The camera opens on the battered, beloved, sweat‑stained ring inside Marshal Dalton Hardcastle’s private wrestling academy — a place where legends were made, egos were broken, and the walls still echo with promos cut by men who never learned to use their inside voices.

Sitting on the ring apron, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like a man who just watched his own career get repossessed, is Prime Time David Daniels.

But he isn’t broken.  

He isn’t defeated.  

He’s simmering.

A slow grin creeps across his face.

“Fired,” he mutters. “Fired for a song. A masterpiece. A cultural event. A Hall‑melting anthem.”

He shakes his head, laughing.

“Big Business didn’t fire me because I embarrassed Ben Hall. He fired me because I embarrassed him.”

He leans back, hands behind him, staring up at the rafters like they’re the lights of a sold‑out arena.

“Fired but not forgotten,” he says. “That’s the part he doesn’t get.”

🎤 ENTER MARSHAL DALTON HARDCASTLE

The metal door creaks open — loudly, dramatically, like it knows it’s part of a scene — and in steps Marshal Dalton Hardcastle. The grizzled old promoter looks like he hasn’t slept since the territory days, but his eyes are sharp, alive, and full of mischief.

He’s holding something behind his back.

Prime Time eyes him suspiciously.

Hardcastle steps forward, pulls his hand out, and reveals…

A mask.

A red‑and‑gold, old‑school, territory‑era wrestling mask with a starburst pattern across the forehead. The kind of mask that screams Saturday night in a smoky armory.

He tosses it to Prime Time.

“Put it on, kid.”

Prime Time catches it, confused.

“A mask? Really? What am I supposed to be? A luchador? A superhero? A fever dream?”

Hardcastle smirks.

“No. You’re gonna be Mr. Prime Time.”

Prime Time stares at him.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hardcastle nods proudly.

“Exactly. Big Business will hate it.”

Prime Time laughs — a real laugh this time — and slowly pulls the mask over his head.

And suddenly… it works.

He stands.  

He poses.  

He flexes dramatically like a man reborn.

Hardcastle claps like a proud father watching his kid ruin a school recital in the funniest way possible.

⚡ THE DOORS SHAKE — ENTER THOR VAN HAMMER

The entire building trembles.

Not metaphorically.  

Literally.

The door blasts open as if struck by lightning, and in strides Thor Van Hammer, shirtless, glowing, and carrying a hammer that absolutely violates several safety regulations.

He looks at Prime Time — or rather, Mr. Prime Time — and nods.

“Good. You’re ready.”

Prime Time tilts his head.

“Ready for what?”

Thor steps forward, flexing so hard the camera lens fogs.

“I have spoken to Big Business. I demanded a match this Friday. Against Dante Vellaro. And he approved it instantly.”

Prime Time blinks.

“You vs. Dante? That’s the match?”

Thor nods.

“Yes. He believes it will be a spectacle. He believes it will draw ratings. He believes it will be simple.”

Thor grins.

“He is wrong.”

Hardcastle steps forward, rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, this is beautiful. Big Business thinks he’s booking a thunder god vs. a Broadway diva. He has no idea what’s coming.”

Prime Time crosses his arms.

“So what IS coming?”

Hardcastle leans in and whispers something into Prime Time’s ear.

Prime Time’s eyes widen behind the mask.

“Oh… that’s evil.”

“That’s theatrical,” Hardcastle corrects.

“That’s perfect,” Prime Time finishes.

Thor nods approvingly.

“Then it is settled. You will debut as Mr. Prime Time. And you will debut at just the right time...”

Prime Time laughs.

“Oh, Dante has NO idea. Big Business might be playing chess but we're... changing the game. Should we call him now? Should we call Shawn?”

📞 A LAPTOP DINGS — SHAWN FX APPEARS

Hardcastle’s ancient laptop buzzes.  

A Zoom window pops up.

It’s Shawn FX, lounging in a hotel room, sunglasses on, smirk locked in place.

“Well, well, well,” Shawn says. “If it isn’t the man who got fired for singing. And now you’re wearing a mask. Daniels, buddy, you’re living my dream.”

Prime Time crosses his arms.

“Laugh it up, FX. I’m coming back.”

“Oh, I know,” Shawn replies. “Thor told me. Hardcastle told me. Half the locker room told me. And honestly? I’m here for it.”

He leans closer to the camera.

“Big Business thinks he’s in control. He thinks firing you solves his problems. But he just started something he can’t stop.”

Prime Time nods.

“The internal war begins now.”

Shawn raises a glass.

“To old school.”

Prime Time lifts his mask halfway — not removing it, just raising it enough to reveal a grin that says he’s about to commit a career‑defining act of wrestling theater.

“To gimmicks.”

Hardcastle raises an alcoholic beverage — something brown, something strong, something that probably predates the Wellness Policy. He nods with that dangerous old promoter smile.

“To justice.”

Thor Van Hammer raises his hammer, muscles flexing like a Greek statue carved out of thunder.

“To victory.”

Hardcastle glances at Thor, smirks, and adds:

“To win streaks.”

Prime Time raises his mask again, giving it a little theatrical flourish.

“To breaking records…”

And then —

A sudden burst of trumpets.  

A confetti cannon erupts.  

A man somersaults into frame wearing enough color to violate several fashion laws.

Masked Muchacho, appearing from absolutely nowhere, thrusts a jar of salsa into the air.

“TO… SALSA!!!”

He freezes, points at Prime Time’s new mask, and grins beneath his own.

“Nice mask!”  

Masked Muchacho smiles.

"We're like the Justice League with cooler masks... and leather jackets... and umm... cowboy hats!"

Masked Muchacho changes his sombrero to a tiny cowboy hat.

Marshal Dalton Hardcastle struggles to stay looking serious so he doesn’t break character.

Everyone else is dying. 💀

🎭 THE FINAL WORD

Prime Time steps into the center of the ring, mask on, chest out, voice booming.

“This Friday Night FURY… Thor Van Hammer faces Dante Vellaro. Big Business approved it instantly. He thinks it’s simple. He thinks it’s clean. He thinks it’s safe.”

He laughs.

“But he forgot one thing.”

He points at the camera.

“You can fire Prime Time David Daniels…  

…but you can’t stop Mr. Prime Time.”

He cracks his knuckles.

“And Dante? Broadway boy? Show tunes sweetheart? You’re about to learn that the understudy always steals the show.”

Hardcastle nods.

Thor flexes.

Shawn FX gives a thumbs‑up from Zoom.

Masked Muchacho shakes his salsa jar like a maraca.

This Texas shootout LIVE in San Antonio Texas this Friday has begun!

Prime Time smiles with perfect teeth as he adjusts his mask and the exact same cowboy hat he always wears. The "disguise" is clearly going to work.

Mr. Prime Time shoots.

"Pew! Pew!"

Shots fired.