Don Winters, I want it to go down as the moment the record was finally broken. Even you understand, that the days of all reigns inevitably must come to an end. And Don, you’re coming to the end… of your days.

The Emerald Apex lowers the mic. The Revelator stares back at him with unflinching conviction. The fans react accordingly to the palpably tense moment, while Nick and Richard wisely keep their mouths shut on commentary. Kerry silently reaches out and pushes Scott’s hand down so that he’s no longer pointing.

A moment later, Kerry offers the mic and Winters receives it in kind. The crowd cheers, but he raises his arm and the nave obeys the preacher.

Don Winters: I was hoping this would be your choice. (He smiles.) You see, Kerry, I’ve been watching you since I got here. We came in around the same time. I look at you in the ring and I see a lot of the young Don Winters. Look at us. The exact same size. Pound for pound, inch by inch.

Winters smiles warmly, a smile that was seen earlier tonight three blocks away.

Don Winters: And I knew from the start that one day, we would be destined to collide on the same path, and what better way than for the greatest prize in PRIME? My Five Star Championship. I do have one little correction to make. I’m not the longest reigning Five Star Champion, not quite yet. In about a week, I’ll pass Chandler Tsonda and the A-List for second on the list. We’re talking about the real history of PRIME now, dust off the history books and look back to the aughts.

The smile disappears.

Don Winters: But for me to become the longest reigning champion of all time? The credit you’re giving me now isn’t due until I do one more thing this year, Kerry. Do you know what that is?

Kerry shrugs his shoulders.

Don Winters: Let me digress. There’s five people in this company who have a claim to the greatest pure professional wrestlers in the business today. There’s Cecilworth Farthington, Brandon Youngblood, Coral Avalon, yours truly, and you Kerry Kuroyama.

Scott leans over to Kerry and whispers, “he didn’t say my name”, but only Kerry hears it. Kerry does smirk slightly but keeps his attention on Don. Scott has no idea what is so funny.

The smile returns.

Don Winters: It means that I have to beat one of the top five wrestlers not only in this company but in the world to become the longest reigning Five Star Champion of all time. It was only a matter of time before the dragon came for my hoard, and I relish the challenge.

Winters drops the microphone and extends his hand.

After spending a long moment staring into it, Kuroyama extends his own hand, and the two clasp.

The audience ROARS, both at the show of respect and anticipation of the battle to come. Flashes of light flicker through the seats as fans immortalize the moment through photographs. One of the people taking a photograph is Scott Hunter, who has pulled a tiny blue Polaroid camera from somewhere. He steps forward, shaking the photo, and tries to hand it to Don Winters. Don looks at him like he’s from outer space, which he is not. He is from Miami. Kerry charitably takes it and whispers, “Wait in the corner, Scott.” Scott obliges.

Nick Stuart: And with that, I guess we can say it’s official! Winters and Kuroyama for the Five Star Championship at Colossus! This is undoubtedly a five-star classic in the making!

Richard Parker: Such class! Such mutual respect! Such showmanship! Everyone’s so good and nice and respectable, yes yes yes! Now can we PLEASE get to some action here?

Turnbull cues for the bell…

DING DING

The two begin circling each other in the ring, taking a moment to feel each other out. The Revelator and The Apex. Some would say because of the age the rolls should almost be reversed, older, wiser, clearer headed, The Revelator stalks the Apex.Kerry tries for a single leg, but the attempt is over before it can begin. The two men acknowledge the futility and go straight for a collar and elbow tie-up. Winters snarls as the two collide and drives the Apex against the ropes. Turnbull calls for the two to break it up and Winters is quick to oblige. A rarity in PRIME.

Nick Stuart: Winters has a bit of an edge here with Kuroyama.

Richard Parker: He can afford to! Kerry’s got Scott Hunter as a partner!

The two collide in the center again, this time Kerry puts up a slightly sterner test before backing himself against the ropes to remove himself from the tie-up. Turnbull comes in to break it up and Don backs away, but Kerry pounces. He spins Don against the ropes and delivers a rifle-shot of a knife edge chop across Winters’ pectorals.

Nick Stuart: That stings!

Richard Parker: Of course the boss’ friend fights dirty.

Turnbull splits the two up, but only briefly. A quarter circle, and the two can’t stay away from each other. The two forces magnetically drawn together collide for a third collar and elbow tie-up. Kuroyama shoves but Winters’ leverage is able to drive Kuroyama backwards. This time there is no mercy to Turnbull’s plea for a stoppage.

Nick Stuart: Here we go!

Winters opens up, rapid chops to Kuroyama’s own chest fly in. Each shot growing in volume, the first chop was louder than Kuroyama’s, by the third Kerry roars forward tying up Winters. The two men whirl and twist around each other, Winters finally finding The Apex’s back and twists him over viciously, driving him into the canvas.

Richard Parker: OH!

Nick Stuart: KERRY IS DOWN!

Winters jumps to his feet looking for Kuroyama, but Kerry has already retreated, darting backwards to Scott Hunter. Kerry makes a quick tag and looks back across the ring as Winters takes the moment to do the same. The Revelator slaps The Rhinestone Cowboy’s hand on the rope. Daytona steps through the ropes to a rushing Scott Hunter?

Richard Parker: What is this idiot doi…?

Scott Hunter leaves Richard Parker speechless as he charges across the ring and points to the outside at Clay Byrd who is pacing at ringside. The Rhinestone Cowboy falls for the oldest trick in the book, and as he realizes it, Scott Hunter being a surprisingly large man drives Diamonds back into the corner. He begins raining right hands into the face of a very surprised Daytona Diamonds.

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter is a house on fire here!

Richard Parker: I never realized he was that big, you know, you think Scott Hunter, Wingman. He’s gigantic.

Nick Stuart: I think Diamonds is finding that out.

Byrd slips to Kuroyama’s and gives him some encouragement. Hunter is really feeling it, he stomps around a little bit to the middle of the ring and comes in with a huge body splash that flattens Diamonds in the corner. The Revelator looks on surprised as The Apex and Byrd discuss a bit of strategy.

Hunter might be a dipshit, but he has some form of common sense and knows this pace isn’t sustainable and looks back to Kerry in the corner. Kuroyama gives Scott a nod, and Hunter whips Diamonds across the ring and into the far corner.

Nick Stuart: Wrong side of town for Diamonds.

Hunter stalks across the ring this time and rips Diamonds out of the corner, and stretches Diamonds out with an armbar and a knee across the skull. He reaches up and tags Kuroyama, Kerry rolls out of the corner with a surgical elbow drop to Diamonds’ midsection. Daytona grimaces and Kuroyama rolls to his feet and sneers. He whips back around to Diamonds, and rips him to his feet as Hunter exits the ring.

Richard Parker: Oh, Daytona is really on the wrong side of the tracks.

Kuroyama yanks Diamonds up, he smashes Diamonds in the chest with a palm strike, then another that slides up and catches Diamonds on the chin. Kerry grabs the same arm Hunter had grabbed earlier and whips Diamonds over onto the canvas with an arm drag. The Apex stares a hole through The Revelator as he yanks on Diamonds’ arm.

Nick Stuart: Quick arm drag there for Kerry, and he’s really driving it in.

That small moment is all a rat like Diamonds needs and Daytona manages to squirm his leg up and break Kerry’s attempt to tie Diamonds’ arm behind him in a hammerlock. Daytona with the arm free manages to boot Kerry in the side of the skull from the ground. The Apex, stunned stumbles back to his corner. Scott Hunter, now well aware of the timeout rules, or the lack there of, does the only thing a good wingman could. He slaps Kuroyama on the chest, tagging himself in.

Richard Parker: Well, let’s see what Hunter has for Diamonds this time. Byrd’s on the other side of the ring.

Scott storms in, but Diamonds isn’t falling for anything this time. He catches Hunter right on the chin with a rising knee lift. Hunter, shot out of a cannon, explodes backwards into the turnbuckles. Diamonds comes screaming into the corner like a bat out of hell, and Scott Hunter manages to get out of the way thanks to a Kuroyama shove. Diamonds’ shoulder crashes through the middle ropes and almost into the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: Great teamwork from the Vae Victis side this evening.

Richard Parker: Of course it’s great teamwork, Lindsay Troy has to pair up the dysfunctional duo all the time, against this, a real, well oiled tag team.

Nick Stuart: I think that’s the way the cookie crumbles?

Daytona stumbles out of the corner rubbing his shoulder, while Hunter is making faces trying to figure out if his jaw is dislocated or not. Hunter has made it as far as the near corner. Diamonds stumbles towards Hunter, staying on the aggressive. He smashes Hunter across the jaw with a european uppercut, and sends Hunter flying across the ring. Diamonds follows Hunter into the corner, but Scott catches on pretty quick to something for the first time in his life and he sidesteps Diamonds like a bullfighter. Except Diamonds hits the brakes and changes course.

Richard Parker: Hunter telegraphed it!

Diamonds is suddenly a whirl, and he smashes Hunter across the temple with a roaring elbow. Hunter folds like a house of cards in a stiff breeze, Diamonds continues towards Hunter but Kuroyama comes through the ropes to draw Turnbull’s attention.

Nick Stuart: Veteran move there from Kerry, Diamonds just absolutely smoked Scott Hunter with that elbow.

Richard Parker: Yeah, he sure did. I don’t think Diamonds took being made to look like a joke very well.

Diamonds begins shouting over Turnbull’s shoulder at Kuroyama, while Turnbull separates the two. Diamonds manages to slip a punch over Turnbull’s outstretched arms and catches Kerry on the cheek, the Apex storms forward and Turnbull does all he can to keep control of the contest by staying between the two men.

Nick Stuart: Thank God we didn’t fire Turnbull.

Richard Parker: Would have been more interesting without the tag specialist.

Hunter manages to make it to he and Kerry’s corner, with some help from the Cowboy Colossus playing a brief game of ‘Are you dead?’ and ‘no’ with Scott Hunter. Kerry storms back to the corner and reaches down, slapping Hunter’s chest and storms through the ropes towards Diamonds. Byrd pulls Hunter to the apron.

Nick Stuart: What in the world is Diamonds doing?

Richard Parker: Giving Kuroyama what he wants.

Daytona holds his hands up and out towards Kuroyama and points towards a surprised Revelator. Kerry, outraged by the sucker punch storms towards the corner and Diamonds tags Don in and slides out under the bottom rope. Kerry stops in his tracks as the Five Star Champion stretches and steps through the ropes. Kuroyama has a few expletives for Diamonds who stumbles along the barricade.

Nick Stuart: Back where we started.

Kuroyama and Winters begin the dance, but this time when the imminent collision occurs, Kerry manages to sidestep Winters and grab his arm. He whips Don into unfamiliar territory and sends him into the ropes. The Revelator comes back and The Apex catches him in the center of the chest with a drop kick. Kerry is back to his feet, and Don is startled and stumbles backwards into the ropes.

Richard Parker: Kerry’s quick for his size.

Nick Stuart: Almost like a tiger.

Richard Parker: No, they have a tiger already.

Don comes off the ropes, and this time Kerry connects with Don’s jaw sending him stumbling backwards and through the ropes. Kuroyama prepares himself and comes to the rope. He launches himself over the top, headfirst. He connects with Winters and shoves him back into the barricade. The collision rocks the barricade and a man stands up in the front row. Diamonds’ eyes are fixed on the action, but quickly he catches a steely glare staring back at him.

Nick Stuart: THAT’S SNOW!

Richard Parker: WHAT’S HE DOING OUT HERE!?

Nick Stuart: I have no idea…

Daytona struts his way past the carnage of Kuroyama and Winters and begins shouting in Snow’s direction. He stays outside of imminent danger, Snow grins and sits back down in his seat. He gives Diamonds the ‘I’m watching you’ hand motion, which Diamonds returns with a middle finger.

Nick Stuart: Looks like letting Daytona know he’s got some eyes on him this evening.

Daytona is implored back up onto the apron by Turnbull, while Winters and Kuroyama peel themselves off of the floor. Kerry rolls back into the ring and waits as Winters rolls back in. Winters springs forward and generates contact with Kuroyama, but Kerry manages to keep Winters away by catching his hands. The Test of Strength grip is assumed. The two square off in the center of the ring, twisting and contorting each other.

Nick Stuart: Pretty even contest here…

Richard Parker: I hope the camera isn’t picking up Daytona, the stuff he’s yelling to Snow, holy shit.

Kuroyama manages to pull Winters down into a surfboard by kicking his knee out, but Winters is back up, slowly contorting himself back to Kerry’s front. But Kuroyama senses the danger and snaps up with a knee to Winters’ jaw that sends him stumbling. Daytona has sat down on the edge of the apron, and Don stumbles to the corner. He reaches over and tags Diamonds in, who doesn’t even acknowledge it.

Nick Stuart: Daytona’s really involved with Snow.

Kerry looks towards Hunter, who has somehow managed to rise from the dead. Daytona throws a fit about Winters tagging him when he’s in the middle of dressing down Snow, but he slides under the bottom rope. Hunter gives a nod to Kerry, and Kuroyama takes the tag. Clay is clapping as Kerry comes back through the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Don and Daytona can’t get along, meanwhile Vae Victis is a machine. Generations of trust on display between Byrd and Kuroyama. Wasn’t all that long ago you could hear the same names tearing up and down these same towns.

Richard Parker: Yeah, Byrd’s old man is important to him, and he and Kerry are friends. Did you find five dollars?

Nick Stuart: Go to hell, Richard.

Richard Parker: Scott Hunter is wrestling, I’m already there.

Scott explodes through the ropes towards the arguing Diamonds and shoves him off the apron. Daytona crashes into the barrier, and Hunter follows him. Snow is smirking while Hunter comes down off the apron and is flinging right hands into Diamonds’ face. Daytona finally shoves Hunter off of him and rolls into the ring to get away from Scott.

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter is on fire!

Richard Parker: Run Daytona!

Scott slides back into the ring, but Diamonds turns on his heel and spins, absolutely crushing Hunter with a punt to the skull as he slides in. Hunter drops to the mat, and Daytona reaches down and rips him to his feet. He flings him into The Cowboys for Christ’s corner. Diamonds tries for his cutter as Hunter comes out, but Scott manages to spin him like a top. Hunter grabs a front facelock and lifts Diamonds up for a delayed vertical suplex…

Richard Parker: You’ve gotta be shitting me…

The entire arena is saying that as Daytona Diamonds hangs in the air for what feels like forever. But just as Hunter is about to bring Diamonds down, Daytona manages to kick his feet in the opposite direction. Hunter looses his grip, and Diamonds twists and contorts his body. He smashes Hunter to the canvas with How The West Was Won. Daytona stumbles to his feet, dizzy from the time spent upside down and slaps Winters who steps through the ropes.

Nick Stuart: This is over…

Winters grabs Hunter and sets him backwards on the top rope and gets behind him. He stretches Hunter’s arms out, and pulls him off the turnbuckle. Winters brings him over the top, and sends Hunter smashing to the ground with a crucifix powerbomb.

Richard Parker: ABSOLUTION!

Winters covers Hunter while staring a hole through Kuroyama as Turnbull counts.

ONE!

Daytona slips back through the ropes to ward off Kuroyama while Turnbull finishes.

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING! 

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall… The Cowboy’s for Christ!

The second the bell rings Daytona heads to run his mouth to Snow, Kuroyama explodes through the ropes and tackles Winters off of Hunter.

Nick Stuart: WE’RE NOT DONE!

The two roll out of the ring, rights and lefts flying back and forth Kuroyama flings Don into the barricade on the outside, he charges Don, but Winters moves and turns snarling towards Kuroyama as security swarm ringside we fade elsewhere with Winters walking away while Kuroyama shouts at him.

A rock sits in the middle of the floor backstage in the loading area of the T-Mobile arena. There’s nothing important about this rock. It’s average at best, just like any other rock you’ve ever seen. Standing above it, Rob Williams.

The world goes on around him, his stationary nature a stark contrast to the flurry of movement around him. If you focus on just Rob and let your eyes relax, it may almost appear a hyperlapse. Caterers bring in their food and AV guys carry boxes of AV equipment, all of them oblivious to the mountain unyielding in the middle of their path. They can’t see and don’t care about the immense existential dread coursing through Williams as he stares at the rock.

He finally kneels, picking the rock up and turning it over in his hands. Bobby Dean is the furthest thing from his mind.

Rob Williams: I should’ve been there.

There is no sorrier picture than a man grappling with the consequences of his actions.

Williams rubs the scars of this piece of earth that had maybe once been part of a great mountain. Time has eroded it to be nothing more than an annoying obstacle in the path of progress. Boy can he relate.

Voice: Oi, Rob. Snap out of it.

Enter Jackson Cooley.

People call Cooley a lot of things, but style-challenged is not one of them. The cut of his electric blue suit is perfect, fitting him almost like a second skin as he leans against the wall, smoking a cigarette and observing Williams’ dark night of the soul. You can love him or hate him, but you cannot deny he is fucking cool. A different kind of cool than the Cancer Jiles flavor. That’s EV cool. Cooley is a 440 horsepower all-gas engine idling in the red.

Williams looks from the rock to Cooley and back.

Rob Williams: You think he picked the right rock, Cooley?

Cooley: What are you talking about, Rob?

Rob Williams: Finn. When he had to go up against a bigger kid. You think he picked the right rock? I wans’t there to show him. To… protect him.

Female Voice: And he was all the better for it.

The rock clinks as it hits the ground. While Cooley turns to see what bitch might have the gall to say something so abrasive and hurtful, Williams doesn’t. He knows.

Rob Williams: What the fuck are you doing here, Charlotte?

It clicks for Cooley. He sizes her up, sucking his teeth and taking a drag from his stoagie. It makes sense why Rob sacrificed everything trying to keep her. The brutality of her words is matched only by her beauty. Her long, toned legs peeking out from under her red miniskirt go right up to make an ass out of themselves.

Charlotte: Not holding you hostage anymore.

Cutting as ever. Rob feigns holding his gut from the knife she just stuck in him.

Rob Williams: Cute as ever. In all seriousness, what the fuck?

Charlotte: Your friend Sebastian called me. Said you were back on the sauce and begged me to come talk some sense into you. Told him that was beyond the scope of even my talents.

Gold. In this moment, Rob decides he will bathe in Gold’s blood. He will hunt down all surviving members of his bloodline and snuff them out with his bare hands. All memory of this unhonorable little scamp will be wiped from the earth. He will find the graves of Gold’s ancestors and shit on them. This kid is going to meet the business end of Rob’s size fourteen cowboy boots.

But he smiles at her.

Rob Williams: So what? You could swoop in here and save me?

Charlotte: Save you from yourself, maybe. You’ve always been your own worst enemy, Rob.

Rob Williams: I ain’t drinking and I don’t need your fucking help.

Charlotte: Oh come on. You send me this melodramatic note after a year of radio silence bringing up your bastard? It’s SO on brand for drinking Rob. Typical asshole behavior, just like when you…

The old wounds are open. They go back and forth pouring salt in all of them making every scar anew.

Charlotte: This is just like you, isn’t it, Rob? All about what you want. Even this sob story about not being there for him is about how you feel about that.

Rob Williams: YOU MADE ME SIGN IT!

Charlotte: YOU CHOSE ME YOU ASSHOLE! AND LOOK AT US NOW!

Cooley: The bear and the cooking pot.

Charlotte and Rob: What?!

With an eyeroll, Cooley sighs deeply, taking one last pull from his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and snuffing it out with his sleek ass cowboy boots. He bites his bottom lip. It’s an anxious habit, something about the feeling of his mustache sliding across his lips calms him.

Cooley: Bear is out in the woods doing bear things and he smells something sweet wafting through the air. Comes up on a camp site. There’s a cook pot hanging over the fire with a sweet chilli in it. The good kind, no beans. Bear grabs ahold of the pot trying to get into it and the pot, lo and behold, burns him. The more it burns, the tighter he squeezes it and so on. Just let go.

All of the oxygen has been sucked out of the fire. Two humans once deeply connected standing mere feet from one another, completely unable to bridge the miles of pain and misunderstanding between them. Both crave the validation of reconciliation. Their eyes meet and for a moment there is a glimmer they will give in to satiate their souls

that are so starved for the other.

But alas, no. Neither will be the one to surrender. Even without a hostage.

She always has to have the final word.

Charlotte: Whatever. I’m out of here.

And once again, maybe for the last time, Rob Williams walks Charlotte walk away. He grits his teeth and forces the tears beginning to well at the corner of his eyes back from whence they came. He has made his decision and time is too short now to be fickle.

Rob Williams: Am I the bear or the fucking pot?

Cooley: You are truly a creature, Rob Williams.

Cooley once again throws an arm around Williams’, ruffling Rob’s hair with his free hand.

Rob Williams: I’m still gonna murder that fucking kid for calling her. Might perform another crucifixion.

Cooley: Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get out of here, tough guy.

Rob Williams: I’m the bear, right?

The two kindred spirits fall out of earshot as they walk out the back door into the night air together, their compass pointed South.

ReVival moves on.

Owls.

Hear ’em?

Hoo. Hoo.

Spooky stuff.

We find ourselves in a graveyard chock-full of graves. But we hover over one in particular. An unassuming, granite rectangle in the ground.

Its engraving reads:

Robert C. Byrd
1958 – 2019

A shadow looms over the humble stone. It’s shaped like a mysterious, fat fuck.

Oh God oh no oh shit.

It’s…

Fred Dick: Well, well, well, it looks like I finally found it.

Fred Dick smiles a toothy grin at us. He gestures down at the gravestone.

Fred Dick: Bet yer won’drin whut thuh heyell I’m doin’ here at ya daddy’s grave, ain’t ya, Clay Byrd?

Fred chortles.

Fred Dick: Well, let me break this down for ya right quicklike. See, ‘bout a month ago, Lawd Jesus Almighty God, I was just so GOTDAMN hungyyyy, nawmean? And so I figured, fug it, ya know, I’ll bash in Coral Avalon’s Throne Room winder and get my GNOSH on at the famed Throne Room spread.

We can see the anger rising in Fred’s face, his face somehow swelling further out, his flesh flooded with the rose hue of blood.

Fred Dick: Only there weren’t no God damn spread left! I had my whole heart set on some of them good ace, Championship level fixin’s. Lawd yes I wanted them fixin’s. But there weren’t no damn fixin’s. So I tried to steal Coral Avalon’s title instead. THEN HE KICKED ME IN THE FUGGIN FACE, CLAY BYRD!!! THEN HE MADE ME RASSLE HIM FOR THE TITLE, CLAY BYRD!!! AND I LOST!!! AND THATS NOT MY FAULT!!! ITS NOT MY FAULT BECAUSE it ain’t never my fuggin’ fault yew sumbitchin rat turd.

That change there from capitals to italics is indicative of the way Fred ran out of breath at the end of his rant. He gasps deeply, grasps hold of his chest.

Fred Dick: So I said to myself, “Self, the question is this: Whose. Fuggin. Fault. Is it?” And so I got to askin’ around. Who ate all dem fixin’s? I know string bean Coral Avalon didn’t eat all dem fixin’s. I know MY hungry ace didn’t eat all dem fixin’s. And word from the boys in the back? They say it was you, Clay, what ate them fixin’s. And if you hadn’t ate them fixin’s, I wouldn’t have attempted to steal a title. And then I wouldn’t have got kicked in my fuggin’ face. And then I wouldn’t have lost a title match. Don’t you see, Clay Byrd? IT’S YO FUGGIN’ FAULT.

Fred Dick drops his trousers right in the middle of the grave yard. His… lower half is pixelated, blurred, and black barred to ensure viewer safety. No one wants to see this.

Fred Dick: Clay Byrd when you allegedly ate all them Throne Room fixin’s, you may as well have dropped your britches, whipped out yer fat, sweaty hog, and taken a big wet piss all over my dreams. So I decided there’s only ONE WAY to get my revenge, ONE WAY, to show you not to never cross Fred Dick again in yo muhfuggin LIFE, BOY. And what’s that way, y’ask Ol’ Fred?

Fred grins devilishly.

Fred Dick: Pissin’ all over yo’ crusty ace, loser ace, deadbeat ace, dead ace daddy’s grave.

We only hear it at first. The trickle. Then, we see grossly yellow fluid stream powerfully from the blurred out, pixelated, and black barred part of Fred Dick’s body onto the gravestone.

Fred Dick: OoooooOoOoOoooOOOH WEEE!!! DAT FEEL GUUUUUUUD RIGHT THARRR!!! LAAAAAAAAWD YES!!!

Fred writes his name in yellow cursive on the gravestone.

The strength of the stream fades. A slow drip. And then…

Fred Dick: Dayum. No matter how hard you shake it, some still gets on yer pants.

Fred pulls his pants back up.

Fred Dick: So there we have it, Clay Byrd. My revenge is complete. You made my dreams of havin’ a full belly rest in peace…

Fred chuckles evilly.

Fred Dick: So now your crusty ace dead daddy rests in piss. Muahaha. Muuuuahahaha. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

The scene cuts abruptly.

The scene opens just outside the door that reads CATERING. Seconds pass before a crash and clang comes from behind the door with commotion following before the door flies open to reveal Crash, holding a bushel of hotdogs and raging through the T Mobile Arena.

Crash: Where the hell are they!?

Crash barrels over some people not quick enough to read the room. He stops, sniffs, chomps, chews, and continues tearing through the halls.

As fate would have it, this is just when the Heralds and Bryan Dawkins round the corner and head for the doors under the giant EXIT sign, Crash’s eyes narrow and focus on shi target. The thud of long, angry strides doesn’t register on the Heralds or even Dawkins until it’s too late.

Orange Herald: *whinn-

YEEEET

Crash grabs Secretariat Van der Crush by the rear and whips them into the wall. This cues the cartoon scramble and cloud of dust in which Crash is trying to get his hands on the Herald of the Wheelchair. Things settle enough to have most of the Heralds behind the guy who is apparently gonna protect them from Crash’s coming onslaught.

The Bruh.

Bryan Dawkins: Look, bruh…you don’t need to do this. Let it go.

Crash: Back off, Dawkins. I need to ask that little shit dribble some questions, bro.

Dawkins looks over his shoulder and gives the signal for everyone to make a run for it. Crash goes to intercept but Dawkins throws up a lightning quick superkick that sends Crash flying into a pile of empty boxes with a crunch. Bryan looks on at the Buffalo Kid, clearly in a daze and moving slowly.

Bryan Dawkins: I told ya, I don’t have a choice, bruh…

He takes one last sad look at Crash before breaking into a sprint after the Heralds.

And we sprint off too.

Vince Howard: The following match is a Thirty Minute Iron Man and is our Main Event!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: The fans here in Vegas are READY!

Richard Parker: This is a match two years in the waiting and it was here in Vegas where we saw FLAMBERGE join the Glueminati and help Phil Atken claim the Universal Championship from… Brandon Youngblood.

Nick Stuart: That it is and this promises to be one hell of a battle between these two men. Let’s send it back to Vince Howard so he can begin the introductions of our wrestlers.

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

As “ooh la la” by Run The Jewels featuring DJ Premier & Greg Nice blares through the speakers, teal and copper sparks shoot out around the stage. A series of nicknames flash across the screen:

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

THE ACE

LE PROTAGONISTE

LE COURONNE TRIPLE

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F L A M B E R G E

The Frenchman soaks in the loud reception from the crowd and confidently takes a lap around the ring before stomping up the ring steps and stepping through the ropes.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, hailing from Strasbourg, France… he is the NECK COLLECTOR! THE FRENCH PHENOM! FLAMBERGE!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Two years ago, that was NOT the reception that FLAMBERGE would’ve received.

Richard Parker: Yes, well, the uncultured swine has figured out that FLAMBERGE is the best thing in PRIME today!

Nick Stuart: He had a remarkable 2023 and is looking to put himself back into the main event at Colossus just like he was last year.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and if Elvis Nixon calls this the right way, he’ll be one step towards making that happen.

T-Mobile Arena darkens. The shift in ambiance has the fans rise to their feet, the sound rising. Then, The Battlecry from a wall of blinding flame.

It is time to give a sacrifice to Khorne.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN

The arena lights return as Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges forward, Brandon Youngblood moving from behind the PRIMEView wall into the well of sound. Through the blinding red and white strobing light cutting, the Tower of Babel powerwalks, his top clad in a white branded hoodie with his Diamond logo across the chest, the hood drawn down. He stops on the ramp, throwing his hood back, his eyes trained forward, an oppressive scowl of intensity a hallmark painting his face. Reaching into his hoodie, he pulls out a white mouth guard with the Diamond logo in the center, putting it in his mouth and chomping down upon it.

His shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, a spotlight lighting his path. The two time Universal Champion is quick down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring, his eyes locking on FLAMBERGE, ready to fight, all as Vince Howard makes his announcement.

Vince Howard: His opponent…hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 265 pounds… he is…THE DIIIIIIAMOND! OF THE REVIVAL! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

The lights return, and as they do, the Strong Father unzips his hoodie, tossing it to the ring bell table, readying himself in an amateur stance, his hands on his thighs. Two years. It is time.

Nick Stuart: The electricity in this building is through the roof right now. These fans can’t wait to see what is about to unfold before our eyes.

Richard Parker: I’m hoping FLAMBERGE just locks in the Marie Antoinette, holds it on for thirty minutes, and that’s it.

Nick Stuart: After the events of ReVival 58, I doubt that will happen.

Richard Parker: You mean when FLAMBERGE knocked Youngblood out? That was great.

Nick Stuart: I doubt that Youngblood will see it the same way.

Elvis gives his final set of instructions. He then signals for the bell.

DING DING

Youngblood explodes from his corner at the bell, immediately shooting for FLAMBERGE’s legs with a blast double leg takedown. The impact rattles the ring as he drives FLAMBERGE into the canvas with crushing force. Without hesitation, Youngblood transitions into a leg ride position, using his superior amateur wrestling background to maintain control. FLAMBERGE flails against the larger body of Youngblood and immediately goes into a defensive position, trying to twists his body away from the Diamond of PRIME. Youngblood begins raining down vicious elbow strikes to the back of FLAMBERGE’s head, showing clear intent to inflict maximum damage early. Nixon warns about strikes to the back of the head, but Youngblood seems unfazed by the cautions.

Richard Parker: Disqualify him, Elvis! What good are you?!

Nick Stuart: He gave a warning —

Richard Parker: A warning, what good will that do?! He could’ve given FLAMBERGE brain damage!

Nick Stuart: I highly doubt that. Meanwhile, Youngblood has come out of the gates storming and there might be a bit of animosity built up in the chest of the Hall of Famer.

Maintaining the dominant position, Youngblood grips FLAMBERGE’s waist and executes a brutal release German suplex, launching him halfway across the ring. As FLAMBERGE struggles to his feet, Youngblood charges in with a thunderous clothesline that turns his opponent inside out. FLAMBERGE rolls to his stomach, and Youngblood pounces, looking to secure back control. FLAMBERGE recognizes the danger and desperately scrambles away, knowing one wrong move to the Diamond of PRIME could leave him down early in the count.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE thinking strategically, knowing that scrapping with Youngblood could put him at a disadvantage at a moment’s notice. He’s got to be smart with his movements and what he gives Youngblood.

Richard Parker: Especially with a dolt like Elvis Nixon.

Nick Stuart: If you’re not careful, you’re going to get a fine from Lindsay Troy.

Richard Parker: We’re talking about fines? We’re talking about fines?!

FLAMBERGE creates space with a series of desperate kicks, forcing Youngblood back momentarily. He springs to his feet and charges, looking to catch Youngblood with a flying knee, but the veteran sidesteps, spins him around, and grabs him before launching him with a massive overhead belly-to-belly suplex. The impact causes FLAMBERGE to bounce off the canvas, but he rolls through, once again avoiding the ground position where Youngblood could control him. Both men reset, with FLAMBERGE noticeably more cautious about engaging in close quarters.

Richard Parker: Focus, FLAMBERGE! Don’t let this idiot get one over on you.

Nick Stuart: I love how you’ll speak your mind when your far away from a competitor but up close and personal, you talk about how much you love someone.

Richard Parker: I call that self perseverance.

Nick Stuart: Sure, that’s one word to call it.

Youngblood closes the distance quickly, backing FLAMBERGE into the corner with a series of clubbing forearm strikes. He whips FLAMBERGE across the ring into the opposite corner, charging in for a massive clothesline. FLAMBERGE elevates himself over Youngblood’s charge and lands on the middle rope, transitioning smoothly into an attempted guillotine choke. Youngblood powers out before the hold can be fully locked in, but FLAMBERGE’s strategy becomes clear – he’s hunting for any opening to secure his chokehold.

Nick Stuart: And Youngblood was just put on notice!

Richard Parker: That he was! FLAMBERGE almost gave me exactly what I was looking for.

Nick Stuart: And here I was, almost having figured out what to get you for Christmas this year.

Richard Parker: It better not be another pair of socks, Nick. I swear to Hoyt.

The veteran responds by slamming his knee into his opponent’s midsection before hoisting FLAMBERGE up for a delayed vertical suplex, holding him suspended for nearly thirty seconds as sweat drips from both men. The display of power is impressive, but more importantly, it’s making FLAMBERGE’s body increasingly slick and harder to control. Finally, Youngblood drives him down into the canvas before following it up with a gutwrench suplex, seamlessly rolling through into a second, then a third in succession. Each impact drives the breath from FLAMBERGE’s lungs, leaving him laid out on the mat.

Richard Parker: Elvis! You’re just going to let this happen?! We have eyes! We see what’s happen! We will riot!

Nick Stuart: What are you talking about? Youngblood is performing wrestling moves.

Richard Parker: In succession!

Nick Stuart: You’re warped.

Pressing his advantage, Youngblood hooks FLAMBERGE’s arms, executing a perfect butterfly suplex that sends his opponent arching through the air. FLAMBERGE lands hard but immediately rolls to his hands and knees, anticipating Youngblood’s follow-up. As the veteran reaches down to grab him, FLAMBERGE springs up, attempting to snag Youngblood’s neck for the Marie Antoinette. Youngblood instinctively backs away, his sweat-soaked upper body making it impossible for FLAMBERGE to maintain his grip.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE looking for the Marie Antoinette!

Richard Parker: And Youngblood has clearly bought Diddy’s compound of oil and slathered himself in it.

Nick Stuart: Richard!

Richard Parker: You know it’s true!

Youngblood responds by charging forward with a massive clothesline that FLAMBERGE ducks under, using Youngblood’s momentum to attempt another choke. The veteran counters by hoisting FLAMBERGE up and driving him into the turnbuckle with brutal force. Keeping one hand firmly on FLAMBERGE’s throat to prevent any submission attempts, Youngblood delivers a series of devastating knee strikes to the midsection. Each impact forces more air from FLAMBERGE’s lungs, making it increasingly difficult for him to execute his chokehold while Elvis admonishes Youngblood.

Richard Parker: Why are we having a conversation with him?! Disqualify him! Ban him from the sport!

Nick Stuart: I would very much like a different announcing partner when Youngblood is in the ring.

Richard Parker: Because you can’t handle the truth? I see how it is, Nick!

Nick Stuart: You’ve drunken the Kool-Aid and it’s not the good flavor. You’re one step away from being one of them.

FLAMBERGE takes advantage of the moment and creates separation with an upkick that catches Youngblood under the chin. He springs to the top rope, measuring Youngblood for a diving move, but the veteran recovers quickly. As FLAMBERGE leaps, Youngblood catches him in mid-air, transitioning smoothly into position for the Diamondplex. FLAMBERGE desperately fights the grip, managing to slip behind Youngblood, spins him around, and attempt another Marie Antoinette. The hold looks deep for a moment, but Youngblood’s sweat-slicked neck allows him to power out once again.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE can’t seem to lock in the Marie Antoinette on Youngblood. That’s twice now!

Richard Parker: This man dove head first into a vat of baby oil and if that’s not cheating, I don’t know what is. I demand a recount!

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Richard Parker: I will not be silenced!

Frustrated by his inability to secure his finishing hold, FLAMBERGE changes tactics and begins targeting Youngblood’s neck with a series of kicks and strikes, looking to wear down the area before attempting another submission. Youngblood absorbs the blows but responds with a devastating spinebuster that plants FLAMBERGE into the canvas. The veteran immediately follows up with his signature Karelin Lift, demonstrating his raw power as he hoists his opponent off the mat. FLAMBERGE squirms free, but the impact of the spinebuster has clearly rattled him.

Richard Parker: Haha, two can play that game! Get him FLAMBERGE!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE respects Youngblood’s power game and knows better than to get trapped in it. Do you think we will see an appearance from Vendberge?

Richard Parker: You only pull that out in special circumstances. Youngblood is not worthy of Vendberge.

Nick Stuart: Wow. Strong words there.

Youngblood maintains pressure, backing FLAMBERGE into the corner with a series of clubbing forearm strikes. He attempts to whip FLAMBERGE across the ring, but FLAMBERGE reverses, sending Youngblood into the opposite corner. FLAMBERGE charges in, leaping onto Youngblood’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around the veteran’s head, finally securing a variation of the Marie Antoinette. The crowd erupts as Youngblood staggers to the center of the ring, his face turning red as FLAMBERGE applies maximum pressure.

FLAM-BO! FLAM-BO! FLAM-BO!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE thinking outside of the box and using his legs to put the Marie Antoinette on Youngblood!

Richard Parker: He tapped! He says he doesn’t want this match anymore!

Nick Stuart: He did not. You’re being ridiculous. Knock it off.

Richard Parker: I’m telling you, I heard him! Elvis is just too deaf to hear it. You too, apparently.

Just when it seems FLAMBERGE might have the victory, Youngblood summons his incredible power and runs backward, driving FLAMBERGE into the turnbuckle with crushing force. The impact breaks the hold, but FLAMBERGE refuses to release his leg scissors, transitioning into a hurricanrana attempt. Youngblood blocks it, stabilizing himself while holding FLAMBERGE upside down. In a display of raw strength, he walks to the center of the ring and drops to his knees, driving FLAMBERGE’s head into the canvas with a brutal piledriver. The crowd gasps at the impact as both men lay motionless.

Richard Parker: That move is banned! Officers, arrest that man!

Nick Stuart: What? The piledriver is not banned!

Richard Parker: Then why was everyone on Twitter talking about it so much?!

Nick Stuart: I think you’ve gone fully around the bend.

The referee begins his count as both wrestlers struggle to their feet.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

FLAMBERGE rises first, but he’s visibly dazed from the piledriver. He staggers toward Youngblood, attempting to lock in the Marie Antoinette before the Tower of Babel can fully recover. However, his compromised equilibrium affects his accuracy, and Youngblood easily slips the hold. The veteran responds with a massive elbow strike that rocks FLAMBERGE, following up with a series of punishing knee lifts that punishes FLAMBERGE for every bad thing he’s ever done.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

CRACK!

FLAMBERGE creates space with a desperate enzuigiri that catches Youngblood on the side of the head. Both men are showing the effects of the grueling match – sweat pouring off their bodies, making submission holds increasingly difficult to maintain. FLAMBERGE ascends to the top rope once again, but Youngblood cuts him off. The veteran climbs up after him, looking to execute a superplex, but FLAMBERGE counters with headbutts that stagger Youngblood. In a flash, FLAMBERGE wraps his legs around Youngblood’s head, locking in a super Marie Antoinette while on the top rope.

Richard Parker: Holy moly! FLAMBERGE is truly one of a kind. Just give him the match now. Nay, give him the title match at Colossus. You know what, just give him the title, put him in the Hall of Fame, and shutter PRIME because there will be none better.

Nick Stuart: Have you started huffing glue over there? You’re on one tonight.

Richard Parker: I’m just calling it like I see it, Nick! Employing honest-to-Hoyt journalism.

Nick Stuart: I seriously need a pay raise.

Youngblood showcases his incredible core strength, maintaining his balance on the top rope despite FLAMBERGE’s submission attempt. The veteran adjusts his grip and, in a breathtaking display of power, lifts FLAMBERGE off the top rope while fighting the choke. FLAMBERGE desperately tries to maintain the hold, but the combination of sweat and Youngblood’s raw strength makes it impossible. Youngblood takes two steps away from the corner and delivers a massive brainbuster that spikes FLAMBERGE directly on his head. The impact echoes through the arena as both men crash to the canvas.

Nick Stuart: These two are determined to kill one another. Considering the hate they both have for one another, I’m not surprised in the least bit.

Richard Parker: I don’t think FLAMBERGE has hate for anyone.

Nick Stuart: Then how do you explain what FLAMBERGE did to Youngblood in his match against Atken?

Richard Parker: That’s called opportunity, Nick. That’s called the cost of doing business. Even Youngblood knows that, he just refuses to see it.

Rising slowly, Youngblood stalks his prone opponent, knowing the brainbuster has created the opening he needs. He drags FLAMBERGE to his feet, positioning him for the Diamondplex, but FLAMBERGE suddenly springs to life with a jumping knee strike that catches Youngblood flush on the jaw. The veteran staggers but doesn’t go down, responding with a massive headbutt that drops FLAMBERGE to his knees. Blood begins trickling down FLAMBERGE’s forehead as both men show the wear of this intensely physical contest.

Richard Parker: What kind of sick individual are you, Brandon Youngblood?!

Nick Stuart: I mean, we’ve seen Youngblood do some crazy stuff in the ring.

Richard Parker: But attacking the face of the man who is about to be announced Sexiest Man of the Year?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s happening.

Richard Parker: IT’S HAPPENING!

Blood streaming down his face, FLAMBERGE refuses to stay down, catching Youngblood with a series of kicks to the legs and midsection. The veteran absorbs the strikes, but a spinning back kick to the jaw staggers him. FLAMBERGE sees his opening and leaps onto Youngblood’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around the veteran’s neck in another Marie Antoinette attempt. Youngblood staggers forward, using his massive arms to create just enough space to breathe. His sweat-drenched upper body again proves advantageous as he powers FLAMBERGE off, sending him crashing into the corner.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE is relentless in his pursuit of locking in the Marie Antoinette! He is simply a man on a mission and Youngblood has to be thankful that he’s been able to avoid getting locked into it.

Richard Parker: The only thing Youngblood is thankful for is being a cheater. Greasing himself up like he has.

Nick Stuart: That is sweat, Richard.

Richard Parker: SWEAT IS NOT REAL, NICK!

Youngblood charges in, looking to crush FLAMBERGE with a corner clothesline, but FLAMBERGE elevates himself over the veteran, landing on the middle turnbuckle. As Youngblood turns, FLAMBERGE connects with a knee that catches Youngblood flush across the jaw. The Tower of Babel is stunned, and FLAMBERGE immediately goes for another Marie Antoinette, but Youngblood explodes out of the corner and transitions into a devastating backdrop driver that spikes FLAMBERGE on his head. The impact causes FLAMBERGE to bounce grotesquely off the canvas as Youngblood immediately covers him and Nixon begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Nixon trying to cheat FLAMBERGE there with a nearly fast count.

Nick Stuart: Nothing of the sort happened, but Youngblood’s counters are rocking FLAMBERGE and the young phenom needs to get some offense going to slow Youngblood down.

Richard Parker: Yeah, if Youngblood wasn’t “sweating” like you claim, this match would’ve been over more times than not. FLAMBERGE would’ve had forty-seven submission victories by now.

Nick Stuart: Sure, Richard. Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.

Frustration evident on his face, Youngblood drags FLAMBERGE up by his hair, positioning him for the Diamondplex. The French Phenom suddenly comes to life, slipping behind the Diamond of PRIME, spins him around, and secures the Marie Antoinette in the center of the ring. The hold looks deep as FLAMBERGE arches his back, applying maximum pressure to Youngblood’s neck and throat. The veteran’s face turns crimson as Nixon checks if he wants to submit. Youngblood refuses to tap, his massive arms trying to create space in the hold.

Richard Parker: Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.

Nick Stuart: Nixon checking on Youngblood, but Youngblood REFUSES to give up here. This could give FLAMBERGE the opening he needs to get multiple pinfalls on Youngblood if the Diamond passes out.

Richard Parker: Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.

Nick Stuart: You are so annoying.

With his vision starting to blur from the choke, Youngblood summons his remaining strength, lifting FLAMBERGE off his feet while in the hold. FLAMBERGE maintains the pressure, knowing he’s close to victory, but Youngblood won’t go down. The Tower of Babel takes three staggering steps forward before dropping to one knee. FLAMBERGE cranks the hold harder, blood from his forehead mixing with the sweat on Youngblood’s back, making his grip increasingly tenuous. The crowd is on their feet as Youngblood fights for consciousness.

YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD!

Nick Stuart: And these fans are motivating Youngblood here, willing him to keep fighting!

Richard Parker: These fans are fickle. They were cheering Rose on earlier, hell, they were just cheering on FLAMBERGE a moment ago!

Nick Stuart: Yes, well, the fans have opinions.

Richard Parker: I have opinions of them too — they suck.

In a last desperate surge of power, Youngblood rises to his feet, his face nearly purple from the choke. With FLAMBERGE still maintaining the hold, Youngblood reaches back and grips The Neck Collector’s waist. FLAMBERGE tries to readjust the hold, but the combination of blood and sweat makes it impossible to maintain the proper pressure. Youngblood takes advantage of the slight loosening, dropping to one knee before exploding upward, finally breaking FLAMBERGE’s grip and securing position for the Diamondplex.

Richard Parker: Put him down right this very minute!

Nick Stuart: I think that’s what he plans on doing.

Richard Parker: No, not like that!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he cares what you want.

FLAMBERGE drives his elbow repeatedly into the neck of Youngblood, forcing the Tower of Babel to release his grip on the Neck Collector. FLAMBERGE immediately grabs at Youngblood and connects with a Judo Throw. Youngblood though is up in a hurry and quickly connects with a hip toss that sends FLAMBERGE crashing to the mat. FLAMBERGE powers his way back to his knees and blocks a running knee from Youngblood before shooting forward and connecting with a single-leg takedown. Before FLAMBERGE can do anything though, Brandon drives his boots into the midsection of the Neck Collector and flings him off of him. FLAMBERGE rushes back at Youngblood only for the Diamond of PRIME to sweep out his legs from underneath him.

Nick Stuart: What a flurry of action!

Richard Parker: I hate it. I hate it all.

Nick Stuart: Oh, Richard, the match isn’t over yet, though we’re getting close to the half-way mark.

Richard Parker: I hate you most of all.

Following the initial flurry of amateur-style takedowns, Youngblood traps FLAMBERGE’s arm in a cross armbar position on the mat. FLAMBERGE bridges explosively to escape, but Youngblood transitions smoothly into a front headlock. Desperate to create space, FLAMBERGE tries to free himself only for the Diamond of PRIME to stop him dead in his tracks with a series of sharp headbutts to the top of his skull. The French Phenom attempts to counter with a snap mere, but Youngblood uses his weight advantage and leverage to remain in control while grinding his forearm across FLAMBERGE’s face.

Richard Parker: ELVIS! Come on!

Nick Stuart: Nothing illegal happened!

Richard Parker: Do I look like I care?

Nick Stuart: The joys of my job.

FLAMBERGE creates separation with a series of elbows to Youngblood’s ribs, springing to his feet and catching the veteran with a roundhouse kick to the temple. The impact staggers Youngblood momentarily, allowing FLAMBERGE to leap onto his back, looking for the Marie Antoinette once again. Youngblood immediately drops and rolls, using his broad shoulders to break FLAMBERGE’s grip before the hold can be properly secured. Both men scramble to their feet, with FLAMBERGE noticeably more cautious about engaging in close quarters.

Sensing FLAMBERGE’s hesitation, Youngblood rushes forward with a clothesline that FLAMBERGE ducks. As FLAMBERGE rebounds off the ropes, Youngblood catches him with a massive spinebuster that drives the air from his lungs. Without releasing his grip, Youngblood transitions into a gutwrench position, hoisting FLAMBERGE up for a delayed suplex. FLAMBERGE tries to counter with elbows to the side of Youngblood’s head, but the veteran’s grip is too strong, and he drives FLAMBERGE down with crushing force.

Nick Stuart: And Youngblood showing off his sheer power! He is driving every ounce of his muscles into each of his moves and is determined to wreck FLAMBERGE at all costs.

Richard Parker: Oh, do you like that? You sick, sick man.

Nick Stuart: Do I like wrestling? Yes, I do.

Richard Parker: Pervert.

Youngblood immediately follows up by dragging FLAMBERGE to his feet, looking for the Diamondplex. FLAMBERGE counters with a series of back elbows before slipping behind Youngblood, attempting to lock in the Marie Antoinette. The veteran’s sweat-slicked upper body makes it impossible to maintain the grip, and Youngblood spins out, catching FLAMBERGE with a massive forearm that sends him reeling into the ropes.

Taking advantage of FLAMBERGE’s position against the ropes, Youngblood charges in with a corner clothesline. FLAMBERGE ducks at the last second, causing Youngblood to collide with the turnbuckle. FLAMBERGE leaps onto the middle rope and springboards off, wrapping his legs around Youngblood’s head in mid-air. For a brief moment, it looks like he might secure the Marie Antoinette, but Youngblood showcases his incredible power by catching FLAMBERGE and turning the move into a devastating powerslam.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE… maybe try something else?

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is a man on a mission and he wants to collect the neck of Youngblood.

Richard Parker: And I fully support that. Just… maybe knock Youngblood out first and then put the Marie Antoinette on.

Nick Stuart: That’s definitely a strategy, but one that FLAMBERGE will employ? We shall see, I guess.

After the powerslam, Youngblood maintains control by transitioning into a crushing side headlock, driving his knee into FLAMBERGE’s spine while applying pressure. FLAMBERGE tries to create space by bridging up, but Youngblood counters by shifting his weight, dropping knee strikes to FLAMBERGE’s sternum. Showing his veteran savvy, Youngblood keeps his head tucked tight against his chest whenever he’s in close, clearly aware of how quickly FLAMBERGE can transition into the Marie Antoinette from any position.

Richard Parker: Youngblood is playing this one smart. Too smart. Points deducted from Youngblood.

Nick Stuart: This isn’t Harry Potter.

Richard Parker: Why not, Nick?! WHY NOT?!

Nick Stuart: Oh, you didn’t take your meds today I see.

FLAMBERGE finally creates separation with a desperation jawbreaker that forces Youngblood to release the headlock. He follows up with a series of kicks to Youngblood’s legs, trying to chop down the bigger man. Youngblood absorbs the strikes before catching FLAMBERGE’s leg and executing a perfect ankle pick takedown. As they hit the mat, FLAMBERGE attempts to roll through into a heel hook, but Youngblood’s raw power allows him to simply stand up, lifting FLAMBERGE off the ground before driving him back down with a thunderous slam.

The veteran follows up by attempting to lock in a single leg crab, but FLAMBERGE kicks him away and scrambles to his feet. FLAMBERGE charges in with a running knee strike that catches Youngblood flush in the face. The impact staggers the veteran, allowing FLAMBERGE to leap onto his shoulders from behind. The crowd pops as it appears FLAMBERGE might finally secure the Marie Antoinette, but Youngblood drops to his back, crushing FLAMBERGE beneath his weight before he can fully lock in the hold.

Nick Stuart: And Youngblood continues to keep FLAMBERGE away, doing everything he can to avoid the Marie Antoinette.

Richard Parker: First off, how dare Youngblood. Second off, at least we’re seeing some more offense from FLAMBERGE. Running knees, those well educated feet. You can’t hate on that.

Nick Stuart: No, but we’re coming to the twenty minute mark in this match and neither man has a pinfall or submission!

Richard Parker: Right… that seems important.

Rolling to his feet, Youngblood drags FLAMBERGE up by his hair, positioning him for a vertical suplex. FLAMBERGE blocks the attempt and counters with a series of knees to Youngblood’s midsection. As Youngblood doubles over, FLAMBERGE attempts to snag his head for yet another Marie Antoinette attempt. The veteran counters by lifting FLAMBERGE off his feet and running him into the corner, the impact causing FLAMBERGE to lose his grip. Youngblood immediately follows up with a series of vicious corner clotheslines that leave FLAMBERGE slumped in the turnbuckle.

Taking advantage of FLAMBERGE’s vulnerable position, Youngblood hoists him onto the top turnbuckle, climbing up after him. He sets up for a superplex, but FLAMBERGE counters with headbutts that rock the veteran. FLAMBERGE manages to shove Youngblood off the turnbuckle and follows up with a diving crossbody attempt. However, Youngblood rolls to his feet, grabs FLAMBERGE in mid-air and seamlessly transitions into a delayed vertical suplex. The display of power draws gasps from the crowd as he holds FLAMBERGE suspended for nearly thirty seconds before driving him into the canvas.

Richard Parker: Are we just going to see these two trade blows with neither one able to get an advantage over the other one?

Nick Stuart: It seems that way, Richard.

Richard Parker: I hate ALL of this. I hate Vegas. I want to leave.

Nick Stuart: Soon, buddy. Meanwhile, this is not shaping up to be a repeat of Youngblood’s Iron Man match at 58. This might come down to one pinfall or submission and that’s it.

After the delayed vertical suplex, Youngblood maintains his grip on FLAMBERGE’s — grabbing at his waist, deadlifts him back up for a release German suplex that sends him flying across the ring. FLAMBERGE lands hard on his upper back but rolls through, springing to his feet in a show of resilience. He charges at Youngblood with a flying forearm that the veteran ducks, catching FLAMBERGE with a massive back elbow as he rebounds off the ropes. The impact spins FLAMBERGE inside out, but he instinctively rolls away when Youngblood attempts to follow up, avoiding any potential ground control.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE gets out of dodge in a hurry!

Richard Parker: Can you blame him? Youngblood is like 300 pounds of mass. That’s like two of FLAMBERGE’s.

Nick Stuart: The things you have to consider when you’re in the ring with him.

Richard Parker: Heh, the things you have to consider when you’re next to him in line at the buffet!

Youngblood pursues The Neck Collector relentlessly, catching FLAMBERGE with a front chancery as he tries to rise. He transitions smoothly into a snap suplex, maintaining wrist control as both men get back to their feet. FLAMBERGE attempts to counter with a rolling kneebar, but Youngblood’s raw power allows him to deadlift FLAMBERGE off the ground, transitioning into a devastating gutwrench suplex. The veteran immediately follows up by attempting to secure back control, but FLAMBERGE scrambles away, knowing one wrong move could leave him vulnerable to being spiked on his head.

Richard Parker: Damnit, Youngblood, let FLAMBERGE kick you!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s how any of this works.

Richard Parker: Did I ask you?

Nick Stuart: I guess you didn’t.

Creating distance with a series of leg kicks, FLAMBERGE tries to wear down Youngblood’s base. The veteran walks through the strikes, backing FLAMBERGE into the corner with his sheer presence. As Youngblood charges in, FLAMBERGE elevates himself over the incoming clothesline, landing on the middle rope. He springboards off, wrapping his legs around Youngblood’s head in mid-air for another Marie Antoinette attempt. However, the combination of sweat and Youngblood’s defensive positioning makes it impossible to secure the hold properly, allowing the veteran to power out.

The failed submission attempt leaves FLAMBERGE vulnerable, and Youngblood capitalizes with a massive half-nelson suplex that drives FLAMBERGE into the canvas with sickening force. Not releasing the hold, Youngblood rolls through and hits a second half-nelson suplex, then a third in succession. Each impact drives more air from FLAMBERGE’s lungs, leaving him writhing on the canvas as if a dump truck just ran over him.

Richard Parker: NIXON! HOW IS THAT LEGAL?!

Nick Stuart: I’ve chosen to ignore you for the moment.

Richard Parker: RUDE!

Nick Stuart: I know. You can see Youngblood is determined to pick up the victory — not only for revenge, but because if he does, he’s stamped his book for a match with Avalon at Colossus.

Richard Parker: FLAMBO! SAVE US!

Dragging FLAMBERGE to his feet, Youngblood whips him into the ropes, looking for a big clothesline. FLAMBERGE ducks the strike and rebounds off the opposite ropes, catching Youngblood with a stunning jumping knee strike to the jaw. The veteran staggers but doesn’t go down, responding with a massive headbutt that rocks FLAMBERGE. Both men stand toe-to-toe, trading strikes in the center of the ring – Youngblood’s brutal elbow strikes meeting FLAMBERGE’s precision kicks in a violent display of fighting spirit.

Nick Stuart: And the fans here in Vegas are going crazy!

Richard Parker: FALL YOUNGBLOOD, FALL!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE giving it as good as he’s taking it. The fact he is still standing is a miracle!

Richard Parker: Nothing is a miracle when you’re the French Phenom! GET HIS ASS FLAMBO!

The strike exchange ends when Youngblood catches one of FLAMBERGE’s kicks, yanking him off balance and catching him with a crushing clothesline. Without wasting a moment, the veteran transitions into a crushing ground-and-pound position, delivering short, sharp elbow strikes to FLAMBERGE’s face. Blood begins trickling from FLAMBERGE’s nose as Youngblood methodically wears him down. FLAMBERGE tries to create space by throwing his legs up for a triangle choke, but Youngblood’s positioning is too strong, allowing him to continue the brutal assault.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE trying everything he can with Youngblood and just unable to get him locked down long enough to lock anything in.

Richard Parker: You know what? Where’s Max Kael? FLAMBERGE helped him out, he should get out here and help FLAMBERGE out.

Nick Stuart: I don’t see that happening.

Richard Parker: WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS NICK?!

FLAMBERGE bridges to the point that he’s able to break the hold that Youngblood has on him. Both men get to their feet only for FLAMBERGE to connect with a knee to the side of Brandon’t skull. It catches him flush and leaves Youngblood stumbling as FLAMBERGE connects with a Judo Throw before bouncing off the ropes and connecting with a front-flip leg drop across the throat of the Tower of Babel. FLAMBERGE wastes no time getting to his feet before he drives his boot repeatedly into the face of the Hall of Famer, each stomp stiffer than the last — with flecks of blood flying from his face — until there is blood coming out of Youngblood’s mouth.

Richard Parker: BUST HIM OPEN! TEAR HIM TO SHREDS!

Nick Stuart: You are a scary individual. Meanwhile, FLAMBERGE finally getting some momentum on his side and it couldn’t happen at a better time.

Richard Parker: Why do you say that?

Nick Stuart: Because of… this.

Vince Howard: Five Minutes Remaining!

Richard Parker: AHHHHHHHH! LET’S GO FLAMBO!

FLAMBERGE begins to peel Youngblood off the mat and brings him to his feet only for Youngblood to deliver a series of devastating knee lifts to the midsection. Each impact forces more air from FLAMBERGE’s lungs, driving him into the corner where Youngblood pursues him like a wild animal, strike after strike. Youngblood begins his five-count, forcing Youngblood to break. As he steps back, FLAMBERGE suddenly launches himself off the middle rope, catching Youngblood with a springboard knee across the face. Both men lay motionless in the center of the ring as the crowd rises to their feet.

Nick Stuart: The fans here in Vegas knew they were going to come and see a great match, but these two have started to tear the roof apart as they’re just punishing each other as much as they possibly can.

Richard Parker: I think Youngblood is unconscious! There’s no way that FLAMBERGE is going to lose this match now!

Nick Stuart: Richard…

Richard Parker: I know, I know.

FLAMBERGE recovers first and watches as Youngblood makes his way to his feet, spitting out the pooled blood in his mouth. He measures his opponent before launching into a perfect jumping roundhouse kick, but Youngblood moves out of the way at the last second. FLAMBERGE manages to land on his feet but stumbles directly into Youngblood’s waiting arms. The veteran hoists him up for the Diamondplex, but FLAMBERGE slips behind him, spins him around, and finally secures the Marie Antoinette in the center of the ring. The hold looks deep as Youngblood’s face begins turning purple, the sweat and blood making it difficult for him to find a counter.

Richard Parker: This could be it! Youngblood might be done!

Nick Stuart: And the second are counting down fast and furiously, we’ve got less than three minutes.

Richard Parker: Don’t let go, FLAMBO! You’ve got this!

Nick Stuart: You are insufferable.

With the seconds ticking away, Youngblood summons his last reserves of strength, fighting through the Marie Antoinette as his vision starts to blur. He takes three staggering steps forward before dropping to one knee, but refuses to submit. FLAMBERGE cranks the hold harder, knowing he’s close to victory. The Tower of Babel’s face is now a deep crimson as he fights for consciousness, his massive arms trying desperately to create space in the hold. The crowd is electric as Youngblood fights for survival.

YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD!

Nick Stuart: And the fans here are willing Youngblood on!

Richard Parker: Tell them to shut up, Nick!

Nick Stuart: You want to tell nearly twenty thousand strong to shut up?

Richard Parker: Yes, yes I do.

With the timer clicking under sixty seconds, Youngblood seems to be fading. Nixon checks on him and hoists his arm into the air and watches as it falls. He does it a second time and it seems like Youngblood is really out. FLAMBERGE cinches the hold tighter as Nixon lifts Youngblood’s arm for a third time. With a final surge of power, Youngblood rises to his feet with FLAMBERGE still maintaining the hold. The veteran reaches back and secures FLAMBERGE’s waist, but the submission remains locked in. Youngblood’s legs wobble as he fights to stay conscious, taking another stumbling step forward.

Just as it seems he might pass out, the combination of sweat and blood causes FLAMBERGE’s grip to slip slightly. It’s all the opening Youngblood needs. He drops to one knee before explosively driving upward, finally breaking FLAMBERGE’s grip and securing position for the match-ending Diamondplex.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got less than thirty seconds and this match might end with no pin falls!

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE! LOOK ALIVE!

Nick Stuart: Does Youngblood have enough in him to hit the Diamondplex?!

Richard Parker: NO! HE DOES NOT!

The crowd erupts as Youngblood executes the devastating move, the German suplex portion driving FLAMBERGE’s head into the canvas before transitioning seamlessly into the Greco Roman front suplex that spikes him a second time. FLAMBERGE bounces limply off the mat as Youngblood makes the cover.

ONE!

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

…

…

…

THREE!

Vince Howard: The winner of the first fall… BRANDON! YOUNGBLOOD!

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: The winner of the match… BRANDON! YOUNGBLOOD!

Nick Stuart: The Tower of Babel has pulled it off at the LAST POSSIBLE SECOND! He is going to Colossus!

Richard Parker: I’m going to be sick.

Elvis reaches down and helps Youngblood up to his feet (as much as a referee can help the hulking Youngblood up to his feet). Brandon looks spent as he leans against the ropes to help keep him standing. The war of attrition has come to an end and Nixon raises the victor’s arm high in the air to resounding cheers.

YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD! YOUNG-BLOOD!

Richard Parker: I hate my life.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood has picked up the victory over Kael at 58 and now gotten his revenge against FLAMBERGE here at 59. And he’s set up a date with…

Youngblood steps forward and looks up at the Skybox where Avalon is now standing, hoisting his Universal Championship high over his head.

A moment passes between the two as Youngblood climbs the turnbuckles, roaring at the champion about how he’s coming for what is his.

And Avalon has a look in his eyes that defiantly says… come and take it.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.