The Underground Pimp.

The PRIME 5-Star Champion.

The 2008 Dual Winner.

Tyler Mother Fuckin’ Rayne.

He marches with purpose through the halls of the Scottrade Center. The 5-Star Championship hangs over his shoulder. A grimace pulls at the edges of his face. Eyes narrow. Fists tight. He pauses for just a moment at the door that is his destination to read the name printed in bronze.

C.P. Cantrell.

The 5-Star Champion knocks on the door. Well…it’s kind of like a knock. Only he uses his foot. And the door kind of explodes open without really waiting for much of a reply.

So maybe it’s not really like a knock at all.

Tyler Rayne bursts into the room with about the same ferocity that the door just came bursting open. His cold glare meets with the calm demeanor of PRIME’s Executive Producer. Tyler whips the championship from off his shoulder, dragging it along in a white-knuckle grip as he marches toward C.P.

Tyler Rayne: Fuck…

The title lands with a clunk on the desk. Papers (because the C.P. the E.P. always seems to be digging through a stack of papers) flutter about the office.

Tyler Rayne: …You.

Cantrell gives up trying to catch the scattered papers and just stands there, clutching the few that he'd grabbed out of the air already.

C.P. Cantrell: Problem?

Tyler Rayne: Not anymore. You want the thing so fuckin’ bad…there ya go. Have a ball.

With that the (former?) 5-Star Champion stalks out of the office. Well…almost out of the office.

C.P. Cantrell: Hold it right there, Rayne.

He stops. He doesn’t turn.

C.P. Cantrell: Guessing you’ll need this title when you head out to the ring tonight. What with the title defense and all.

Now he turns.

Tyler Rayne: Which part, exactly are you confused on? The fuck? Or the you?

C.P. Cantrell: This might seem a bit shocking given your habit of pretending otherwise… but this is not the Wild West. There are rules. And even the mighty Tyler Rayne will follow them.

Tyler Rayne: The fuck I will.

C.P. Cantrell: Didn’t take you for one to get upset three guys. Figured after three months of hearin' how you won the Dual Halo, three guys'd be nothing. Here you are throwing this belt at the feet of anyone who answers your latest round of chest-thumping, and now you're ready to leave it at my desk just because I called and raised.

Tyler Rayne: Ya know, maybe Rider left a bit of that ganja layin’ about when you booted his ass to the curb, cause your short term sure don’t seem to be workin’ too well. I told you, I told everybody… I’m tired of not gettin’ my due. Now, you wanna try and wrench that title from me by stackin’ three no-talent cum dumpsters in my way… that’s your prerogative. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk out there and defend this title, the only title you’ve got in this fucking company that hasn’t been passed around like your mom on nickel blow job night… in anything less than the main event. I deserve that. This match deserves that. I mean, for Hoyt’s sake, Ceeps, I’ve seen the tag titles defended in a ReV main event before. I didn’t even know we had two tag teams to fight for those fucking titles.

C.P. Cantrell: It's a co-main event.

Tyler Rayne: Ain't the type for sharing.

C.P. Cantrell: So I've learned. But you have two choices. One, you stop bitching, pick up YOUR title, and go do the one thing you’re actually good for: making this company a load of money. Or two, you can walk without the gold and join the "I used to be in PRIME but then I crossed C.P. and now I can't find work" all-star team.

Tyler Rayne: Fuck. You.

C.P. Cantrell: You are contractually obligated to defend that championship when and where I say. I say here. I say now. As long as you're under contract to PRIME, you don't make the demands.

Tyler Rayne: We’ll see about that.

The 5-Star Champion (?) snatches his title from the desk.

Tyler Rayne: I deserve better than this bullshit.

C.P. Cantrell: You deserve whatever I give you.

Tyler Rayne: This isn’t over.

C.P. Cantrell: Yes it is. Get out of my office. Now.

For once in his life, Tyler Rayne actually listens. And now for the rest of your regularly scheduled program…

"State of the Union," by Rise Against bellows to a start, accompanied as always by the staccato highlight reel of PRIME moments past.

The heavy guitar turns more consistent as the light shows and pyrotechnics of so many PRIME superstar entrances rattle the retinas, one after another.

The camera cuts to an anonymous backstage. As the lyrics hit, a pair of large, swinging entry doors burst open to reveal Dusk, marching toward the camera with a determined glare.

"IF WE'RE THE FLAGSHIP OF PEACE AND PROSPERITY!"

The camera is swung to the right, only to be met with a fist from Jason Natas. The lens spiderwebs and falls to the floor.

"WE'RE TAKING ON WATER AND ABOUT TO FUCKIN' SINK!"

A hand picks up the shattered lens, bringing it to the squinting eyes of Tony 'The Grin' Gamble, who scoffs and throws it back to the floor.

"NO ONE SEEMS TO NOTICE! NO ONE EVEN BLINKS!"

Facing upward off the floor, the lens reveals Tyler Rayne, who looks downward, smiles, and smothers the lens with a black boot.

"THE CREW ALL LEFT THE PASSENGERS TO DIE! UN-! -DER THE SEA!"

The camera re-opens to the PRIME ring, where Logic and Killean Sirrajin slug it out in the aisle.

"COUNTDOWN! TO THE VERY END!"

Wade Elliott grips the ropes tightly as he stomps a hole in a seated High Flyer's gut.

"EQUALITY! AN INVITATION THAT WE WON'T EXTEND!"

Crucifix leaps off the second rope at the '08 Dual Halo, colliding into "The Flyin' Hawaiian" Bryan Dawkins with the Fallen Angel.

"READY! AIM! PULL THE TRIGGER NOW!"

Union Jack hits a picture-perfect dropkick on Jimmy Bonafide as both men crash to the mat.

"IN TIME YOU! FIRMLY SECURE YOUR PLACE IN HELL!"

Troy Douglas is cut down by a Lights Out superkick from Dusk. In a quick cut, he's using his double underhook driver to grab a pinfall.

"STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS!"

Spinning left, the camera finds the looming form of Captain Justice. He cracks his knuckles and flexes, but the lens is quickly diverted away from him as Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liason to PRIME grabs it and focuses it on himself. After a few seconds of face-time, he snarls and face-palms the lens, sending it tumbling away.

"READS 'WAR TORN COUNTRY STILL A MESS!'"

The camera is caught and brought to an abrupt halt, the smiling face of Chandler Tsonda holding it steady. He peers around, as if checking himself out in a mirror.

"THE WORDS: POWER, DEATH, AND DISTORTED TRUTH!"

The lens is wrenched away by the burly hands of Wade Elliott, revealing the Bad Dog's growling visage. He curls his lips in before thumping the Confederate Flag tattoo on his chest with his fist.

"ARE READ BETWEEN THE LINES OF THE RED!"

Thump.

"WHITE!"

Thump.

"AND!"

Thump.

"BLUE!"

"COUNTDOWN! TO THE VERY END!"

High Flyer charges forward, clobbering Hank Cobb with the Locomotive.

"EQUALITY! AN INVITATION THAT WE WON'T EXTEND!"

Lindsay Troy and Cozen trade Muay Thai-style knees, battling it out against their near-mirror image.

"READY! AIM! PULL THE TRIGGER NOW!"

Tony Rolo jumps off the scoreboard at Wrigley Field, connecting with an amazing splash onto Simply Beautiful.

"IN TIME YOU! FIRMLY! SECURE! YOUR PLACE IN HEEEELLLLLLLLLL!!!!"

The camera turns to black and white, revealing the faces of competitors as jagged blue lettering in the foreground presents their names.

Union Jack vs. Jimmy Bonafide

Champs Chamberlain vs. Kaiser Vashaun

Bryan Dawkins vs. Chandler Tsonda

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

5-Star Gauntlet Match
Tyler Rayne (c) vs. Logic, Simply Beautiful & Captain Justice

Cozen & Dusk vs. Tony Gamble & Devin Shakur

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEELLLLLLLL!!!!!"

The camera snaps to a sideview of Killean Sirrajin's face as he storms down the hall. He turns slightly, raising an eyebrow at the camera behind his red-lensed sunglasses.

"'GUILTY!' IS WHAT OUR GRAVES WILL READ!"

The camera spins away and shoots up the hall, where Xavier Kannon steps out of a locker room door. He offers a sly grin before giving a wink and condescending puckering of his lips.

"NO YEARS! NO FAMILY!"

The lens snaps away once more, jetting further up the hall, where another door on the opposite side of the hall swings open, revealing Lindsay Troy's new black cherry look. She manages the trademark smirk, but her eyebrows remain pinched in a pseudo-glare.

"WE DID NOTHING! (NOTHING!) TO STOP THE MURDER OF!"

The camera sprints down toward the end of the hall, where the silhouette of a figure stands.

"A PEOPLE!"

As the lens draws closer, everything remains in darkness, with only two details standing out against the black: The plate of the Universal Title and the sneering grin of Devin Shakur.

"JUUUUUUUSSSSTTT!!!"

Shakur nods his head as if to say "yeah, it's real."

"LIIIIIIIIIKKKEEE!!!"

The PRIME logo slams onto the screen.

"UUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!"

Number One by definition.



This is P R I M E.

BA-BA-BA-BA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The Lou explodes with a reaction usually reserved for Albert Pujols as we swing through the Scottrade Center. Pyro bursts throughout the arena as the crowd does their best to express gratitude, excitement and public drunkeness all at the same time.

We swoop through the signs and the flailing arms and the shooting sparks to settle on the announce desk, and the two men who transcend any era, period or reign that PRIME has ever seen.

Nick: GOOD EVENING EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO PRIME'S REVOLUTION ONE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR! I'm Nick Stuart!

Richard: And I'm Richard Parker!

Nick: One week after the shocking brawl - scratch that, the ASSAULT on SCCW superstar Jonathan Rhine that took place outside the U.S. Bank Arena in Cincinnati, we're still trying to sort out what would make a man like Xavier Kannon resort to such lengths.

Richard: WHO CARES why he did it? The important thing to remember is that the OLD Kannon is back!

Nick: If that's true, it means nothing but trouble for Rhine...and for PRIME.

Richard: Speaking of trouble, Tyler Rayne's little tiff at the top of the show is just an example of the nuisance he's been lately. C.P. Cantrell isn't the kind of guy who puts up with that.

Nick: Cantrell isn't any type of guy, as far as I can tell. Either way, his difficulties with the executive producer led to tonight's co-main event, as the Underground Pimp must defend his 5-Star Title against THREE opponents - newcomer Logic, scrappy young gun Simply Beautiful and anointed Son-

Richard: MR. SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON TO PRIME!

Nick: -ny Silver protege Captain Justice! Rayne is no stranger to long odds, but luck can only take a man so far.

Richard: And it's taken him far enough! Meanwhile, our main event matches up newfound foes Cozen and Dusk against tenuous frienemies Tony Gamble and Devin Shakur.

Nick: That's just part of the action for tonight - we've also got newcomer Champ Chamberlain meeting relative newcomer Kaiser Vashaun, former occasional teammates Bryan Dawkins and Chandler Tsonda exploding and the much anticipated fourth chapter in the storied Union Jack/Jimmy Bonafide rivalry! It's all here on ReVolution!

Richard: ON FX!

Referee Jimmy Turner looks a might frantic as he pushes the "Exit" door open and steps into the building. The lone security member gives him a nod as he quickly passes by. Jimmy gives his watch a glance while he holds the door open for the person behind him.

Jimmy Turner: Damn it, I’m late!

The man in the tank top and jeans who walks in behind him, his head wrapped heavy with gauze, has a number of recognizable scars on his arms. This person appears to be the real Crucifix, and his eyes are apologetic behind his mummy-like bindings. When he speaks, his voice is slightly muffled from the medical wrappings around his mouth.

Crucifix: That’s my fault Jimmy. I’m sorry. But I do appreciate you picking me up from the airport like that. I know it was kinda last minute.

Jimmy turns around and takes a deep breath. He appears a little less frantic now that he’s inside the building.

Jimmy Turner: No problem. There’s still time for me to get ready.

Together, the two men try to gain their bearings before heading off down the corridor to their right. Jimmy watches Crucifix, who stares at the walls and ceiling with a look of regret.

Jimmy Turner: So you’re really done with the business?

Crucifix: Pretty much, yep.

Jimmy Turner: And after all the grief those two put you through.

Crucifix: Who, Winston and Lynette? Yeah I heard they were running around here for the past few weeks pretending to be me, causing some people a headache or two.

Jimmy Turner: To say nothing about making the PRIME staffers look silly. I hope those two get what’s coming to them.

Crucifix slows a step, dropping just behind the referee who continues ahead of him.

Crucifix: (mutters) They have.

He gives his head a shake, scattering the dark cloud that had momentarily settled over him. He quickens his pace as Jimmy reads name tags on various doors.

Crucifix: Plus, with the cash those two were paying me to train them, I finally found a doctor who managed to patch my face up. Once this bad boy heals, I’ll look like a regular person instead of a mound of hamburger with eyes.

Jimmy Turner: You must be excited.

Crucifix: You have no idea. To have a normal life… that’s something I never would have dreamed possible. So I thought I’d come by and smooth things over with anyone that might have been duped by the fake me.

As they pass through an intersection of hallways, Crucifix sees some movement to his left. He turns just in time to see the towering David Walter Smith storming towards him. He doesn’t appear angry, but it’s obvious that he wants to intercept Crucifix. Jimmy sees the big man approaching and immediately turns tail, suspecting that some security intervention might not be a bad idea.

Crucifix: Logic! I wanted to speak to you about -

Logic: Save it. The last time I stood in front of you, I received some testicular trauma that I’d rather not have to relive.

Crucifix: Logic, please calm down. I heard you had a run-in with a person you thought was me. I swear to you that it wasn’t. It was Winston, that pain in the ass that I’d been training. He and his sister were setting me up. That’s why I’m here now, to explain things to you.

Logic: Of course I knew it wasn’t you. That’s the only reason you’re currently vertical.

Crucifix: Winston and Lynette were –

Logic: Irrelevant. Whatever they were planning, or plotting, doesn’t concern me. I issued you a challenge, and whether it was you or someone else who was here to receive the challenge, that challenge still stands. I want a match. Against you. Period.

There’s a tension, a posture of aggression that Crucifix sees in the Pensive Punisher.

Crucifix: My face - I’ve had surgery. It’s taken so much money, so much time, just to find a doctor who could patch enough of my face together. There’s been so much damage over the years… please, this is my last chance at a normal life. You’re upset, I get that. I just… please David.

Crucifix drops to his knees.

Crucifix: I’m begging you. Please. My life... my sanity... I need this to work. I hope you can find it in your heart to –

Logic: The heart’s only true purpose is to pump blood to the brain. I have waited, and waited, for you to reply. Your reasons do not concern me. I need to hear you say "yes" to the match.

Seeing his words falling on deaf ears, Crucifix stands up.

Crucifix: I can’t. My face won’t -

Logic sticks out his arm, palm inches from Crucifix’s face, and cuts him off.

Logic: I want to prove myself by defeating you. You claim you can’t wrestle me because of an issue with your face. Now how can I get you to look past your selfishness?

David Walter Smith watches Crucifix wrack his brain for an answer. He suspects that the process is not unlike throwing a puppy into the ocean, watching it flounder helplessly for a short time before fatigue sets in and it disappears beneath the surface. For Logic, in that same instant, variables are weighed and measured, ideas are created and dismissed, until only one solution remains.

The only Logical solution.

It is Crucifix’s apprehension and preoccupation that leaves him vulnerable, a factor not lost on David Walter Smith. His attack is quick, the stomp to Crucifix’s right knee draws his hands down and leaves his chin unprotected. The kneelift strikes suddenly, and Crucifix’s panicked focus becomes to protect his head. His reaction - to turn away from the attacking force - is predictable.

The outcome is Proof Positive.

Logic looks down at the barely conscious man laying at his feet. Crucifix’s eyes roll around in their sockets, trying desperately to focus on the big man looming over him. Things start to grow dark for the Zen Assassin; unfortunately it isn’t from unconsciousness.

It’s from the size fourteen boot that comes down on his face.

Two hundred and ninety pounds grinds away at the stitched flesh beneath the gauze, blood oozing into the fabric. Logic holds his arms out to the sides for balance. He listens to Crucifix gag, and feels flesh sliding more than it should. After ten seconds, the material underneath Logic’s foot feels similar to what it would feel like to step on a wet fish.

With the lone security doorman in tow, Jimmy Turner arrives on the scene - too late - and shoves Logic away from Crucifix. The big man takes two steps back and levels a hard stare at the diminutive official, ignoring the security personnel completely.

Jimmy Turner: You maniac! What are you doing?

David Walter Smith looks down at the bloody bandages, watching them slough away as Crucifix paws at his head.

Logic: It appears I’m getting my match. He no longer has an excuse not to face me.

The steely-eyed member of security interjects himself between the fallen wrestler and the Pensive Punisher. With no reason to remain, Logic departs. His cold, calculated strategy seems to have paid off as he listens to Crucifix. The Zen Assassin is making different noises – gurgling, then coughing, his breath wet and panting. Logic doesn’t need to turn around to know that Crucifix is sitting up, Jimmy Turner kneeling at his side, and his shaking hands are touching the bloody wraps on his face.

Crucifix: Ohhhhh…. Oh God no no no no… NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

What might have given Logic pause, had he remained within earshot, is Crucifix suddenly staring up at the heavens with both eyes opened wide. Gauze falls away from his mouth, and Jimmy Turner stands up slowly and takes a step backward as Crucifix, his new and once shiny teeth now stained with his own blood... starts laughing.

Crucifix: You... heh... you did it... ha ha... AGAIN!! HeheHAhaHAHAAAaaaAA!

In the backstage area we find Colby Korver and Hank Cobb storming through the corridors, looking for trouble in the form of Jason Natas. More than a little perturbed at having Cobb pulled from last week's tag match by the PRIME medical staff as a result of an Anti-Superstar-related injury, it is certainly fair to assume that Delta Upsilon Iota have only one thing on their collective minds...payback.

Cobb: Ya think they gave that bum his own locker-room?

Korver: You never know, but I’m pretty sure that they keep those for actual wrestlers, ya know? Not glorified street performers. Never know what kind of shit Cantrell’s gonna pull though.

Cobb: Lord knows ain't nobody gonna volunteer to share a room with that jackass.

The two frat boys share a brief, light-hearted chuckle. All notions of joviality are destroyed, however, the second they come face-to-face with a crude paper sign bearing the name "NATAS". Cobb, the larger of the duo, stops in his tracks and takes a second glance at the door, just to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

Cobb: Well I'll be...we have arrived.

Cobb places his hand on the doorknob. However, before he can grasp it, Korver chimes in…

Korver: Wait a minute. Don’t you think we should think about how we’re going to handle this one? We haven't exactly been on top of our game lately…

Hank Cobb raises a southern eyebrow in Korver’s direction, immediately razing any notions of forming a plan.

Korver: Yeah. Fuck it!

BANG!

Delta Upsilon Iota damn near knock the frail door from its hinges as they burst into the private locker-room of Jason Natas. Cobb storms into the room first and adopts a fighting stance, primed for whatever sneak attack the Anti-Superstar can throw at him. It doesn’t come, however, which sends a wave of confusion cascading over both frat boys.

Korver: What the fuck, this guy's harder to find than a virgin Pi Phi.

Colby paces around the minimalist changing area; the only thing that would suggest Jason has even arrived at the arena is a small, unopened holdall that sits a-top of one of the wall benches.

Cobb: So what now Korv?

Korver: You checked the bathroom? If he's smart then he's probably hiding from your fat ass.

As Hank Cobb checks out the bathroom, the footage cuts back to the corridor where rugged, lumbering figure approaches. Jason Natas, clad in a plain black hooded sweatshirt only half-zipped to reveal a white t-shirt below, some grey cargo pants along with the usual scuffed Dr. Martens and black bandana, walks with a slight swagger in his step, clearly buoyed (well, as buoyed as a man like Jase can possibly be) by last week’s victory over Team VIAGRA.

His ears suddenly pick up the muffled noises coming from within his locker-room and he paces his final few steps to his territory extra-carefully, sensing that something is a-miss. Cautiously he peaks his head around the doorframe, instantly retracting as he sees Colby Korver searching every nook and cranny of the room looking for the New Yorker.

Natas: Fuck…

Natas whispers the word at a decibel so low that it’s almost completely missed by the microphones. However, before he has time to allow the anger to rise up inside him, a trigger seems to go off in his head. The Anti-Superstar reaches down into the pocket of his trousers, and pulls out a key.

SLAM!

Jason pulls the door shut just as forcefully as DUI had opened it a few seconds ago, and in one quick motion locks it tight. It takes a couple of seconds for the startled DUI members to realize what’s happened, but soon enough the inevitable attempt to open the door from within comes.

Korver: You've got to be fucking kidding me.

On the other side, Colby Korver finds no luck as he twists the handle. He tries again, harder this time, but again to no avail.

Cobb: On second thought, maybe we shoulda talked this one out.

Natas: You got that right, junior.

Korver: Natas.

Pulling a Marlboro from behind his ear, Natas smirks defiantly.

Natas: That’s the rumor.

THUD-THUD-THUD!

The muffled sound of fist hitting wood fills the air as the two frat boys begin to come to grips with the situation they find themselves in.

Korver: Open the door, you pussy. Face us like a man.

Casually reclining against the wall behind him, Jason lights his cancer stick and takes a long, therapeutic drag. Another attempting to thump at the door is made; this time much heavier and denser than the last, leading Jason to believe that Hank Cobb is having a go now.

Cobb: You better hope this door holds, cause your life depends on it, city boy.

Natas: Shit, Cletus, way I see it, you squirts got yer panties in a twist ‘cause poor ol’ Korver had to wrestle all on his own last week, am I right?

Cobb: Cause of you, ya fuckin' coward

Natas: Right. So by lettin’ you outta there, how exactly am I gonna benefit? Kinda figured I’d have to find a way to keep you two lil’ shitcakes outta my business tonight anyway, guess you just made the whole thing a little easier. Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to walk up to my own locker-room like that though, obviously ya don’t remember what happened the last time you tried that.

Natas rolls his eyes as he inhales a lungful of toxic smoke.

Natas: Alright, I can see we’re not makin’ any progress here. Adios, boys. You have fun in there.

Clearly unconcerned by the fact that he might not have access to his own locker-room for the rest of the evening, Jason pushes himself away from the wall and begins strolling leisurely down the corridor. The intensity and frequency of the pounds on the door intensify as Delta Upsilon Iota become aware that their ticket out of there has seemingly vanished. After a couple of paces, their cries become inaudible.

Inevitably at a wrestling show, it doesn’t take long for The Anti-Superstar to bump into another familiar face.

Natas: Millsy.

Jason nods subtly at Matt Mills, before flicking the key to his locker-room at the PRIME interviewer. Despite his surprise at the object being pinged at him, Mills catches it in the palm of his hand.

Natas: Think there’s a couple’a guys stuck in a room back there. You wanna give the lock I try? Shit must be jammed or somethin’, I can’t get it to budge.

Mills opens his mouth, but before he can utter a single word Natas has turned a corner and walked away.

Mills: … what on Earth?

He glances curiously at the key in his hand, and then looks up along the corridor. Hearing the muffled cries and thumping of Hank Cobb and Colby Korver, he immediately senses distress and begins jogging towards the locker-room door.

For a moment, the noise ceases.

CRRRRRRAAAASSSSH!

The sound of wood splitting fills the air as Matt Mills nearly jumps out of his skin. The giant, imposing figure of Hank Cobb smashes the door from its hinges and bursts through the threshold, tag team partner in tow, his face flush with cherry red. Cobb looks left and right, before directing his attention at Mills when he sees Natas is nowhere to be found.

Cobb: Where?

Intimidated by the presence of the big frat boy, Mills points his finger down the corridor.

Mills: Uhhh, that way!

Korver: And if I were you, Matthew, I'd stay right here. You don't want any part in this...

...and we don't want any witnesses.

Standing outside the Scottrade Center’s wrestlers’ entrance, Xavier Kannon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Behind the doors were an over-crowded, volatile locker-room full of fellow professionals who had, just seven days ago, seen him stab a pointed heel into the right eye of SCCW’s Universal champion, "The New Life" Jonathan Rhine.

Fed loyalties crumble in wake of such an act, and unwritten laws of respect among fellow professional wrestlers rise up in their wake, built of far stronger foundations.

Eleanor: Um, it’s not like you took both eyes.

Those were pretty much the only words of support he’d received since being bundled away for his own safety at the end of last week’s ReVolution.

Kannon: Well, here goes nothing…

Pushing the doors open, Kannon invokes ‘Ladies first’ and invites Ellie to lead the way, which she does with a decidedly disrespectful skip to her step considering what went down only a week ago. After spitting his gum out into the evening, the Gold Patron Meritorious follows her, ready to accept whatever awaits him.

Fearful of any repercussions, the legion of PRIME runners and production staff either keep their words to themselves or turn and walk in the other direction as he approaches, one or two firm enough in their convictions to add a shake of the head.

"Real man would have stabbed him behind the windpipe."

A passing Jason Natas chimes in with his feelings on the matter as he heads for a smoke, pie-facing a do-gooder employee into the wall before he can be told he’ll have to go outside. Safe to say he knows by now.

Turning the corner, Kannon is then met by a fellow PRIMEate who seems to have taken his actions last week a little less lightly. Stood in XK’s path is a stern, bordering on fuming Tony Rolo. Not saying a word, Rolo expresses volumes by simply looking down his nose with contempt at the Scientologist. Kannon goes to walk around, Rolo sidesteps, then takes a step towards Kannon, their chests touching, and XK able to feel the warm breath of Rolo’s scoff.

With Rolo’s disgust for Kannon even over-riding his desire to verbally tear to shreds the man who pinned him in last weeks Hell in a Cell, Rolo simply barges past Kannon and goes about his business, point having been made.

Eleanor: Um, hello? It’s, like, totally polite to say excuse me and stuff!

Before The Specialist reacts to her provocation, Kannon gabs Ellie by the arm and hurries her along with him, but that only serves to deliver them faster to the judgement of none other than Captain Justice

Staring up at the goliath who defeated him at UltraViolence, Kannon sees only disdain in the Heroic Hoss’ eyes. A boulder of a fist pounds into his palm, and his usually beaming smile has soured into a scowl. Just like Kannon had done to professional courtesy at ReV 163, Captain Justice turns his back on the King of Wrestling.

With Justice’s gaze averted, Mr Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison To PRIME steps up to the plate, wearing a grin across his lips akin to a proud father.

Mr Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison To PRIME (whispering): Reducing the competition’s main event scene to Pirate Ship gimmick matches? Niiiiiiice. Up high.

Silver holds a palm up for Kannon, only for the Gold Patron Meritorious to shun the motor-mouth’s gesture. Ellie, however, is all up in there.

Mr Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison To PRIME: And down low.

As Ellie swings her hand behind her to slap Silver’s, Kannon again hurries her along, the curtain leading out to ringside now in sight. After his destructive, for want of a better term, ‘shit-fit’ at ReV 162, the sound techs huddle together for safety as Kannon approaches…

Kannon: Cue it up.

…then bursts out through the curtain as Rock is Dead by Marilyn Manson screeches out around ringside. This, the crowd do not like.

Not one bit.

Nick: After what this man did last week, him just being this close to our announce desk is going to make me sick.

Richard: Wow, you must have the first documented case of Awesome Intolerance.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

It would take a low-down, traitorous, treacherous, disrespectful, obnoxious, self-absorbed and cowardly scum-stain of a human being to get PRIME fans to bring signs and wear t-shirts proclaiming their nearest competitor’s champion a hero.

Kannon ticks every box.

Nick: How he even has the nerve to set foot in this building, at wresting show, I will never know. If that man had even a trace of morality, he would hand back every penny PRIME has paid him and leave this business once and for all.

The volley of abuse that is fired off from every corner of the arena almost blows the first couple of Scientology back through the curtain as they step out onto the stage. Ellie wisely huddles close to her husband as either side of the aisle consists entirely of raised fingers and other similar gestures.

"Fuck you!"

"Slut!"

"I hope Rhine cuts your dick off, fag!"

Head bowed down and holding his wife close for her safety, the Gold Patron Meritorious looks far removed from the maniacal and boasting man who had called out Jonathan Rhine just seven days ago.

"Fuck Hubbard!"

"Tom’s a Homo!"

"Ginger!"

Rather than herald their arrival, Vince Howard remains seated, simply tossing his mic through the ropes and into the ring, refusing to so much as draw breath for the couple.

DIE!, a fan helpfully suggests to XK.

After escorting Ellie up the steps and opening the ropes for her to hop into the ring, Xavier turns and looks out into the crowd, met with a solid wall, made up of thousands of fans, all gesturing and yelling every insult under the sun at the Gold Patron Meritorious.

They expect him to bite. They expect him to react, to flip them off, to spit… but instead he just closes his eyes, drops his head, and steps into the ring.

"TURN THE MIC OFF! TURN THE MIC OFF!", becomes the new chant of choice.

Stooping down to pick up the mic, Kannon narrowly avoids a half-full soda cup that a fan hurls across the ring. Remaining crouched, Kannon mutters something to himself off-mic, seemingly composing himself.

Nick: What can he possibly say that will make up for last week? Does he think a ‘sorry’ will do it? You say sorry if you accidentally get in someone’s way… what he did, it’s unforgivable.

Straightening himself back up, Kannon calls Ellie over to him, holding her close as he looks out into the hard-camera with what could only be described as… remorse?

Kannon: Ladies and Gentlemen, as you will all no doubt be aware, last week at Revolution 163 I let my temper get the best of me, and I reacted in an unsportsmanlike fashion.

The gross understatement does nothing to even simmer the crowd down.

Kannon: I was caught up in the heat of the moment, I was dehydrated after my gruelling Hell in a Cell victory, my blood sugar was low, and I gave in to the gathered, baying mob’s lust for blood… which resulted in the ‘wounding’ the SCCW Universal champion, Jonathan Rhine.

His words are coming out flat, lacking any of the cutting edge of sizzle that they have in past weeks.

Kannon: Since the unfortunate event, PRIME officials have educated me on the error of my ways, and I now see that as a role model to every young child in this nation who dreams of freeing themselves from the shackles of ignorance imposed upon them by their parents, my actions were irresponsible.

He places a hand across his heart, sincere eyes looking straight into the camera.

Kannon: Therefore, I have been asked by PRIME management to issue the following statement: Every superstar on PRIME television is a highly-trained and highly skilled professional athlete. You should not repeat anything that you see on ReVolution either at home or in sch-

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd there it goes.

Nick: That son of a bitch…

Unable to keep a straight face, Kannon explodes into a breathless laughing fit.

Kannon: Oh, who am I kidding?! Kids, what I did to Rhine last week? DO IT AT SCHOOL! Some kid is picking on you because you’re brighter? STAB THEM IN THE EYE! Getting bullied because your spiritual enlightenment leaves you dismissing your classmates as mere troglodytes? STAB THEM IN THE EYE! Big brother or sister hassling you at home? STAB THEM IN THE EYE! Worked for me! You don’t even need a broken heel… you can use so many household objects. A chopstick, a toothbrush, a pen, be resourceful!

Nick: Someone kill that mic before someone here kills him.

Feeding on the hateful energies of the disgusted crowd, Kannon detaches himself from Ellie, pacing the ring with a beaming grin across his face.

Kannon: You see, I HAD to do that to Rhine. For those of you that evolved enough to embrace the writings of L. Ron Hubbard, Rhine had imposed an Engram upon me. He created a moment of pain etched within my very soul, my reactive mind, when he crashed the ceremony that marked the first time in my life that I’ve truly belonged. It was an Engram I had to purge before it’s negative influence denied me a chance of one day becoming an Operating Thetan. See? How does that not make perfect sense? How can anyone begrudge me my revenge on Rhine when I put it so simply?

"YOU."

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Stop talking. NOW."

No Strata. No entrance. No playing to the fans. No, there is just Jonathan Rhine and a microphone. And he is pissed.

Richard: Hahahahaha, look at his eye! Oh, man, I know grievous wounding isn’t always a laughing matter but, well, hahahahaha!

Indeed, Jonathan Rhine has a large white patch of bandages stretching across the right half of his face, swooping above the cheek to the top of his scalp. Rhine’s grimace completes the outfit perfectly.

Rhine: You come out here, talking as if you won some great and noble victory. As if you were celebrating the greatest battle in the world. As if, Kannon, I was already dead and gone. Well guess what, you shit-swilling son of a bitch?

THIS BATTLE IS NOT OVER.

"RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Nick: Jonathan Rhine is not done! He won’t give up!

Richard: Uh… when I start losing body parts at my job is the day I quit. I don’t know how noble this is.

Rhine: You’re proud of your tactic, and now you’re mocking the world by encouraging kids to stab people in the eye. Well, kids, before you go and grab that fire poker, you might want to stick around for the next few weeks to see how this plays out. You’ll find out that the one doing the stabbing will not be the winner at the end of the day.

Richard: Um hello? Earth to Rhine? YOU LOST A GODDAMN EYE. As the kids would say nowadays, um, EPIC fail!

Nick: As long as he’s still here to ruin Kannon’s day, I don’t see what the problem is.

Rhine: In fact, he won’t be the winner at the end of the night either. Because, eye or no eye, Xavier Kannon…I challenge you to a one-on-one match, in the middle of that ring, TONIGHT!

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Richard: Is he INSANE?

Nick: He’s determined, Richard.

Richard: I don’t see the difference.

Rhine: I don’t care if you have some sort of advantage due to your unfair and has-to-be-illegal tactic, I am going to get my revenge the best way I know how: in the ring, where it matters. So what do you say, Xavier? Remember that before you grabbed Katie’s heel I was beating you so bad Beck could’ve felt it, and also, take some time to think of some excuses for when you lose to a man with one eye.

Lowering the mic that he’d wielded like a potent weapon against the Gold Patron Meritorious, Rhine drops his arms down to his sides, body language challenging Kannon to answer.

Kannon: Wow, Patch… looks like I left just enough fight in you to have a few more weeks of fun at your expense. Hey, you’ve probably taken Katie to see The Diving Bell & The Butterfly, right? How about, if you’re serious about challenging me, let me and the world know by blinking your right eye? Oh, that’s right… a little insensitive of me.

Up on the stage, Rhine wearily shakes his head while hands gesture for Kannon to cut the crap and give him an answer.

Kannon: What can I say, Jon, I’m a giving man. If you feel you need me to Hallmark you shoulder-deep through this canvas to give you a proper send off, then who am I to deny you that closure. After all, I think we both know you’re a little out of depth here. Hell, the belt that’s holding these jeans up cost more than that melted-down bit of scrap metal you carry about. So, get it signed, Jono… you, me, this ring, tonight.

As the acceptance is spat-out with near contempt by Kannon, the crowd rise and roar for the prospect of The New Life’s revenge against the Gold Patron Meritorious.

Kannon: But, hey, after we’re done, I don’t want you to lose heart, Jono. I may have taken you eye, I may have taken your dignity, and when I’m through with you tonight, I’ll have taken away any credibility you had as SCCW Universal champion. But, y’know, I hear that in the Kingdom of the Blind, you’re really someone!

With a smug grin warping his lips and a mocking cocking of his eyebrows, Kannon stares up at Rhine, whose one eye shoots back a look that, if it could kill, would take out half of ringside along with the cocky Scientologist.

Nick: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is set. In a PRIME ring, tonight, it will be Xavier Kannon taking on a wounded and revenge hungry SCCW Universal Champion, Jonathan Rhine.

Richard: Man, I only thought I’d get to see stuff like this at a Circus!

The stage is set. ReVolution 164. A main event that was sure to set off explosions with Dusk and Cozen teaming up to go against Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble. A 5-Star Championship Gauntlet Match that would see Tyler Rayne go up against Simply Beautiful, Logic, and Captain Justice. A night that would be remembered as all hell would break loose with the countdown to Colossus V well on it’s way. The scene is ready. And then…

"I’m outta time and all is got is 4 minutes, 4 minutes hey!"

Yep. That’s all that really needs to be said as inside of the locker room of the Lost Soul, Dusk himself is up on his feet and dancing as "4 Minutes" by Madonna and Justin Timberlake blares throughout his room. You would never believe this sight ever happened if it wasn’t for C.P. Cantrell’s new initiative, but there he was, the former Intense Champion jamming out! With the music so loud though, he never hears the knocking on his door as he’s busting out some pretty amazing moves. And then, comes the singing.

Dusk: Come on, boy, I’ve been waiting for somebody to pick up my stroll!

As Madonna rings inside of the locker room, Dusk sings along with her in this high falsetto voice, not giving a damn about anything else in the world.

Dusk: Well, don’t waste time, give me a sign, tell me how you want to roll!

Then his voice returns to normal as Justin’s voice crashes through. Behind him, the door to his locker room opens up and in comes the ever popular Team VIAGRA and their manager, Mary-Lynn Mayweather. Mary-Lynn’s jaw drops in shock at the sight of a man normally so brooding and dark being free and, well, frankly goofy. Flyer looks pale as he almost wishes to spew. Tony Davis was busily playing on his Nintendo DS, and even the man who completely lacked awareness could do nothing but pay attention.

The door softly closes as they step inside.Dusk never hears them, and just keeps going on with the song, switching back to that high falsetto.

Dusk: I want somebody to speed it up for me, then take it down slow, there’s enough room for both!

Mary-Lynn turns to Flyer, jaw still lowered, and somehow musters up the ability to mouth "Is he serious?"

Flyer’s eyes widen, and he nods. He smiles, and leans up against the wall, lighting a cigarette. Mary-Lynn follows his lead, leaning up against the wall and Flyer himself, staring at Dusk as he continues to look the other way. Tony Davis however, can’t help himself, and immediately busts a move. Granted, not a very smooth move, but moves none the less.

Dusk: Well, I can handle that, you just gotta show me where it’s at, are you ready to go?

As he finishes his last words, Davis has moved all the way up to Dusk and bumps into him as if they’re dancing partners! Dusk spins and sees Davis, and his eyes widen before pushing Tony into the wall!

Dusk: Hey man! Get off of me!

Dusk stops dancing and looks behind him to see High Flyer and Mary-Lynn Mayweather just standing there, laughing at the sight before them. Mary-Lynn has her cell phone out and has been recording the whole time. Quickly, Dusk turns off the music and looks at those two.

High Flyer: Why’d you even record that anyway. We can get the HD copy when we get home.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You’re right.

Dusk wipes off the embarrassment.

Dusk: I see you two are just having a blast over there.

The collect themselves slightly. Flyer raises his palms in a calming fashion.

High Flyer: Look, I’m just ready to go. Mary-Lynn, (sings-like an 80’s rock star)Are you ready to go!?

Mary-Lynn nods her head. She can’t quite play a character yet.

Mary-Lynn: Oh yeah, I’m ready to go.

Tony Davis tilts his head.

Tony Davis: Where are we going?

The jabs fall on deaf ears to Davis, and his comment leaves a bit of awkwardness lingering in the air.

Tony Davis: Can I vote Home Depot? I’ve got this light fixture, it just keeps falling on your kids head. Can’t be good for him. Unless it’s making him smarter somehow. Like, dumbing down the stupidity in his brain. That’s a thing, right?

High Flyer: You’re never watching my kids again. In fact, I think you shouldn’t be allowed to have children.

Tony Davis: You’re not my parents!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Or the state of California.

Tony Davis: Good thing there’s forty nine other states.

Tony begins to think, counting in his head. Viagra and Dusk allow him to do this and continue on.

Dusk: Look, I'm taking Nova's advice, alright? Focusing on that ring and not letting myself be the same brooding person that's gotten me into this mess. Cozen has been in my mind for far too long and that's just not going to happen any longer. Even if I do have to team with her tonight.

High Flyer: Yeah, that's kind of what I'm scared of.

Dusk: Scared of?

High Flyer: You’re gonna be inside a ring with a deranged faceless unaccountable woman who has no remorse for death and dismemberment. And you’re facing that Cure Lead singer and the failed stand up comic, both total dicks to you since you became a PRIMEate. And yes. I watched some video tape. It’s just not safe for you mang. And shit, comin’ from me? That SHOULD make you scared. Not Omen or Exorcist scared but perhaps Wicker man scary… Hmmm, actually, Wicker man was just stupid. Fuck. Horror movies are so weak. Anyway, be fucking scared. Someone’s gonna try some shit, you just better be the first one to do so.

Dusk nods his head at this statement, but then let's it just roll off his shoulders.

Dusk: Look, if push comes to shove, you guys should just be ready.

High Flyer: But Tony’s never ready.

Tony looks up.

Tony Davis: What? Ah man, I lost my place.

Tony continues to count in his head the various American states he can name.

Dusk: Tensions are higher than they've ever been in PRIME and it's just going to get ugly out there tonight. I've got friends though and that gives me the confidence and strength that I need.

Mary-Lynn tilts her head to the side and brushes Dusk’s hair slightly.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: … Are you still Dusk?

Dusk laughs.

Dusk: I’m just realizing that things are different now. I need to strike fear out in that ring, not backstage. I can't be so serious all of the time, looking to get into fights with people. Not anymore at least.

High Flyer: Because Jason Natas stole that gimmick?

Dusk: I just need to have fun and let loose, and then take care of business out there in the ring. I can't be Lost anymore, you know? It's time to take that next step forward.

High Flyer: Like how Abrams went to flash forwards instead of flashbacks. Completely revolutionizing one self… I wish we could all flash forward to the future. When Harmenetics kills Tom Cruise and the Snow-O-Cology Church of PRIME takes over Southern California… It’ll be a dark day for Xavier Kannon, I’ll-tell-ya-what.

Tony Davis, obviously having lost count on how many states there are in the United States if you remove California, appears to almost snap.

Tony Davis: I still have nightmares! NOT THE MAMA! NOT THE MAMA! NOT THE MAMA! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Dusk's eyes get really large while looking at Davis, and thinks about just punching him in the face. Tony however, falls to the ground himself, nullifying the punching factor. New leaf. High Flyer looks at Mary-Lynn and shakes his head.

High Flyer: I told you that he couldn't handle that stupid television show!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I think it's cute.

High Flyer: And Tony hasn’t watched tv in twenty years. I dunno why we don’t start him off with some Battlestar or Buffy. I mean, Christ. You gotta go to the pandering child demographic right away? Why don’t we just make Tony Davis into Dora the Explorer.

Tony Davis: But I don’t speak French…

Mary-Lynn then takes a look at Craig. She smiles as she lightly taps his forearm.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I'm glad to see this new you. It's... cool.

Dusk: Thanks. I needed to talk to you anyways, about your new "friend" Tyler Rayne.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Why did you use air quotes around the word friend?

Dusk: Uh....

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Because I have no intentions of sleeping with him or making him into any sort of friend that would require any type of air quotes.

Put right back into his place, Dusk just shrugs his shoulders and sits down before pulling out his gym bag as he can feel the weight of the big main event tag match weighing down his shoulders.

Dusk: Well, um, good, I guess. See, that was pretty painless. I just want to make sure that you've got your head on straight. Rayne is good for nothing, and I don't want to see your heart get broken as he toys with you.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: And ye' of so little faith. Dear Craig, I thought you respected me. You don't think I can uphold myself in a battle of wits with TYLER RAYNE?!

Dusk: Wait, wait. I didn't say all of that. I'm just looking o..u..t...

That's when Mary-Lynn chuckles and smacks Dusk's arm.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I know. I'm teasing. Jeez. I thought you said you changed.

Dusk: Slowly, Mary-Lynn, slowly.

Dusk smiles at her. That's when he notices Flyer, who's been tilting and swaying his head from side to side during this whole last part of the conversation. Never breaking contact with Dusk throughout, Dusk finally notices, and raises his eyebrows, concerned.

Dusk: What's wrong with you man?

High Flyer: Just you okay mang? Those freaking Van der Wals, bringin' your last name into this! I wouldn't stand for that personally. Ruin the cloud of deception filters we use every week. ONLY I, and select others, MAY BREAK THE FOURTH WALL! Somethin' doesn't feel right. Feels all mysterious and shit. Makes me want to call the Pope and demand he use his fire power to lay waste to both Hong Kong AND the Netherlands.

Dusk: I feel ya, man, I really do.

He then pauses for a moment.

Dusk: I guess I need to be made an example of.

From the ground, Tony Davis shouts.

Tony Davis: Example of what?

He then begins to walk to his locker room door, stepping over Tony Davis as he does, and pulls it open before looking at High Flyer.

Dusk: I know though that if it gets hot and heavy out there, you've got my back man. That's why I'm not worried.

High Flyer: Oh don't you worry, cause I bought a shotgun at a flea market.

As he speaks those words, Dusk walks out of the locker room, ready for a face to face meeting with the van der Wals. In the room though, Mary-Lynn shoots High Flyer a look.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: He didn't say he was worried, in fact he said the exact opposite.

High Flyer: That's code.

We open up in "The Specialist" Tony Rolo's locker room. He and the epitome of laziness, Joey Troy, are just chilling enjoying the show. As usual, there's a bit of ball bustin' going on between the two friends, and former PRIME tag team champions.

Joey: Last week at the strip club was fun.

Rolo: Isn't it always?

Joey: Yeah, but last week was different. I really like Rayne. That guy is fun.

The comment causes Tony to perk up and he slowly turns to Joey inquisitively.

Rolo: What are you trying to say?

Joey: Huh?

Rolo: What are you trying to tell me? That I'm not fun anymore?

Joey: No, I didn't say that you fucking bitch. It was just nice to have someone else around, too... you know, a change of pace. Tyler Rayne is just a cool dude. He likes strippers A LOT... like we do.

Rolo: Whatever...

The Specialist is noticeably annoyed by Joey's sudden fondness of Tyler Rayne.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door bursts open and you can feel all the energy in the arena deflate at the site of the person interrupting the banter of the PRIME Hall of Fame Legends.

Champ: Tony Romo, my man, how’s it hanging bro?

Champ starts to stick his hand out to Rolo but pauses as he gets a glance over and Joey Troy. The look on Champ’s face turns to one of either pity or disgust or possibly a little of both.

Champ: Jessica you’ve REALLY let yourself go. You might want to think about one of those celebrity binge diets, or something. Possibly change your hair as well. When you wore that T-Shirt about real women eating meat I didn’t think you meant the whole cow.

Champ turns his attention back to Rolo and this time does actually extend his hand like he’s trying to get Rolo to slap him some skin.

Champ: Romo, buddy, don’t leave me hanging here.

The unamused PRIME veteran glaces back at Joey and points his thumb over at Chamberlain.

Rolo: This dude thinks I'm Tony Romo.

Joey: That's funny.

Rolo: Even funnier... I think he thinks you're Jessica Simpson.

Joey: I told you I've been losing weight. Buns of Steel is obviously working... my poop-shooter is looking pretty sweet these days.

Tony looks back over at Champ.

Rolo: Hey Champ, go long! Right out that door and down the hallway and I'll throw you a bomb.

Champ: I would T, I really would, but we’re in a crunch time moment here bro and frankly I’ve seen you in crunch time. You’re not all that dependable. Maybe next year though, right?

Rolo: Seriously... do you eat retard sandwiches for lunch or something? I'm going to tell you this just once... I'M NOT TONY ROMO!!! My name is Tony Rolo... with a fucking L, not an M!

Champ stares at Joey Troy whose been busy swaying his hips side to side, and moving his head from one side to the other, attempting to see the great rear he believes he now has. After a moment he turns his head back to Rolo and looks at him surprised.

Champ: I’m sorry did you say something? I was busy thinking about how weird it is that you’re able to be jinxed by THAT. It’s frankly disturbing dude and you should really have your head checked cause I think you might be suffering from post concussion syndrome, or something like that.

Champ slaps Rolo on the shoulder and then suddenly decides to take a seat, without being invited to, on the bench along the wall. He brushes his hands over the legs of his black slacks and then crosses his right left over his left, like a gentleman, and begins to examine the Kenneth Cole on his right foot.

Champ: BTW this is a pretty decent locker room. It’s not as swanky as mine but, hey, we can’t all be winners. You’ll get there if you keep working hard though T. FYI, though, you might want to watch that T.O. I don’t know if you’ve given this any thought but that crying deal seemed like a real act to me. How’d you go from cleaning toilets to being the quarterback of the Miami Dolphins anyway?

Rolo: L…

Champ: Yeah that was rhetorical T. I don’t really care how you did that. I only care about one thing. How’d you get ROLOlution last week.

Rolo: First of all, Tony Romo plays for the Dallas Cowboys, nimrod... not the Miami Dolphins! And second of all, I don't know what it's gonna take to get it through that sphere on your shoulders that clearly doesn't contain a functioning brain, but I'm not him! And last, we coined it ROLOVOLUTION last week... not Rololution! You must have the IQ of a gardening tool. And I got ROLOVOLUTION because I'm a fucking genius and C.P. Cantrell is a cocksucking fag and I wanted to get even with him.

Champ: It matters.

Rolo just blinks at Champ as he can feel himself getting very angry at the arrogance of the young, PRIME rookie.

Champ: Look genius, and I really question the validity of that statement seeing as how a genius wouldn’t talk like an uneducated gang-banger, I’m not interested in your poor attempts at witty and sophomoric putdowns. I’m sure the teenage girls that you frequent behind Jesses back absolutely love it. They probably find it edgy, cool, and manly but none of that is either here, nor there, and more importantly it’s got nothing to do with me and therefore it’s unimportant.

Champ takes a look over at ‘Jess’ and points at Rolo.

Champ: FYI you should really get an AIDS test. In this day and age even those teenagers are likely to have slept with thirty people by the time T gets his hands on them.

Champ then turns his attention back to Rolo and even though he’s smiling, as he almost always seems to be, there is a certain degree of seriousness to his approach, for once.

Champ: All I’m remotely interested in, when it comes to you, is how you actually got that show named after you. Things like that should be reserved for those of us who are actually active wrestlers, and more importantly for ME. I was thinking CHAMPOLUTION would be the best thing ever.

POP!!!

Rolo's obviously had enough as he cold-cocks the newcomer right in the kisser, causing Chamberlain to smack off the concrete floor in his locker room hard. After standing over him for a moment, just shaking his head, Rolo, being the nice human being he is picks Champ up and dusts him off as he stands there groggily.

Champ: You…could…have jus…said you’re….to gre…edy…to share.

Rolo: Sorry, I was just trying to impress those teenage girls again.

He grabs Champ by his shirt and drags him out of his locker room and into the hallway.

Rolo: SECURITY!!! Come help this guy... he fell in my locker room and hit his head on something hard... like my dick.

The Specialist heads back into his locker room talking to himself under his breath.

Rolo: Fucking newcomers...

Joey: Why is your dick hard?

A blank screen with the words "Two Weeks Ago" in the middle.

The screen fades away and transitions to footage from ReVolution 162. Let’s take a look:

The two meet in the centre of the ring and Jeeves promptly hurls a few short punches, which Dawkins simply laughs off. Jeeves, eyes now wide with fear and realisation, risks it all by then slapping Dawkins across the face.

Nick: He’s done it now, Rich!

Richard: He’s done what? This is all part of the plan!

Nick: What plan? To get Jeeves beaten to an inch of his life?

Richard: He’s a butler, Nick! What does "Our Sovereign" care?

Rage fires in Dawkins eyes and he’s not seeing this as a joke anymore. Jeeves, attempts a second, but Dawkins blocks it easily and retaliates with a stiff forearm that Jeeves even see coming. Blood spurts from the butlers mouth and he hit’s the mat and does not move.

Nick: He caught him with that one!

Richard: Bah! Cheap shot. Caught him off guard is all.

Nick: He isn’t moving! He’s out cold!

Richard: All part of the plan Nick, I assure you!

Dawkins glares at the fallen body for a few seconds before, shaking his head and placing a foot upon his chest. The ref hit’s the ground and begins to count, whilst Union Jack suspiciously moves towards Vince Howard in a stealthly jog.

Nick: This one is over!

OOOOONNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Richard: All part of the plan, Nick.

TTTTTTWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick: Sure it is!

TTTTHHHHHHHHRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Nick: This one’s over!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The ref raises Dawkins hand in victory, whilst Union Jack slips his ‘injured’ unseats Vince Howard and confiscates his chair. He folds it in half and slides under the bottom ropes.

Nick: Union Jack’s got a chair! What is he doing?

Richard: Like I said, all part of the plan!

Dawkins turns, reacting to the signalling crowd, and…

CRACK!!!!!!!

Richard: Hahaha!

Nick: Union Jack just floored Bryan Dawkins with a steel chair! Oh god! Dawkins is down and he isn’t getting up!

Richard: That’ll teach him to trifle with "The Sovereign of PRIME!"

With Dawkins flat out on the mat, Union Jack stands over him with steel chair in hand and fire in his eyes.

BBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Doesn’t look injured anymore, does he?

Richard: It was all part of the plan, Nick!

Nick: No, you think?

Richard: Yeah, don’t you?

Nick: You have no idea what’s going on, do you? That’s why you keep repeating ‘it’s all part of the plan’, right?

Richard: No comment.

Union Jack slams the chair into Dawkins gut, whilst shrugging off the hapless referee.

Union Jack: YOU THINK YOU’RE GOOD ENOUGH TO WARRANT A MATCH AGAINST ME, PEASANT! YOU’RE SCUM. SUBHUMAN SCUM AND YOU DESERVED TO BREATHE THE SAME AIRSPACE AS ME, NEVER MIND SHARE THE RING!!!!

BBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Did you hear that? Is he serious?

Richard: Deadly. He’s a cut above this Hawaiian cretin and it’s time Mr. Dawkin’s realised it!

Nick: Whatever! This is a sickening display and Union Jack should be ashamed of himself!

Richard: Why? Dawkins had this coming to him! Damn hippy!

Union Jack drops the chair, leaving Dawkins writhing around the mat in agony. He turns to the still unconscious Jeeves and shakes his head.

Union Jack: Get up you girl!

The image of a downed Dawkins with Union Jack, sporting a menacing grin, towering over him fades into footage of a locker room door. We’re now in the corridors of the Scottrade Center, where PRIME is calling home for this week’s edition of ReVolution.

The door swings open, and "The Flyin’ Hawaiian" Bryan Dawkins emerges.

Dawkins: Yeah bruh, don’t worry about it. All ya gotta do is go out there and hold your own until ya think ya got him worn down. Then I’ll take care of my unfinished business from ReV 162 and everyone will be happy.

Dawkins flashes the "hang loose" gesture to his unknown cohort and makes his way through the backstage area. Out of nowhere, PRIME’s resident model who happens to double as an interviewer, Angelica Brooks, pops into the picture.

Brooks: Bryan Dawkins! If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.

Dawkins flashes a smile at the redheaded beauty and flips his sunglasses up.

Dawkins: Sure thing, hun. What ya need?

Brooks: I couldn’t help but notice you came out of a locker room back there talking about ‘unfinished business.’ Now I know that you’ve had history with Jason Natas, and more recently Union Jack. Were you talking about either one of those men?

Dawkins suddenly loses his picture-perfect smile and slaps on a serious face for a second.

Dawkins: Now I don’t think ya have to worry about that. Next question?

The smile reappears on Dawkins’ face as Angelica searches for her next question.

Brooks: First off, considering your history with matches here in PRIME, I feel the need to ask…you’re booked against Chandler Tsonda tonight. You ARE aware of that, right?

A blank stare is painted across the face of the Flyin’ Hawaiian.

Dawkins: Duh? Wasn’t I the one to suggest the match last week, dear? I believe the answer to that is YES. Next question?

Brooks smiles and resumes.

Brooks: Do you really think you’ve got a chance to win the match? I mean, Tsonda is on a hot streak; he’s the Number One Contender for Devin Shakur’s Universal Title. And let’s face it, you haven’t exactly been on a hot streak since coming to PRIME. If my sources are correct, you’ve only won two matches since making your debut…

Angelica pauses for a second.

Brooks: …and one of those was against Union Jack’s butler, Jeeves.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian matter-of-factly looks at the red head.

Dawkins: Uh, I’m undefeated since UltraViolence. And believe me, whether I’m facing Chandler Tsonda or Jeeves again, I don’t plan on changing that fact anytime in the near future.

Brooks: But…it’s Chandler Tsonda. The Viet Viper. The Model Citizen. The defending Jewel in the Crown Champion. THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDER FOR THE UNIVERSAL TITLE.

Dawkins just stares at the reporter. Just. Stares.

Brooks: Bryan, you’re going up against the man who very well may walk out of Colossus with the Universal Title. You’re going to step into the squared circle with the man who could essentially be at the top of this heap that they call PRIME following Colossus. This doesn’t faze you at all?

Dawkins now appears to have a look of nervousness. He’s starting to move around more, wiping his brow, and generally looking anxious.

Brooks: Bryan, are you okay? You seemed pretty confident a minute ago. Did something I say throw you off?

Dawkins , now sweating like a pig, peers at Brooks.

Dawkins: Uh…I hadn’t thought about it like that until now. I’m starting to think this may not be such a good idea. I’m having one of those "oh shit, what are you doing?" moments. Uh, sorry hun, but I’ve gotta split.

With that, Dawkins ducks off-camera and darts down the hallway and out of sight, leaving Angelica Brooks by her lonesome.

Yep, the Flyin’ Hawaiian just had one of those "oh shit" moments.

Nick: Well, the highly anticipated rematch between Jimmy Bonafide and Union Jack is coming up next!

Richard: Haha, yeah! I always love to see Bonafide gets his ass kicked by a better class of wrestler!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, weight in at two hundred and eleven pounds, standing at six feet, five inches….JIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYY BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The lights around the arena begin to flicker on and off, then flip to solid and bathe the whole arena in red light. A loud bang of pyro goes off at the entrance as Mobb Deep’s "Quiet Storm" blasts over the loudspeakers. Jimmy "The PosterBoy" Bonafide then emerges out the back with a grin on his face and a wet towel over his head.

Nick: Well, Bonafide wants revenge from Ultraviolence no doubt and tonight I think he may just get it!

Richard: Doubtful.

Bonafide slides under the bottom ropes, just as his music cuts and "God Save the Queen" ignites on the PA system and "The Sovereign of PRIME" emerges grandly onto the entrance platform, his Union Jack sequined cape dragging behind him and accompanied by his ever faithful butler, Jeeves.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds, standing at six feet tall……UUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNN JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!

Richard: This is your winner right here. He’s done it before and you better believe he can and will do it again!

Nick: I admire your confidence, Rich, I really do!

Union Jack follows Jeeves up the ring steps and waits whilst his butler sits on the middle rope and pushes the top rope upwards. Union Jack deftly climbs through the ropes and allows Jeeves to unclip and collect his cape, he then climbs out of the ring, taking with him Union Jack’s discarding sequined cape just as the bell sounds.

DING! DING!

Nick: Well, this one’s under way!

Richard: Did you put your degree on the wall, Nick?

Nick: Degree?

Richard: Since your the master of stating the obvious, I’d assumed you had something to recognise the fact! Ha! Ha!

Nick: Nice.

Bonafide stalks towards the centre of the ring, whilst Union Jack remains in his corner, eying up his opponent carefully. Bonafide beckons Union Jack to come fight, but UJ shakes his head and dismisses him with a wave of the hand.

Nick: Looks like Union Jack wants no part of "The Posterboy"!

Richard: "Our Sovereign" doesn’t need to bother with that street thug! He’s beat him within an inch of his life at Ultraviolence and that should’ve been the end of it.

Bonafide shakes his head.
Bonafide: UNION JACK SUCKS!

Richard: What the hell is he doing?

Nick: Working the crowd Rich, what else?

UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS!

Union Jack develops a bizarre mixed expression of both shock and anger at the crowd following "The Posterboy" in his chants. Bonafide chuckles to himself at Union Jack’s reaction.

Richard: This is ridiculous! Do they realise they’re addressing their sovereign here?

Nick: I don’t think they much care!

Richard: Damn them!

Then, Union Jack confidently strides to the centre of the ring and squares up to Bonafide, who is still laughing. However, before any smack talk can be initiated, Union Jack slaps Bonafide right across the face and develops a cocky grin.

Union Jack: I AM YOUR SOVEREIGN, YOU WILL RESPECT ME YOU BLOODY CHAV!

Bonafide blinks, not quite believing the British Aristocrat even had the nerve to do something like that.

Richard: Haha! That’ll show the bloody street thug who’s boss!

Nick: A slap across the face, Rich? Seriously?

Union Jack takes a couple of steps backwards and holds his arms out, expecting some kind of fan adulation, but what he receives is a little different.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Bonafide snaps himself out of his brief moment of shock and develops an understandably angered expression.

Nick: Union Jack better get out of there, Bonafide looks pissed!

Richard: Why? Our Sovereign is twice the man that little street urchin will ever be!

Bonafide charges head first at Union Jack, who reacts quickly and drags the ref in between the two. Bonafide screeches to a halt centimetres before impact with the official, first raised ready to strike. The ref breathes a sigh of relief, whilst Union Jack reaches over the officials shoulder and jams his thumb in Bonafide’s eyes. "The Posterboy" lets out a painful yelp and clutches the wound immediately, backing away from his opponent to regroup.

Nick: That was uncalled for!

Richard: Not at all Nick! You’re so naive! This is wrestling, not morris dancing!

The ref gets in UJ’s face warning him not to do that again, but UJ simply shakes his head and shoves the official out of the way. He stalks Bonafide with a cocky grin on his face and taps "The Posterboy" on the back and quickly moves out of the way. Bonafide turns, half blinded and takes a swing at thin air, whilst UJ sizes him up for attack from behind.

Richard: This one’s all over already! Union Jack is just toying with him!

Nick: Doubtful. Jimmy Bonafide is a helluva lot tougher than that!

Union Jack hits a vicious clothesline to the back of his head, propelling him forward and into the turnbuckle. Bonafide turns and slumps to a seated position a little dazed, as Union Jack follows this up with a boot...or attempts to. Bonafide grabs his foot before UJ can bring it down, then headbutt’s "The Sovereign of PRIME" in the groin, before grabbing his tights and hauling him backwards, face-first into the turnbuckle.

Nick: Told ya.

Richard: Okay. Never back a wild animal into a corner. I get it. I’m over it and you can bet your ass Union Jack has learnt from the mistake.

Nick: If you say so, Rich!

Union Jack stumbles backward a little stunned, whilst Bonafide grabs the top ropes and hauls himself upright. He strides forward, sizing his opponent up and raises his hand ready to clock UJ right across the jaw, but UJ manages to jam his thumb into "The Posterboy’s" other eye this time, then hits him with a stiff European uppercut.

Nick: That sneaky bast--

Richard: That’s your sovereign that you’re so casually cursing!

Nick: I know who he is!

Bonafide stumbles backwards, but Union Jack follows it up immediately with a second European uppercut, knocking him even further back, against the ropes. UJ follows him in with a knee to the gut and third European uppercut. Then, he takes a step backwards and extends his arms out wide again, more to wind the crowd up than receive adulation this time.

UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS! UNION JACK SUCKS!

Richard: Haha! That Bonafide punk is being taught a serious lesson in fisticuffs here, Nick!

Nick: Union Jack knows more dirty tricks than Richard Nixon!

Richard: I should hope so. Nixon’s been dead for quite some time, Nick!

Union Jack grabs Bonafide’s chin and cockily sizes him up for yet another devastation European uppercut. However, Bonafide manages to knock his arm away and ply his opponent with a vicious forearm, knocking him backwards and startling the British superstar entirely.

Nick: Bonafide’s back in this!

Richard: Nick! You’re not supposed to be bias!

Nick: Pot. Kettle. Black.

Richard: What? Is that code for something? The eagle flies at dawn? Is that the right reply? Oh god, they’re coming for me aren’t they? She told me she was fourteen! How was I supposed to know she was twenty-three? Wait. I said nothing. You can’t prove anything. Get me my lawyer!

Bonafide follows up with a second forearm, but cannot manage to put as much force behind as the last and when he attempts a third, UJ sees it early, blocks and issues him a knee in the gut for his troubles. UJ hits yet another European uppercut, before hurling him into the opposing ropes.

Nick: Does he only know one move or something?

Richard: I have my lawyer on my mobile and he’s advising me to say..."No comment!"

Bonafide comes bounding back, but manages to duck a weak clothesline, rebounds and hits the startled UJ with a spinning heel kick.

Nick: Oh, he caught him with that! It damned near broke his jaw!

Richard: Right -- yes -- um -- you sure -- okay -- "No comment"

Nick [sighing]: Will you give me that?

Richard [amid sounds of a struggle]: Hey! That’s my mobile phone! My lawyer will still be charging me you know! I hope that peon in the crowd you’ve thrown it too hits the ‘disconnect’ button pretty quickly!

Bonafide struggles to his knees, whilst UJ crawls over to the ropes, just by his ever-faithful butler, Jeeves.

Nick: Is Jeeves handing himself something?

Richard: What? Where? I don’t see a thing!

Nick: What is that? A gold ring?

Richard: No. That’s the ‘royal knuckle dusters’ solid gold. Jewels on the side. The criminals choice of knockout implements. Bonafide should love this then!

Nick: I doubt that, Rich!

The ref notices the transaction and storms over, plucking the illegal object out of UJ’s limp hands. By now Bonafide’s on his feet and notices the illegal activity too, so storms over, leans out of the ring and grabs Jeeves by the collar.

Richard: Unhand him vagabond!!!!

Nick: He’s asked for this, Rich. Bonafide’s only giving the crowd what they really want...a bloodied and battered butler!

Meanwhile, Union Jack manages to make it to his knees and hits Bonafide with a vicious low blow.

Richard: Hahahhaha! Bonafide’ll have a voice higher than Mickey Mouse round about now!

Nick: This is despicable!

Richard: That’s one opinion. Another opinion is, you have the brain of a pheasant!

Then, the crowd ignite for some unforeseeable reason, as the camera’s quickly cut to a figure running down the aisle to ringside with purpose.

RRRRRAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Richard: Now who the hell is that?

Nick: That’s Dawkins! "The Flyin’ Hawaiian" is here!

Richard: What the hell is this clown doing here?

Dawkins heads directly for Jeeves, who fails to see the big Hawaiian coming, but certainly feels the fist across the jaw. Dawkins then grabs UJ’s ever faithful butler by the collar and hurls him head first into the protective barrier.

Nick: Well, that’s another concussion for Jeeves!

Richard: Don’t worry about Jeeves, Nick. That butler takes a lickin’ but keeps on kickin’!

Dawkins then glares into the ring at Union Jack stood in the rings and points at him, with anger in his eyes.

Nick: Dawkins certainly hasn’t forgot that vicious attack by Union Jack a couple of weeks back.

Richard: Ah yeah, that was funny!

Nick: Pretended to be injured, made his poor butler take his place in the match with Dawkins and then attacked him with a steel chair, right?

Richard: Anything can sound bad when you say it like that, Nick. I call it strategy. It was good and it worked. Get over it.

Union Jack shakes his head and backs away from the furious Hawaiian, but by now Bonafide is back on his feet and sizing, Union Jack up. He clocks him around the back of the neck with a clothesline, sending Union Jack sprawling out of the ring, before collapsing back to the mat and calling the ref over.

Meanwhile, by the time UJ hits the unprotected concrete floor outside of the ring, Dawkins is already there and waiting with a steel chair in hand.

Richard: Where the hell did that thug get that chair from?

Nick: I didn’t see real week, but I think he just upended Vince Howard!

Richard: That fiend!

He grabs UJ by the mask and drags him to his feet. Union Jack simply stands there, whilst Dawkins sizes him up with the chair, then...

WHACK!!!!!!!!

Richard: NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick [Richard‘s screams can still be heard in the background]: Did you see Union Jack’s head bounce off that steel chair?

Richard: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Dawkins grins, throws the chair to one side and then rolls "The Sovereign of PRIME" back into the ring. Bonafide pushes the ref away, then crawls over to UJ’s prone body and drapes an arm over the top of him.

Richard: Well this is disgusting! If Bonafide can only win via outside interference, then he ought to just give right now!

OOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Nick: Union Jack got his just deserts, Rich. That’s all.

TTTTTTWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Richard: I bet these two thugs had this planned from the start, Nick. I wouldn’t put it past these sneaky bast---

TTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEE!!!!!!

Richard: NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match........JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY BBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Richard: Damn you all!

Nick: You’re just bitter!

Richard [ignoring him]: Now where did that damned phone get to?

Nick: Well, fans, according to our papers it’s time for the second inst-

Richard: Step aside, Nick. (Sounds of uncrumpling paper) IT’S GROUNDBREAKING! SHOCKING! MOLTEN-HOT RÉVÉLATIONS DE CÉLÉBRITÉ SPEWING FORTH FROM MOUNT SAINT TORRES AND WASHING OVER THE LANDSCAPE OF THE CORRUPT! THIS…IS INSIDE THE TIGHTS - THE HIT IT ‘N QUIT IT EDITION!

Nick: The what?

Richard: The easiest hundred bucks I ever made, that’s what.

Enter: dimming of the lights. The PRIME*View begins cycling celebrity mugshots at an epileptic-eradicating pace. Mel Gibson. Paris Hilton. Michael Jackson. Kim Kardashian. Miley Cyrus. Britney Spears. Britney Spear’s pregnant sister. Britney Spears’ crazy mother. As the shots cycle, the rhythmic chanting of Don Henley’s "Dirty Laundry" plays over the PA.

Kick em when they're up
Kick em when they're down
Kick em when they're up
Kick em when they're down

Kick em when they're up
Kick em when they're down
Kick em when they're stiff
Kick em all around

Spotlights shine randomly throughout the arena as innumerable strobes mimic a blinding wall of camera flashes. The images continue to flash on-screen before settling on one now infamous to the dirt sheets: PRIME roster signing-turned-executive board member Nova, passed out amidst the VIP suite wreckage.

Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybodys pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry

All lights swivel around to focus on the stage as two shadows appear in front of a translucent curtain over the entrance. A moment later, the curtain parts, and Torres Wilson strolls out onto the ramp, leading Exposé by the hand as reporters fan out all around them, snapping shots. Torres is rocking a tan that SCREAMS "I Been On VA-CAY," and his airy button-up number is undone down to the third button. He scans the crowd from behind Gucci sunglasses, and Exposé looks radiant in her backless summer dress.

Richard: Look at him, Nick! Not only is Torres Wilson taking the PRIME roster by storm…he’s comin’ UP in the world!

Nick: Hrm. Wonder if that "launch pad" out of the lake of mediocrity came in the form of stepping on a certain Hall of Famer’s head and letting him drown?

Richard: Seems like a loaded question to me.

Nick: You’re the expert.

Torres and his valet begin walking down the ramp, happily ignoring the vitriol of the crowd. The cameras catch several signs waving around by the ramp, including but not limited to "NOVA = INNOCENT," "TORRES WILSON KILLED MY BUZZ," and "FOX NEWS IS BEHIND THIS." The Ultimate Insider reaches the ring first and climbs up onto the apron, sitting on the second rope and holding it for Exposé. As she swoops in between the ropes Torres feigns "snapping a shot" of her ass, and then they walk to the middle of the ring together, Wilson having been handed a microphone moments earlier.

Torres Wilson: As you…

"REAL DIRT SUCKS!! REAL DIRT SUCKS!! REAL DIRT SUCKS!! REAL DIRT SUCKS!!"

Nick: Hehehe…

Richard: Don’t laugh at that! Real Dirt is AMAZING! The greatest show since…since…Top Design!"

Wilson stares out at the crowd through his shades, the smile on his face giving way to a full-on sneer.

Torres Wilson: AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED…I was absent from last week’s show. I trust you all had plenty of reading material to occupy yourselves, though.

Nick: Oh, he is so PROUD.

Richard: Of course he is. Wilfred Burchett. Walter Cronkite. HST. Now, Torres Wilson.

Torres Wilson: Yep, Exposé and I were out JET-SETTING, comparing Rivieras – I preferred Italian, she was more French – and catching sight of more beachside celebrity ass-crack than a sequined G-String. Hangin’ with A-Listers, hob-knobbing ‘till the poolboys reminded us that it was 7:30 in the morning and the hot tubs are only open TWENTY-THREE hours a day. I know my elbows are rubbed pretty raw, how’re yours, hon?

Exposé holds up her exquisite arms, pouting her lip.

Torres Wilson: Life is good, but we all have jobs…mine just happens to rock a LOT harder than most of yours. (Crowd: BOOOOOOOO!!) So now we’re back from paradise to once more plunge blindly – with no regard for our personal wellbeing – into the Pit of Despair that is the seedy underbelly of PRIME. And so we arrive at the much-lauded follow-up to the SMASH HIT…Inside the Tights. This week’s gonna be a little different, though…this special edition – what I’m dubbed the "Hit It ‘N Quit It" edition – is gonna operate with some different rules.

Nick: He keeps calling it that…

Richard: Oh, just wait…

Nick: What do you know?

Richard: Muahahaha…

Torres Wilson: For starters…

PRIME security begins filing out from the back, through the curtain and up from each side of the entrance ramp. There are smatterings of Enemigos, but also a host of random toughs in black shirts. The photographers that followed Torres and Exposé out to the ring give way as security surrounds the ring.

Torres Wilson: …this was scheduled to be the follow-up to last week’s show, once again guest-starring *yawn* Wonderdrug, the Bearded Hedonist, or ‘Nova’ as you guys seem to like calling him…(Crowd: POP~!!!)…but certain events BEYOND MY CONTROL…

Nick: Oh, what?!

Torres Wilson: …have FORCED me to change up the format to a more…presentation-style program, almost a lecture, if you’ll bear with me. Never fear, mouth-breathers, Overrated McMillions is still gonna be the focus of the program, I just don’t feel the need to have a ‘cross-the-ring sit-down with him about the content of tonight’s show. You know how these wrestler-types get, one false step and they’re ‘ROIDED OUT, ready to cave your face in with something that was NEVER intended to be used as a weapon – folding chairs, for instance. So instead I’ll just stand up here and…

"Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time, for y’all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe, and I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all…or drown in my oooooown shit."

Nick: OH YEAH~!

"Maggot Brain (Live ’71)" roars over the PA as the crowd churns and roils. Moments later, the Risen Star steps through the curtain, clad in jeans, a sleeveless black t-shirt with the red NFW star, and a black headband pushing back his crop of white-streaked blonde hair. He takes a drag from his cigarette and holds the microphone up to his mouth, but instead of saying anything, he only glowers down at Torres in the ring, his aquamarine eyes worthy of shaming Dusk in their fieriness. Wilson waves a hand dismissively.

Torres Wilson: Hrm. Punctuality. Strange trait for a stoner, but whatever, we ARE on a time limit here.

Nova takes several steps forward to the delight of the crowd.

Torres Wilson: Oh, what? You gonna bum-rush the Black Sea down here? Not even your OVERSTATED abilities could make a dent! I welcome you to try, Mr. – what is it? – Business Services Treasury Liaison or some other bullshit?

Richard: Actually, that IS it…

Nova shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face as he continues to walk slowly down the ramp. The crowd roars as the Codemaster emerges from the back, slapping his Megaton Hammer against one hand, and then moments later, the boys of Delta Upsilon Iota follow suit. Wilson’s smirk gives way to a troubled frown.

Torres Wilson: Now wait a second, this is not a GROUP interview…

Nick: The Risen Star’s brought back up…two drinking buddies and…um…Allen Brown.

Codemaster: (Raising his hammer) FOR ZANARKAND!!!

The assembled crew collectively break into a run towards the ring, Hank Cobb sprinting out in front only to drop down to his knees as Colby Korver leaps onto his back, springboarding off to a wash of camera flashes before corkscrewing into a mound of black shirts, clearing a path to the ring. Codemaster lunges through the gap, swinging the Megaton Hammer a la the ReVolution 161 post-game show and clearing Enemigos out like Cucarachas from underneath the Refrigerador. As Cobb grabs two men and slams their heads together, Nova ducks underneath and slides into the ring, pointing a finger directly at Torres Wilson as the crowd POPS~!! and Exposé runs for her life out of fear of contracting some airborne addiction from the former Universal Champion. Torres is unfettered, his face growing bright red as he brandishes a manual and waves it in the air.

Torres Wilson: NOW HOLD ON!! JUST HOLD ON ONE DAMN MINUTE!! YOU SEE THIS, ASSHOLE?! Huh?! You see this book in my hands – yeah, you know, the things with words and pages? It’s the PRIME NON-WRESTLER’S Employee Manual, for all administrative staff and backstage faculty! I LOVE this fucking thing, it’s better than Tolkien! Can I share my favorite passage with you? Yeah? Page 141, Section 4, Subsection 5: "ANY acts of violence on the part of non-competitive staff and faculty employed by PRIME – that’s YOU – towards ANY contracted superstar active on the roster – that’s ME – will result in their IMMEDIATE termination, denied benefits, DENIED A FUCKING SEVERANCE PACKAGE, DENIED EVERYTHING!!!

Richard: Somehow I don’t think that last part was in the manual…

Nick: I don’t believe this.

Torres Wilson: I’ll translate to language your smoked-out brain can understand: you touch me…YOU’RE FIRED.

Nova balls his hands into fists and flicks his cigarette angrily at the self-proclaimed Pulitzer Prize of Pro Wrestling. Wilson bats it away, but embers get on his clothes.

Torres Wilson: (Grinning) Besides…

The Risen Star looks around as security is overwhelming Codemaster and DUI, bogging them down in bodies and dragging them up towards the back.

Torres Wilson: …looks to me like you’re surrounded, anyways.

Codemaster: (Struggling) DAMN YOU, GANADOS!!!

Torres Wilson: SOOOOO…now that we have that interruption out of the way, why not proceed with our regularly scheduled programming? Exposé, honey, no need to cower at ringside, the troublemakers are gone and ol’ NOVA here realizes his PLACE…don’t you, big guy?

Richard: *Sniff* I’ve gone to Heaven. Every time a stoner is humbled, an angel gets its wings.

The crowd boos as Nova glowers at Wilson. Exposé climbs back into the ring, shooting a wary glance at the Risen Star.

Torres Wilson: Everyone, you’re gonna LOVE this. Breaking developments just seem to find their way to me via some kind of journalistic MAGNETISM. Nova, buddy, sport, do you remember the year 1992?

Nova, of course, isn’t dignifying any of this with a response.

Torres Wilson: Well, I remember 1992 like it was yesterday. The Olympics were in Barcelona. The Democrats retook the White House. And APPARENTLY…that ass you tapped last week was born!

There’s a collective gasp in the arena. The color drains from Nova’s face, and he spins around as the image of him in the wreckage fades out to be replaced by what appears to be a high school photo of the woman he met last week…hair in a ponytail, mouth full of braces.

Richard: AHAHAHAHA!! This is every Christmas stuffed into a Cadbury Egg dropped in a Jack-O-Lantern delivered by a naked Playmate on Valentine’s Day! BRACES, AHAHAHAHA!! I CAN’T BREATHE! I can’t…

Torres Wilson: I guess if there’s grass on the field, play ball…

Wilson turns to Exposé, holding a picture up to her that they can’t even show on FX and then cocking an eyebrow at Nova.

Torres Wilson: Oh, wait…there isn’t even grass on the field! Now hold your gasps, everyone, don’t hyperventilate, I’m sure there’s a PERFECTLY good explanation for this!

Wilson gestures to the PRIME*View, where the high school photo fades out, to be replaced by a shot of Nova and the girl in a bar. A wad of bills are clearly identifiable in her hand, and Nova’s grin is frozen in the shot.

Torres Wilson: Oh, RIGHT! SHE’S A PROSTITUTE!!

Nova: NO! NO!!! She was trying to give ME money!! She thought…

Torres Wilson: Oh, I’m SURE, Nova. Absolutely. Are there any vices you DON’T have? Huh? Did you get a couple of your mob buddies together to play cards on her stomach? First one to get a flush gets to be the "conductor" of the train?

Security floods the ring as Nova takes another step forward. They ensconce Wilson and Exposé, forming a wall, behind which the Ultimate Insider paces with his microphone.

Torres Wilson: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cowboy! No need to go old school Geraldo here. I know why you're upset. And I think an apology is in order. Last week I invited you out here, built you up, listened to you bare your soul. Then I betrayed your trust and your privacy. I won't pretend to understand what it was like to be on cloud nine one moment, then come crashing down the next. Because of what I did, your return to PRIME became your swan song. And now this! That's why I can’t let anything else happen without some accountability. So, Nova... if you're ready... why don't you apologize to all these people for being a worthless and degenerate waste of their time and money!

Abandoning reason, Nova launches into the security barrier, who dutifully restrain him and pin him down to the mat. Torres drops to his knees, lowering his head down and speaking softly, barely loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

Torres Wilson: Now, most of these guys aren’t legit security as you may have noticed by the bulging Italian noses or scruffy Irish locks, so I won’t roast your balls this time…but DO NOT fuck with me on this, Mr. Vega, or the last thing you see on your way out of this dump will be my headlines destroying the VERY LAST of your credibility.

Wilson stands up to address the crowd.

Torres Wilson: You heard it here, folks, another skeleton exhumed by ‘Truth Personified’ Torres Wilson’s Shovel of Truth! Tune in next week as…(INSERT STUFF HERE)

Wilson drops the mic next to Nova where it picks up the sounds of his struggle, and sits calmly on the second rope as Exposé slips out of the ring. They walk arm in arm up to the back as security continues to pin the Risen Star to the mat.

Nick: I…I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a manipulative little…

Richard: …LITERARY ICON! These are character flaws in the Sordid Stoner that I’ve known about for YEARS!

How would you initially react to having a man that you know little bit utter your name to a man that you can’t even see? Would you be enraged? Curious? Scared? Frightened?

The backstage area of the Scottrade Center was on red alert for the entire evening. How come? Because of the eventual face to face meeting between Cozen and Dusk before they walked out to the ring as tag team partners. For C.P. Cantrell, part of him had to be wondering how much tequila he had before he decided to make the main event tag team match scheduled for later on in the evening.

As Dusk walks through the backstage area, glances flashing his way for fear of the destruction he could possibly cause upon the arena and it’s fans because of his uneven temper. On his mind though, he was focused on one thing, and that thing wasn’t Cozen. Instead, it’s on the Van der Wals. And imagine his surprise when he walks up to Cozen’s locker room door and sees them standing outside of it.

Dusk: We need to talk.

Andreas and Siena Van der Wals glance over at Dusk and flash them the standard Dusk look. Annoyance.

Andreas van der Wal: Ah, do we?

Siena van der Wal: We were hoping to get the night off.

Andreas van der Wal: Given that you and our girl Cozie --

Siena van der Wal: Who is somewhere around here --

Andreas van der Wal: Will be forming the best team ever.

Siena van der Wal: Give it up for the team! Up top!

The Auburn-Haired Harpy raises a hand for a high-five from the Lost Soul; beside her, the Smiling Serpent... smiles. Yes, it's redundant. BUT HE DOES IT A LOT.

Dusk: How about not?

He then steps in between Siena and Andreas, wanting to split the oddball twins up from ganging up on him. Even as he does it though, he tells himself in the back of his mind that with these two that shall never truly happen. Dusk then looks over at Andreas.

Dusk: I have a slight problem and you seem to be at the root of that problem. What problem would that be? Well, you see, last week, on national television, you were talking to someone who happened to mention my last name and that I needed to be made an example of. For me personally, I don’t like being toyed with, and the games that you’re playing are beyond transparent. So, I’m going to be nice and hopefully you’ll return in kind.

Then, Dusk takes a deep breath in and relaxes his entire body.

Dusk: Can I please know who it was that you were talking about me with?

Andreas van der Wal: Were we talking about him?

Siena van der Wal: Well. I wasn't there, but you did say the name "Maloof" while you were on the phone.

Andreas snaps his fingers, pointing past Dusk to the Harpy.

Andreas van der Wal: That's right, I did. I'm sorry, I was on the phone with Mark Cuban; we were talking about the Maloofs who own the Sacramento Kings.

Siena van der Wal: He kind of hates them.

Andreas van der Wal: But I can see how you might have gotten the wrong impression!

Siena van der Wal: Since your name is Maloof, too.

Andreas van der Wal: So I'm glad you gave us this moment to clear the air.

Dusk rolls his eyes at the van der Wals.

Dusk: Honestly, do you expect me to believe that? Especially when you say how insignificant I am and then mention how you’ve got Troy and Shakur to worry about? I don’t what games you two are getting at, but now you’re involving me into them and it’s not something I’m quite fond of. Somehow, you two got me involved in a match tonight with Cozen as my tag team partner and Gamble and Shakur staring at me from across the ring?

He looks at Andreas, turning his body to face him.

Dusk: You’ve pushed me into a corner and now I have no recourse but to strike back. I don’t know who you two are working for, but if your employer knows anything about me then they’d do well to stay away, and if you were smart, you wouldn’t put me into the corner. Got me?

Andreas van der Wal: Look, Dusk --

Siena van der Wal: -- Craig --

Andreas van der Wal: Yes, Craig. If we had some hidden agenda --

Siena van der Wal: And, let's be honest here for just one split instant, we probably do --

Andreas van der Wal: You've seen enough Hollywood cinema to know that the "bad guys"...

He makes the finger-quotes, naturally.

Siena van der Wal: Presumably, us.

Andreas van der Wal: Don't listen to the "good guy"...

Siena van der Wal: I refuse to believe that would be you.

Andreas van der Wal: And admit the nefarious schemes. If there is a plot --

Siena's smile is not mentioned enough -- unsurprising, considering her partner in douchebaggery is "The Smiling Serpent," after all. It's long and curling at this point, and she says nothing.

Andreas van der Wal: It's not about tonight. Tonight is about team. We want to defeat Devin Shakur and make a statement or something.

Siena van der Wal: Or something.

Andreas van der Wal: You want to break the record for "most times wrestling one person" with Tony Gamble.

Siena van der Wal: It's a win-win.

He glances back and forth between Andreas and Siena, growing tired of their never-ending banter. He then stares at Siena.

Dusk: You’re right, I’m not the good guy. Not in whatever nefarious plan you may or may not have, and probably not with the company you might be keeping. But, your first mistake—

He then looks over at Andreas.

Dusk: Is involving me in anything that you have planned. Whether it be a way to make an example out of me or to use me to assist you in making a statement to Devin Shakur—

Then he glances back at Siena.

Dusk: Because I don’t fit into the box very well—

Then back to Andreas.

Dusk: I don’t listen to instructions at all—

His neck whips back towards Siena.

Dusk: And I don’t like the two of you. At all.

And then back to Andreas.

Dusk: Much more than that, I hate your girl of the hour—

His eyes then flash back to Siena.

Dusk: The host with the mostest—

He then glares back at Andreas.

Dusk: The one, the only, Cozen. So, whatever you two have planned for tonight, know that I’m already prepared.

He then begins to step away from the van der Wals.

Dusk: My boy High Flyer has a shotgun ready to aim at both of your heads.

Dusk then smiles.

Dusk: And Tony Davis can give you AIDS by just looking at you.

A chuckle leaves his lips.

Dusk: And when it’s all said and done tonight, you’ll wish you never crossed my path.

Andreas and Siena, for once, say nothing -- at least until he's gone. They turn down the hallway, abandoning their post in front of Cozen's locker room (nothing bad can possibly happen because of that).

As they walk away, their conversation continues in low voices.

Siena van der Wal: A shotgun? I thought there was some thing about PRIME wrestlers not being allowed to pack heat.

Andreas van der Wal: Don't worry. Just stick to the plan.

As they turn the corner, we turn as well -- to another camera, elsewhere in the building.

The catering area of the Scottrade Center is horrendously ill-suited to satisfying the demands of an event with as many backstage lackeys as PRIME’s ReVolution broadcast. The place is bustling with a multitude of crew members and wrestlers alike, eager to fill their bellies as they slog through another action-packed night of action. Men and women siphon in and out of the crammed room as if the whole ordeal is a mechanical factory process.

In ---> Feed ---> Out.

Yeah, something like that.

A fast-moving line stretches from the room’s door right along the serving area as the catering staff pile spoonfuls of low-fat, high-energy grool onto the plates of hungry PRIMEates.

One such man is PRIME’s very own Anti-Superstar and contender for the title of Angriest Man on the Planet, Jason Natas. Looking relatively Zen by his standards (by that I mean he isn’t already setting about trying to tear an unsuspecting victim’s head off), Natas watches as one final spoonful of pasta is slapped down on his plate.

After grimacing at the sight of the wholly unappetising meal before him, Jason turns and immediately scans his eyes around the room, looking for a place to sit. He soon latches onto the one available chair in the room and makes a b-line for it, only just beating a lanky, young ring crew member to the punch. However, in his haste, Natas has failed to notice just who is sitting across from his selected chair. His face contorts into a sneer and he mouths a four letter word as the face of Jimmy Bonafide gazes up from an almost-finished plate of food.

Natas: Alright Jimbo, don’t get’cha panties in a twist.

Realising that he doesn’t really have much of a choice, Jase reluctantly sits down opposite the man with whom he has cultivated a bit of a rivalry with over the weeks previous. The PosterBoy looks incredibly fresh given his contest with Union Jack a matter of minutes ago, and is obviously taking a little bit of time to recharge his batteries.

Bonafide: Natas. Just the guy I wanted to talk to, actually.

The Anti-Superstar seems to be paying very little attention to The Drama King, as he uses his plastic fork to spear a couple of pasta twists which he then deposits in his mouth.

Bonafide: Just wanted to say, I know we had a little misunderstanding a couple of weeks ago, but that was a hell of a win over the tag team champions last week. We make a good team, you and I.

Again, Jason refuses to acknowledge Bonafide. He doesn’t even offer him a glance as he washes down another mouthful of pasta-y goodness with an icy gulp of bottled Aquafina.

Bonafide: So I was thinking, maybe we should forget all about the incident in Indianapolis a couple of weeks ago, you know? Maybe we should just bury the hatchet once and for all; it doesn’t really make sense us getting in each other’s hair week-after-week. I offer you this…

Jimmy Bonafide rises to his feet and extends a hand towards Jason.

Bonafide: Like I said, hell of a win.

The Posterboy’s physical movement is enough to finally attract Natas’ attention. Jase chews another mouthful of food down his gullet, before glancing disparagingly at the offer of a handshake.

Natas: Shit, Jim, you got the attention span of a lightning bolt or somethin’?

Bonafide furrows his brows, clearly a little bit taken aback by the Anti-Superstar’s reaction.

Natas: Didn’t I tell ya last week that I didn’t want anything to do with you outside of the confines of that one match? S’right, I did, and let me tell you this; when Jason Natas speaks to ya, you fuckin’ listen. So why don’t’cha just sit back down, Jimbo, yer stickin’ out like Dusk’s reproductive zone does every time he visits his creepy lil’ Lindsay Troy shrine.

Bonafide: C’mon, ma-

Jason interrupts his fellow New Yorker before he can get a second word in.

Natas: Nah, can it, Jimbo. You can shove your "hell of a team" crap right up your shitter for all I care, ‘cos as far as I’m concerned there’s only one guy that put VIAGRA and DUI away, and it sure as hell ain’t you. Don’t want to be hearin’ any more of your bullshit, okay? I’ve got enough to be worrying about as it is without having to look out for your bumbling, dyslexic ass every five seconds.

His offered handshake now firmly retracted, a furious scowl now blazes its way across the PosterBoy’s face. Natas, meanwhile, does his best to ignore his fellow PRIMEate by shoving another forkful down his throat.

Bonafide: You know something man? Fuck this shit! I come out here, offer you an olive branch, and what do you do?! You slap it back like the worthless fucking prick that you are!

Suddenly, Natas’ head snaps upwards. He gently pushes his chair backwards with the back of his thighs as he rises to his feet.

Natas: Easy, boy. Don’t wanna let that mouth of yours write cheques your ass can’t cash, do you?

Bonafide: Whatever, Natas. I’ve had it with your shit! There’s only one way to settle this; you and me, one-on-one, next week on ReVolution. What do you say?!

The Anti-Superstar emits a very audible snort as a wry smile creeps across the corners of his mouth.

Natas: Shit, son, what makes ya so keen to add another big fat "L" to that piss-poor shit stroll you call a record? Whatever, don’t answer that. But if you’re so keen to have your scrawny behind whipped from pillar to post, I’m game.

Bonafide: Good! Next week it is then. Read my lips, Jason, I WILL make you eat your words!

With that the satisfied PosterBoy walks away, leaving a quarter of a plate of foot behind. Jason shakes his head as he watches Bonafide leaving the room, before finally sitting back down, muttering under his breath.

Natas: S'right, Chuckles, fuck off back to the Big Top.

Bonafide, enters back in the catering area. and walks right up to Natas. He looks at him in the face and knocks his plate of food off of the table. Natas quickly gets up from the seat, and looks at Bonafide.

Natas: Heh. Can't help yerself, can ya kid?

Bonafide: Yeah, so what are you gonna do about it?

Natas chuckles.

Natas: Guess.

Natas grabs his glass of water and throws it into the face of Bonafide.

Natas: Now what are you gonna do about it?

Bonafide reaches for Natas collar as does Natas. and they begin to scufflfe for a little while until the backstage security team rushes into the catering hall.

Set-up scenes just become insulting after a while. People know better. Nova’s storming through backstage, REALLY pissed off. He’s headed in the general direction of what HE believes to be the parking lot, but in REALITY is the administrative offices and community center side entrance. No turning back now, because that would appear silly to people after seeing Raging Bull come galloping through once. Nova allows himself the indulgence of kicking a rolling cart of hors d" oeuvres because of how FREAKIN’ PISSED he feels, but as he sends it forward – the diplomatic missile of his discontent – the door down the hallway on the left swings open. The cart ricochets traitorously off the door and rolls with fury into the Risen Star’s midsection, popping up sushi balls, stuffed mushrooms, and beef satay onto his chest.
Eight minutes ago he ripped his shirt down the middle out of frustration.

Nova: AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEE!!! THE PEANUT SAUCE IS HOT!!!!

He begins batting at the goo stuck to his bare chest ("AAAAAAIIIIEEEE!! MY HANDS!!"), and it is at this most unflattering moment that the "Queen of the Ring" Lindsay Troy walks through the door, instantly surveying the situation. Without so much as a word, she pulls a piece of paper and golf pencil from the pocket of her sinfully tight jeans and makes a notation on it.

Lindsay Troy: Screams of woe and anguish....check. Huh. (Pause) Didn't even have to find Shakur for that one.

Nova rips the rest of his shirt off and wipes off his chest before discarding it. Some fanboy duck ‘n rolls across the hallway, snatching it out of the air and rolling into a sprint as other fanboys chase him down the hall, yammering incessantly and waving money overhead. Then Nova resumes his power walk, whooshing past Troy. She watches him storm past, his whooshing causing her hair to fly in front of her face, and she looks back down at the card.

Lindsay Troy: Y'know, I could have sworn I had "pissed-off shirtless hippy" on here, but maybe I gave that card to Wade instead.

Nova: Yeah? When you find it, Sharpie that motherfucker up!

He pauses, chest heaving, and lights a cigarette.

Nova: (Cocking an eyebrow) What the hell are you talking about?

Lindsay Troy: (Matter-of-factly) PRIME Backstage Bingo.

When Nova cocks his other eyebrow at her, Troy sighs as if her answer was more than adequate.

Lindsay Troy: Being a good girl while waiting for Craiggles to settle his score with the Crazy is sooooooooooooo hard, so I needed something to occupy myself. Wade and I are playing. Although, I don't think he's really playing, since it's not Boozin' Bingo.

She waves the card in his line of sight.

Lindsay Troy: But maybe you want to play? (Mischievous smile) The cards are in my back pocket.

Nova: Any other time. SERIOUSLY. But right now I have to find Torres Wilson so I can take his employment manual, rip out the pages one by one, make them into paper airplanes, and shove EACH OF THEM up his ass!

Lindsay Troy: I saw that. You’d think it would work the other way around, right? Ya know, because we’re the dangerous sociopaths.

Nova: Okay, you saw it. Let me just take this opportunity to clarify three things: First, you make a great point, I don’t understand that either; Second, she was NOT sixteen…FUCK THAT; Third, I did NOT offer her money, she offered ME money ‘cuz I looked like sh-

The Queen of the Ring takes a step forward, putting a finger over the Risen Star’s lips.

Lindsay Troy: I believe you. Really. But you can’t go after Wilson, as much as you want to rip him limb from scandalous limb. You know that.

Nova: I DON’T KNOW SHIT. If I move fast, he can leave the arena in an ambulance instead of a limousine, heard me? Got any weapons? (Cuts the air with jabs) You’re right, not important, we’ll do this one the old-fashioned way. Catch you la-WHOOOOOOAAAA!!

As he moves to continue jogging down the hallway, Lindz hooks him under his arm and swings him around, slamming him against the door. She leans in close. All smellin’ like lavender.

Lindsay Troy: (hissing) Now you listen to me. You made me a promise, Caesar Vega. "Hey, I’m here now, I GOT THIS," I believe was what you said. "No reason to worry, Lindz, I got my eye on Charles Parker Cantrell!" You said I focus on issues of more pressing importance, Nova, and now I’m doing that...the clever guise of Backstage Bingo aside. So now you have to do what you promised you’d do. You have the best seat in the house to watch Cantrell, and you’re about to throw it all away over some punk making your blood boil.

Nova is attempting to work his still-lit cigarette around Troy’s arm and into his mouth.

Lindsay Troy: So now you need to take a deep breath, suck it up, and start thinking about the resources you DO have.

She laughs, but it's devoid of cheerfulness. Instead, it's rather cunning, like Troy's been in this position before, moving chess pieces quietly into place.

Lindsay Troy: You’re a member of the Executive Council, you stoner. You need to approach that in two ways: in terms of how you CAN get at Wilson without violating the Employee Policy; and in terms of how to best use that newfound influence on the Council, because you and I both know that CP is gonna try to limit the Council’s workings with you on board. You guys having a meeting tonight?

Nova: *Lightbulb* No, actually.

Lindsay Troy: (Smirking) Food for thought. So promise me again, Caesar: no violence. No spur of the moment decisions that will put your job in jeopardy – I can’t believe I have to make you promise that, by the way. (Shaking her head) The men I surround myself with. I’m getting a shiver thinking about what you would’ve done if I hadn’t walked through the door just now.

The Risen Star grins, scoping out the wayward hors d’oeuvres cart.

Nova: Probably would’ve stopped for some of that beef satay.

Troy shoves him away, and his mischievous grin returns.

Nova: (Eyes wandering) Do I still have an invite to Backstage Bingo?

Lindsay Troy: Get the hell out of here, Caes.

Nova shrugs and begins walking away down the hall, whistling Pat Benatar’s "One Way or Another."

With a Mountain Dew in hand and a match on the horizon, Kaiser Vashaun is looking for ten minutes to relax before heading down to the squared-circle to take on Champ Chamberlain. But, as he arrives back at his locker room from his trip to the vending machines, the scene he finds seems to indicate relaxation isn’t in Kaiser’s immediate plans. A small disaster awaits him instead.

The door to his locker room seems to be broken along one of the hinges, and a large dent is present in its surface right around the spot where…say… an angrily planted boot might land. Inside the room, a couple of folding chairs have been knocked over, laying awkwardly on the ground. A water bottle that had been sitting on a bench now lays on its side, still dripping the last of its contents into an ever-growing puddle on the floor.

Kaiser: Guess someone was looking for me.

Standing off to the side, coiling some cable around his arm, a PRIME backstage crew member overhears Vashaun’s comment and decides, despite his lack of stature in the company, to speak up. What the hell… if nothing else, he’ll get himself on TV.

Crew Member: Yeah, uh… Troy Douglas came through here a couple minutes ago. He didn’t seem real happy.

Kaiser: Imagine that. Judging by the remnants of my door, I guess he was showing some of that "intense" nature of his.

Crew Member: All I know is that he was definitely looking for you.

Kaiser: Ya know, I think I may have really pissed this guy off. Tell a man he’s not legit, and it turns out he gets angry. Guess the truth hurts.

Crew Member: He’s a champ. I think that probably says he’s legit.

The Next in Line takes a couple of menacing steps towards the crew member, backing the guy up against the wall. Staring him face to face, Vashaun chooses his words carefully.

Kaiser: Well, call me Jay Mariotti, but he needs to prove to me that he’s not a fraud. Right now, he’s got a title belt that I consider mine, and until he beats me in the center of a ring, I’m not gonna hesitate to question anything.

Crew Member: Shame on you!

Kaiser: I…

The PRIME newcomer just shakes his head, not bothering to finish the thought. Turning back to his locker room, Kaiser grabs the door by its edges and pulls. A pop and snap can be heard. Giving the door a second tug, he pulls it clean off, breaking the couple remaining hinges. Holding the door in his hands, Kaiser looks over its surface, smiling as his eyes lock on the large dent in its surface.

Kaiser: Well, I think I need to pay a visit to a very important person. Mr. Douglas, it seems, has officially snapped.

Crew Member: What the hell are you doing with that?

Kaiser turns and heads down the hallway, door in hand.

Kaiser: Taking it with me. As evidence.

Rolo knocks on the locker room door. After a few seconds, the door opens, revealing "The New Life" Jonathan Rhine. His face is bandaged due to the now infamous attack at the hands of Xavier Kannon at the end of ReVolution the previous week.

Rhine stands there, looking a bit stunned to see the PRIME legend standing in his doorway. Rolo breaks the now short, but awkward silence and puts out his hand for Rhine to shake.

Rolo: You know who I am, right?

The New Life obliges and shakes The Specialist's hand without much hesitation.

Rhine: Sir, I don't want to meet someone who doesn't know who you are.

Rolo: Had to ask... apparently there are some newcomers around here with their heads up their asses.... like Champ CHamberlain, for example. How's that face?

Rhine grumbles in response. It's sort of funny seeing the two interact, since Rolo is old enough to be Rhine's father. Well, that is if he was fornicating at fifteen. So if he were Joey Troy, then yeah, he'd be old enough to be Jonathan Rhine's father.

Rolo: I'll cut right to the chase. What that prick, Xavier Kannon, did to you last week... that shit ain't right. I never liked him. I mean, you know the fucking guy is a douchebag extraordinaire when he has a Communications Advisor.

Rhine: Or when he gouges out eyeballs, yeah.

Rolo: Yeah, well, that too obviously. I don't normally do this kinda thing, but I'm just here to let you know that if you ever needed me for anything in regards to Kannon, just let me know.

Rhine sighs, then sits down, looking down at his feet and keeping his bandaged eye away from view.

Rhine: I really appreciate it, Mr. Rolo. And I have to say, if I wanted anyone to support me in my fight, it would definitely be someone like you. But I...

He shrugs.

Rhine: I just don't want to bring anyone else into it. Not that I don't think you can handle yourself, I know you easily can...it's just that this is my battle. I was the one who got his ire. I'm the one who has to expunge it. And this match tonight is going to be the start of that.

Rolo: Fair enough. But in case you change your mind, the offer stands. Good luck tonight.

Rhine: Thanks, Tony. And I...

Rhine looks up and offers his first real smile of the night.

Rhine: I'll keep the door open.

And as quickly as he came, Rolo leaves Rhine to concentrate on his match later that evening

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please. The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall...

Lights fade down.

‘Over and Under’ by Egypt Central begins to play into the arena as a bright spotlight flashes on and shines at the center of the stage.

I know you'll be there
To see the tables turning
Wake up tomorrow
And watch the bridges burning

As those lyrics prompt those in the arena to boo, Champ appears through the curtains and stands, in the spotlight, throwing his had back and his arms out, palms toward the sky, to pose in the glory of the light.

Vince Howard: Introducing first...hailing from New York City, New York and weighing in at 230 lbs...he is the 'Center of Attention'....CHAMP CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBERLAIN!!!!!

Richard: This is going to be a doozy, Nick. Two studs going at it! These bad-to-the-bone heels are going to show those sissy-fied faces how to get 'er done!

Nick: Breaking kayfabe, Richard.

Richard: Kayfabe is for Gaybabe's. HAHAHA!!! Get it? Kay Fabe. Gay Babe.

Nick: Where's that .22 Pistol?

(Pre-chorus)
I can see
I can see it in your eyes
I can feel
I can feel it in my mind
I don't care
I don't care if you realize
What you see
What you see in my eyes

(Chorus)
I'm over me being under you
I'm breaking free I'm breaking through
I've overcome all I'm underneath

As the chorus of the song starts playing Champ finally throws his head forward and begins to make his arrogant strut toward the ring. Along the way he slaps hands with unsuspecting fans, whom are generally trying to hit him or give him the bird, as if they are actually cheering him. Once at ringside Champ climbs the steps and walks along the apron before turning to pose toward the fans, again, while standing on the apron.

Remember when we
First had the thought of living
A perfect picture
But I did all the giving
Gave up my passions
To try to make you happy
The joke is over
And I'll do all the laughing

Richard: What a stud, that Chamberlain is.

As the song begins fading out Champ finally stops posing and steps between the ropes to get ready for action.

Vince Howard: And his opponent...

The lights in the arena go out, casting the building in complete darkness. Then the PRIMEview comes to life, a black and white image of a raging fire acting as the only light. As the sounds of "Jackson, Mississippi" begin to play, the fire on the screen slowly starts to gain color, till burning an intense orangeish hue. When the heavy beat to the music kicks in, the PRIMEview is taken over by the black&white "KV" angel wing image, and Kaiser Vashaun emerges from the back, a white glowing spotlight highlighting his arrival.

Vince Howard: Hailing out of Jackson, Mississippi and weighing in at 262 lbs...he is 'The Next in Line'....KAIIIISSSSSEEERRR VAAAAAAAAAAASHAUN!!!

Richard: Speaking of studs...

Nick: Speaking of butt-kissers.

Richard: No one was speaking of your Mother, Nick. You're hearing things again.

While making his way to the ring, the only light comes from the PRIMEview and the spotlight, which itself, blinks on and off, and fires from different locations in the arena. The result is an alternating image of compete darkness with that of Kaiser's journey occasionally being lit from above.

The spotlight captures every second or third step he takes, giving Kaiser the appearance of moving without being seen.

Nick: This should be interesting. The fans aren't taking kindly to neither competitor.

Richard: Well if the fans don't like them, then they're okay in my book. These people wouldn't know talent if it slapped them on the left butt-cheek and called them Rosie.

Kaiser enters the ring, prepping himself in the corner to do battle with his foe.

Nick: Both men are set, and now it's time to do battle! This should be a good one!

Neither man receives very much in terms of appreciation from the fans, but that doesn't stop them from jaw-jacking at one another. Face to face, they let each other have it before finally deciding that a test of strength would be the most fitting way to settle this mini-war of pride. Both men lift their hands and interlock, using their strength to overpower the other. The considerably larger Vashaun, however, comes out victorious by forcefully pushing Chamberlain down to the mat. Never one to be outdone, Chamberlain immediately pops back up to his feet and heads in for round two, only to receive the same result! He begins to yell obscenities as he once again pushes himself back to his feet, this time brushing past Vashaun in order to argue with the referee. However, the sly devil manages to swiftly poke Vashaun in the eye while brushing past him, unbeknown to the official.

Nick: Chamberlain is quite the sly devil! He made it seem as if he was headed for the referee and while doing so, caught Vashaun in the eye with an illegal eye poke.

Richard: What are you blabbing about, Nick? That's brilliance, son!

The argument lasts all of two seconds before Chamberlain returns to his now weakened foe, delivering a round of overly-exaggerate chops and equally outrageous kicks. Having backed his opponent into the corner of the ring, Chamberlain begins to parade around in a boastful manner, thus taking his focus away from the recovering Vashaun. With his thirst for Showmanship having been quenched, he turned back towards his opponent only to have Vashaun explode out of the corner with a clothesline so powerful that it causes Chamberlain to bounce back to his feet immediately upon hitting the mat. As he reaches his feet, Vashaun delivers another clothesline, and another, and another, and even another that finally sends Chamberlain scrawling unto the outside of the ring, wailing as if a 50 foot monster was on his trail.

Nick: That Champ Chamberlain is quite the character, and he's receiving quite the beatdown early on this contest!

Richard: Don't judge the man, Nick! Those were some ferocious clotheslines!

With Chamberlain resting on the ring barricade, Vashaun decides to go against the referee's orders and follow the challenger unto the outside. He grabs a chunk full of Chamberlain's hair, slinging the charismatic one face first into the steel ring post! Chamberlain bounces off in a dazed, drunken manner only to be Irish whipped up and over the barricade and into the fans area! Realizing that the aggressive Vashaun quickly approaching, Chamberlain begins to beg frantically while laying on his back. Vashaun isn't having it, however, and proceeds to stand tall over the fearful opposer. This proves to be a mistake, however, as Chamberlain quickly shoots his right leg up, catching Vashaun square in the balls.

Nick: And yet AGAIN, Chamberlain has reverted to blatant cheating!

Richard: Strategy, Nicholas, STRATEGY! Am I going to have to beat that revelation into your skull!?!

With Vashaun kneeled over in pain, Chamberlain shoots up with a thunderous European Uppercut that rocks the 6'5 Vashuan, thus sending him back over the barricade and unto the arena floor. Before retreating back to ringside himself, Chamberlain takes a moment to mingle with the fans, beckoning them to marvel at his perfect physique and overall presence among them. "It's unlikely that you'll ever receive such a grand opportunity again!" he shouts.

Richard: Tell em, Champ! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!

Nick: Couldn't convince ME of that.

Richard: Ah, shut up, Nick! You're employed here...you get the privilege of marveling at Champ's excellence every day. Don't spoil these people's moment! Just so Selfish!

Finally having his made way back to ringside, Chamberlain delivers a few stomps and kicks before sliding his opponent, Vashaun back inside of the ring, immediately clamping on a side headlock that keeps Vashaun grounded. As the referee begins to check for the tap, Chamberlain begins to yell at him, telling the referee to look at him instead.

Nick: Are you serious? Are you truly serious? The guy doesn't even want the referee to look at anyone but him!

Richard: Why would the referee want to look at anyone BUT Champ?

Nick: Hmm, I don't know...maybe to do his JOB!?!

Chamberlain engages in a few taunts while keeping the hold applied, but with each taunt, his grip loosens, causing Vashaun to fight back to his feet with the hold still applied, albeit loosely. Once on his feet, Vashaun manages to push Chamberlain off into the ropes, taking him down on the rebound with a powerful shoulder tackle. Putting on his best academy performance, Chamberlain begins to act as if the maneuver nearly broke his shoulder! Vashaun, however, isn't impressed and definitely not remorseful as he yanks Champ back to his feet, whipping him into the ropes. On the rebound, Kaiser Vashaun connects with a powerful overhead Belly to Belly Suplex!

Richard: What a move! This Kaiser Vashaun is a ferocious beast!

Nick: Oh, so he's your sugar daddy, now?

Richard: Sugar da-...Nicholas!

If the suplex wasn't enough, the powerful jumping elbow drop sure was. Vashaun made the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-....KICKOUT!!

"Help, Help!" Chamberlain began to scream, blatantly overselling the pain as Vashaun lifted him back to his feet once more, this time whipping into the corner of the ring with so much intensity that it causes Chamberlain to literally bounce forward, right into a running STO! Vashaun doesn't waste time but instead yanks Chamberlain back to his feet, delivering a few right hands before whipping the challenger into the corner of the ring once again. This time, however, the overly-dramatic Chamberlain flips back first over the turnbuckle ala Ric Flair, landing in a vertical position on the ring apron. With his opponent walking the apron, Vashaun charges, looking to clothesline him, but Champ ducks the attack and instead proceeds to the top turnbuckle where he leaps off with what looks to be a forearm smash, but Vashaun reverses in mid air with a spinebuster, moving one hand unto Champ's chest in order to drive him down to the mat with great force!

Nick: My goodness, what a counter! This has GOT to be it!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRE-KICKOUT!!

Richard: At the last feasible second! Champ Chamberlain is still in this thing, folks!

Slapping the mat in anger, Vashaun pushes himself back to his feet, bringing Chamberlain up along with him. That proves to be a mistake, however, as Chamberlain manages to sneak in a chop to the throat of Vashaun, causing Kaiser to crash to the mat, gasping for air.

Nick: Did you see that? Did...you..see...THAT! What a cheap and dirty shot by that piece of s-..

Richard: Nicholas! Watch your mouth!

Nick: He's a rotten cheater and that was way below the belt!

Richard: Are you blind? He hit his neck! That's not even below the chest!

With Vashaun on all fours, coughing and spitting, Chamberlain bounces off of the ropes and delivers a jumping knee drop to the lower back of his opponent. Instead of lifting his weight, he keeps the knee planted into the back of Vashaun, pulling back on Kaiser's neck in the process!

Nick: Ah man, he's stretching that lower back and placing some immense pressure! Could he be setting him up for that dastardly finisher, The Champ Stamp?

Richard: No, duh.

With the damage done, Chamberlain pushes himself back to his feet, delivering a few stomps to the back for good measure before throwing his arms in the air as a taunt unto the crowd.

Richard: You've got to love the guy, Nicholas!

Champ begins to signal that it's over as he reaches down and yanks up Vashaun, whipping him into the opposite ropes. Chamberlain looks for a spinning heel kick on the rebound, but Vashaun catches him in mid-air before bringing him down with a leaping back-breaker!

Instead of immediately going for the pin, Vashaun instead lifts Chamberlain up once more, delivering a kick to the midsection before placing him in powerbomb position. He underhooks the arms and braces himself to take Chamberlain for a ride.

Richard: Could it be?

Nick: I think it could. Vashaun's going for The Greatest Trick!

Before Vashaun can fully lift Chamberlain, however, the opposer begins to muscle out of the double underhook until, eventually, he's fully escaped, allowing him to catch Vashaun by the legs and take him down to the mat. With Vashaun flat on his back and his legs under the pits of Chamberlain, Champ decides to shift his weight backwards in order to send Vashaun sling-shotting into the ring ropes. Vashaun connects with the ropes chest first thus allowing him to stumble backwards a bit right into the hands of the now vertical Chamberlain who attempts to connect with his finishing move, The Champ Stamp (Backstabber)!

...BUT...

Vashaun manages to hold on to the ropes, leaving Chamberlain to crash to the mat solo!

Nick: He countered the Champ Stamp!!

Richard: Is that legal!?!

Chamberlain seeks to make the most out of his missed opportunity, however, as he rolls over to his stomach in order that the referee may be oblivious to his slipping on a pair of brass knuckles!

Nick: He just put on a pair of Brass Knuckles!

Richard: What are you talking about, Nicholas? I didn't see a thing!

Nick: I just saw the illegal object he p-...

Richard: Nick, stop false advertising on air before you get us BOTH fired!

As Vashaun approaches his downed opponent unknowingly, he manages to lift Chamberlain to his feet. Immediately upon reaching a vertical base, however, Chamberlain takes a wild swing with the brass-covered fist...but Vashaun ducks and instead catches a now off-guard Chamberlain in a quick small package!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Vashaun did it!! Kaiser Vashaun just used Champ Chamberlain's own cheating ways against him!

Richard: Yes, baby! What a stud that Kaiser Vashaun is!

Nick: You just can't decide WHO you want to cheer for, can you?

Richard: They're both bad guys, so they both get my nod, Nicholas. Bad Guys finish first, don't you know?

Vince Howard: The Winner of This Contest.....KAAAAAIIIISSSSSEEEEERR VAAAASHHHAAAUUUNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: A hard fought victory in a very, VERY close match here. Back and forth in it's purest forms.

Richard: Two fine athletes, Nick. Two very fine athletes.

Nick: Fine athletes my bunion. Two fine cheats, I'd say!

Richard: Nick, you freak! No one wants to hear about your crusty buns on National Television.

Nick: Whatever. Nonetheless, we still have a night full of action ahead of us, fans, so don't you go anywhere! ReVolution is on the airwaves, and it's steaming HOT!

Richard: How long did it take for you to come up with that one?

"What are you gonna do when you go out there?"

"BRING THE FIVE-STAR TITLE TO THE SIDE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!"

The boisterous cries from Captain Justice and Son-MISTER SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON OF PRIME-ny Silver thunder through the halls. In only a little bit, the Americanimal was set to take part in the first-of-its-kind 5-Star Gauntlet, taking on Tyler Rayne, along with a host of very capable and talented superstars.

Silver: What do we want?

Captain Justice: PEACE AND TRANQUILITY FOR ALL MANKIND!

Silver: … I WAS looking for hookers and respectably-priced booze, but we’ll settle for peace… (mutters) I guess…

As the two tap fists and march down the halls toward what will most certainly be an epic battle later tonight, they don’t get very far…

Beef: HELLO!

Silver: Son of a *bitch*.

Standing in front of Sonny Silver and Captain Justice are the camera crew and former superheroes known only to the world as Mega Job: The Epic Tag Team. El Janito's microphone is already being poked into the face of Sonny Silver.

El Janito: We meet again, Mr. Silver... Chairman of PRIME!

Beef: (totally not whispering) Psst. He's the SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON OF PRIME now.

El Janito: Really?

Beef: (still totally not whispering) Psst. Well, I thought he was Sonny Silver, CHAMPION OF ALL THINGS CUDDLING, but I was corrected by Steve a bit ago.

El Janito: But... Steve can only say one word at a time.

Steve: WORD.

Beef: He projected it with his aura of awesome.

El Janito: Oooookay.

Silver: Fucking, sodding, bleeding, pissing hell! What the fuck are YOU two doing here? ...Steve, my negro. How it be?

Captain Justice merely glares at the midget that Silver daps fists with and growls underneath his breath like an attack dog ready to strike.

Silver: What’s up with you?

In a total Family Guy moment, The Americanimal points a finger at Steve and evilly sneers in his direction.

Captain Justice: You… you mischevious munchkin… what are YOU doing here?

Silver: Wait, what’s wrong with Steve?

Captain Justice: Ahem… Steve the Rambling COMMUNIST?! Go back to your cesspool of a country, pinko!

Steve steps forward, winding up his arm. In his long and illustrious career, he has delivered 4,999 Clotheslines From Shanghai. More than any other midget from China on the planet. He's just one more to deliver before he hit 5,000. However, Sonny quickly sees what's about to happen and quickly steps forward.

Silver: WHOA. Hold on.

Captain Justice merely eyes the midget and glares with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Captain Justice: Pray that your eventual demise will be a slow one, dwarf.

Silver: Hey, hey, hey! There will be NO violence against Steve as he gets the sole responsibility of filming my unholy badassness. Am I understood?

Sneering, CJ merely glares.

Captain Justice: Aye, sir.

Silver jerks a thumb towards El Janito.

Silver: However, the filthy immigrant is target practice, stealing jobs from the hard-working Americans. Once our business concludes, turn his spine into funny balloon animal shapes.

Staring a hole through a frightened El Janito, The Heroic Hoss brightens up.

Captain Justice: Aye, sir!

El Janito looks at Justice, then he looks at Beef.

El Janito: Take over for me?

Beef: Hell. No.

El Janito looks off-camera, behind Captain Justice and Sonny Silver, towards the band of Enemigos manning some of the extra cameras that C.P. Cantrell hired. He looks in particular at Enemigo XXXVI.

El Janito: Hey! 36! Take my place?

Enemigo XXXVI: Iie.

El Janito: You're speaking JAPANESE at me?

Enemigo XXXVI: Hai.

El Janito: ...Loan me your pole.

This request, Enemigo can apparently comply to. He walks over and hands Janito the same microphone pole Janito used to interview the Princes of New England last week. Janito then walks some distance away from Justice and then pokes the microphone towards him.

El Janito: Hello, I'm standing... some distance away... with Captain Justice! A pleasure to be with you this week, sir.

Captain Justice: Yes, it IS your pleasure to be standing in front of the greatest hero American's ever seen. Like the great, great man watching the gate in that one movie, you may ask me any three questions. After that, I suggest you run for your life because unlike the INS, sir, my vengeance will be swift and merciless.

El Janito: ...Wouldn't you think that you'd risk breaking your fists pounding my face in?

Captain Justice: No. And that's your first question.

El Janito: Dammit!

Beef: Oh, come on, that was a rhetorical question, let him have that one as a freebie.

Silver: No. Time is money, Mega Job, and right now, you're wasting both... well, technically, per your contracts, you're wasting waffles... but my edict stands.

Captain Justice: Aye, question number two, muchacho. Spill it.

Beef: You know, Mr. Silver, you promised to help us renegotiate our contracts...

Silver: *grumbling* Fine. But the next question better be GOOD or you'll be paid in TOFU for the rest of your lives!

El Janito: Okay. Okay. So, um... let's see if I can word this in a way that it comes off as only one question... okay.

El Janito clears his throat.

El Janito: Obviously, you know about Colossus. But do you, as an American hero, look forward to it as everyone else?

Captain Justice stares at El Janito before he closes his eyes and thinks about it. Finally, he responds.

Captain Justice: Of course I do. I, as an American hero, must stand gloriously on the biggest stage of them all. Representing the might and glory of the American dream, I will TRANSCEND the very foundations of what makes a man into an American Hero. I will take being an American Hero to such heights that I can no longer consider Superman to also be an American Hero. I will become... a SUPERAMERICAN. And nothing will stop me, not even Tyler Rayne and his... filth.

Pause.

Captain Justice: You have one question left.

El Janito: Okay. Beef, I know you wrote down the last question. Hand it over.

Beef hands El Janito a card, and then slowly backs away from Janito. Janito doesn't notice that, though, and he proceeds to look at Captain Justice for a brief moment of time before he asks the question presented on the card.

El Janito: Head?

...

El Janito: Dammit, Beef! Why do you keep doing this to me!? That's not a question! That's just "Head" with a question mark written after it!

Beef can be heard giggling from the other side of the hall. Janito turns to see Captain Justice start to walk forward.

El Janito: Uh. Surely, you didn't think that was the third question, did you?

Captain Justice: I did indeed.

El Janito: Help me, Sonny?

Mr. Silver: That's Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liason To PRIME to you, pal.

El Janito: Umm... BYE!

And El Janito disappears in a cloud of dust, carrying Steve with him even though Steve could've taken both of them on by himself. This leaves Mr. Silver and Captain Justice by themselves.

Mr. Silver: Cap?

Captain Justice: Yes, sir?

Mr. Silver: On a night where you're not ready to rid the American people of the filth of Tyler Rayne, Simply Beautiful, and especially Logic... hunt them down and horribly beat them red, white, black, and blue.

Captain Justice: Aye, sir.

Cue: PRIME flagged logo, waving in the background. A single podium rests on a stage. It is only a mere moment before High Flyer makes his way up to the microphone. Flyer taps it twice. And clears his throat.

High Flyer: Today, I come here, to ask for silence. And I know that will be hard coming from a man who rambles at a mile a minute… but… George Carlin is dead. And for that, I will shut my trap.

Moments pass. Ten at least. In the arena, ten ring bells sound out, as the crowd murmurs.

High Flyer: So. That is all. Sorry it took so long Carls. And I’m utmostly sorry we haven’t been able to hang. But, be thankful. Shit is now allowed on tv. And judging by the rest of this show, so’s the word fuck. So, THANK YOU GEORGE! Thank you for giving it to the FCC. Bunch of cunt cock sucking motherfuckers. PISS OFF FCC! PISS OFF YOU TITS!

Flyer looks from side to side, as he notices CP Cantrell staring at him, off screen.

High Flyer: Oh, so, now I’m about to be yelled at by our esteemed reality show host. So… ON WITH THE SHOW!

"Pineapple?! Sweet!"

The oh-so-familiar sound of Bryan Dawkins’ voice echoes through the backstage area as he finds PRIME’s backstage refreshment spread for ReVolution 164, complete with a fruit plate INCLUDING PINEAPPLES! The Hawaiian couldn’t be happier. He grabs a couple chunks of the tropical fruit and continues along his way.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian starts to nibble on the fruit as he approaches his dressing room, complete with the "Flyin’ Hawaiian Bryan Dawkins" nameplate. He approaches interviewer Matt Mills, who starts to alter his course of travel to intersect with Dawkins.

Mills: Bryan! Could I have a word with PRIME’s favorite Hawaiian?

Dawkins sighs and continues walking.

Dawkins: (looking back) Brooks got me earlier, Matt. Maybe another time…

Mills shrugs and continues along the hallway as Dawkins arrives at the door of his dressing room. He opens the door and flips on the light…

There’s a flash of movement as the lights come on. Dawkins throws his hands up in a defensive posture, ready to take on his attacker. The look in his eyes is complete confusion, though, and when the camera pans around, we see why.

Chandler Tsonda: Evening, sweetness.

Sitting comfortably in a steel chair, the Number One Contender merely looks up at Dawkins. His glance is razor-sharp, looking right through the Flyin’ Hawaiian.

Dawkins: (hesitating) Uh, hey bruh. What’s the deal?

Dawkins looks at the Viet Viper, puzzled, and closes the door behind him.

Tsonda doesn’t budge.

Chandler Tsonda: If I was Union Jack, you’d be on the floor bloodied. If I was Xavier Kannon, they’d be fitting you for an eye patch. And if I was me, but less warm and gushy, I’d have just kicked your head off your shoulders.

Dawkins, now seemingly a bit frightened, begins to back towards the door he just entered through.

Dawkins: Well, I’ve still got my head on top of my shoulders, so what’s goin’ on? Tryin’ to play head games? You’re Chandler Tsonda. I’m Bryan Dawkins. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a need for this kinda stuff, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: Kid, you need to buy what I’m sellin’. You’re a target. Just because Cantrell hands you this locker room and tells you that you can put your glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling doesn’t make it a safe haven.

The Model Citizen shoots a glance up to the ceiling, but Dawkins doesn’t follow suit. The youngster’s not laughing, either.

Chandler Tsonda: Jack gave you a grade-A beatdown two weeks ago. You think that Limey fuck wouldn’t post up in this locker room just to make sure you got the message?

Dawkins opens his mouth, but the words just won’t come out. He’s, simply put, speechless. The Flyin’ Hawaiian just stares blankly at the Number One Contender.

Chandler Tsonda: And did you watch that highway robbery last week? Gamble stole a win from me because he holds a grudge. A grudge over shit that was supposed to be quashed as of UltraViolence. Say, wasn’t there some street thug chasing you around a couple weeks ago? Maybe that callous motherfucker Natas wants to say "hi" with a lead pipe.

The Model Citizen lets out a deep sigh, looking right into Dawkins’s eyes.

Chandler Tsonda: I’m not trying to play bad cop, kid. But if you want to make it out of this fucked up hoedown alive, you gotta learn that these people are not to be trusted. Not to be given the benefit of the doubt. This was…just another heads-up.

Dawkins peers at Tsonda with a look of uncertainty and sighs.

Dawkins: Well, thanks bruh? Oh, by the way…do you really wanna do this later tonight? Can’t I like…prove my mettle, so-to-say, in some other fashion?

Dawkins laughs hesitantly, but the laughter slowly fades away. The Model Citizen looks Dawkins square in the eye.

Chandler Tsonda: See you in the ring.

With that, the Number One Contender pushes past Dawkins and leaves the Flyin’ Hawaiian to his own devices.

As the rain continues to come down, both men close their eyes in pained looks of exhaustion and frustration, but neither has any intentions of giving up. Tchu wipes his hands down his face, pushing the drops of rain from his vision. Killean has to shove back his soaked hair, smearing it with the blood from his busted brow as he does so.

Nick: What a memorable encounter these men are giving us hear tonight.

Richard: Did you expect anything less?

Nick: I had high expectation, but I can’t see how anyone could have foreseen this sort of sheer intensity and refusal to lose.

The champion attempts a standing suplex, but Tchu slips over his shoulder and attempts a short clothesline, but Sirrajin ducks under and steps behind his challenger. Waiting for The Anti-PRIME to turn, Killean is ready and hoists Tchu up, slamming him down with an ungodly spinebuster.

Nick: Spinebuster… he calls it The Arrow!

The logical pinfall attempt follows.

ONE…


TWO…


THR…

It still isn’t enough. Tchu fires his shoulder off of the mat, prolonging the battle. Killean wastes no time in scrapping Tchu off the canvas and picking him up. The Inhuman Being tries to fire off another stiff right jab, but its useless and Sirrajin just uses the momentum to once again drop Tchu with

Richard: Deus Ex Impact! For the second time.

Killean crawls towards the carcass of The Anti-PRIME and drapes an arm across his opponent. Roberts is right there and slides into position for the count.

ONE…


TWO…


THREE

Nick: No! He kicked out again! He kicked out again! This man will not stay down!

Richard: That’s impossible! That’s the second time he’s kicked out of The Deus Ex Impact! There’s no way.

At this point, Killean is at a loss. He racks his mind for what he can possibly pull from his arsenal that hasn’t already failed to get the job done. With a sigh, he trudges to his feet, bringing Tchu with him, and begins to work his nemesis back towards the corner with punch after punch to the ribs.

Once to the turnbuckle, The Supreme Machine hoists Tchu up and sets him on the top turnbuckle, then begins to climb after him.

Nick: What the hell is he doing now?

Richard: Looking to finally bring an end to things would be my guess.

Nick: Those turnbuckles have got to be slick with all this rain. These two men better be careful.

Richard: Or what? They’ll get hurt? Both of them are already practically dead!

Atop the turnbuckles, both men stand on their feet, Killean attempts a top rope superplex, but Tchu slams a fist into the stomach, then another and finally a third. The last shot sends Killean crashing downward. Sirrajin quickly shakes off the landing, and gets to his feet, just as Tchu is coming down with an axe handle smash. The PRIME Choice takes a small step to the side and slams his right fist into the torso of Tchu.

Nick: Two reversals in a row! Both men trying to make something… anything happen!

The champion pushes Tchu into the ropes and catches his adversary as he rebounds scooping him up and twisting him with a tilt-a-whirl

Nick: Wait a min…

In the middle of the crazy spin, Tchu slips back over Killean’s shoulder and locks in a sleeper hold, then drops down in one fluid motion.

Nick: There it is! The Downfall! And the crowd has erupted!

But Tchu doesn’t go for the cover. He never even releases his grip on Sirrajin’s head. With an arm still locked around his head and under his chin, Tchu uses every last bit of strength in his body to climb back to his feet, dragging Killean with him. Once both are finally returned to the vertical position, Tchu snaps right back down to the mat, putting Killean’s skull right back through the canvas. A small splash fans out from a puddle under Sirrajin’s head and Roberts slips into position to count the champions downfall.

ONE…


TWO…


THREE!

Nick: He did it! He did it! Tchu has captured the Universal title!

Richard: Noooo!

Winner: Tchu

The fans explode into cheers, thundering their voices into the black, pouring sky.

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen… the winner of the match.. and NEW Universal Champion… Tchuuuuuuuu!

Nick: He hit two Downfalls in a row, never releasing the hold… and it was finally enough to put Killean down and pick up the victory. But now he can stand triumphantly over his adversary!

Bernie Roberts heads over to the ropes and grabs the Universal Championship belt from the time keeper, then heads over to the two men lying in the middle of the ring, in a puddle of blood and sweat and rain.

Nick: What an unbelievable encounter this was tonight!

Richard: I can’t believe he did it. I can’t believe he pinned The PRIME Choice.

Tchu rises to his knees as the fans continue to cheer and Roberts hands him the Universal title he has fought and craved to regain for the past eight months. He stares at the title, holding it across his forearms, the blood dripping onto its gold surface.

Nick: Ladies and Gentlemen, we will see you in ten days for ReVolution 104 and the start to the reign of a new champion! Colossus III… what an amazing, unforgettable evening its been! Goodnight everybody. We’ll see you next Wednesday!

Tchu rises to his feet. As the PRIME copyright logo appears in the corner of the screen, The Inhuman Being hoists the title above his headwith both hands, raising the volume of the cheers from the hundred thousand fans. The title shines under the lights of the stadium, and as the rain falls, washing the blood from his face, cleansing his body, the screen fades to black.

Richard: So I said, "I’m not Mexican either!"

Nick: As awkward a story as it was repulsive. Well-played.

WOO HOO!

"Song 2" by Blur hits the PA, just as the PRIME*View becomes streaked with orange and aqua lightning. Bryan Dawkins emerges from behind the curtain, receiving a friendly ovation from the crowd.

Nick: Dawkins is developing a good following among the fans. Last week, he proved why, when he told Tsonda that pleasing the fans is what he values above all else.

Richard: That’s either a load of crap or pathetic. From Dawkins’ general level of suck, I’d go with the latter.

Nick: He beat Natas at UltraViolence. No small task there.

Responding to the crowd’s cheers with the "hang loose" hand gesture, Dawkins flashes a wide smile before he starts his jog down towards the ring.

Vince Howard: Coming first to the ring...he weighed in at two hundred and two pounds…from Hilo, Hawaii…."The Flyin’ Hawaiian" BRYAN DAWKINS!

Dawkins ascends a turnbuckle, still rocking the "hang loose" gesture for the fans. The Missourians respond with a several pops for the youngster, who now removes his shades and tosses them into the crowd. He stretches, keeping an eye up towards the ramp, and hops a bit from side to side.

Richard: Tell that bugger to stand still.

Nick: He’s nervous, and understandably so. It’s not often that a PRIMEate can look for his second in-ring victory against the Number One Contender.

I said, ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful,’
These are truly the last days

WHOOOOOOO!

Nick: Listen to that ovation!

Richard: Tsonda’s still using GY!BE and CoCa as theme music. And Shakur’s the emo, alternative guy?

After the poignant spoken word intro, Coheed & Cambria’s "Welcome Home" reaches the twenty-five second mark. The guitars crunch harder, while Dawkin’s pyro gives way to a massive boom of green and silver, which announces Chandler Tsonda’s entrance from behind the curtain.

Nick: If you missed last week’s Rev, folks, this match was booked after a challenge by the newcomer Dawkins.

Richard: Somebody needs to buy Cantrell a clue. He’s booking his own self-anointed Uni challenger in mid-card matches just a month away from Colossus!

Nick: Richard, anyone who’s been paying attention realizes that Tsonda’s taken an interest in Dawkins that goes beyond just wins and losses.

Richard: If Tsonda wants to have office romances, that’s fine. But I prefer that lifestyle not be forced upon me, especially not before the submain.

The Model Citizen walks with a purpose down towards the ring, slapping some hands here and there. He hops over the top rope to enter the ring.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…he weighed in at two hundred and one pounds…from San Diego, California…The Model Citizen, CHANDLER TSONDA!

Nick: The similarities between these two are striking. Similar size, build, in-ring style…they even have the same look.

Richard: Ah yes, let’s group all the non-white wrestlers as "having the same look."

Nick: Even the layman would notice that it’s like mirror images in the ring. The difference? Tsonda’s got a track record a mile long.

After a head nod to his young acquaintance, Tsonda adjusts the tape on his wrists and twists his head from side-to-side. Dawkins cracks his knuckles once, then hops a little in place, like shadowboxing without the boxing part. And when Roberto LaCassa points to the timekeeper, it’s on like a boombox at a house party.

DING DING DING!

The two cruiserweights circle one another, looking for a moment to strike first. They both lunge into a lock up, but just as quickly, Tsonda slips out around the back of Dawkins and latches on with a sleeper hold.

Richard: Ching Chong using an actual wrestling move?

Tsonda wrenches Dawkins’s neck once, then pulls the rug out underneath his younger opponent, pulling the Flyin’ Hawaiian down with a vicious sleeper drop, which he follows immediately with an cover and leg hook.

One…

Two…

Nick: Nothin’ doin. Dawkins kicked out with some ummph there.

Both guys are up in a flash. Tsonda charges at his foe, but Dawkins is ready with a back body drop to counter. He flips the Model Citizen over his shoulder. But like he has done so many times, Tsonda’s able to flip three hundred sixty degrees and land on his feet. Thus, Dawkins isn’t expecting to turn right into a beautiful Shining Wizard from the Viet Viper.

Richard: Oh MAN! Rookie got his clock cleaned!

And he’s not done there. Tsonda moves quickly to the turnbuckle and watches Dawkins rise to his feet. He dives at the Flyin’ Hawaiian, rotating gracefully for a spinning wheel kick. But Dawkins is a speedster himself. He uses his quicks to roll underneath the kick, and pop up. Tsonda can’t immediately right himself when he lands on his feet, and his reward is a big German Suplex, bridged right into a pin.

One…

Two…

ThreeNO!

Richard: A pin off a mid-match German Suplex? Who is he, Chris Beno…oh.

Nick: Too crass, even for you?

Richard: Yeah, I wouldn’t touch that topic, not even with a ten-foot replica of Lindsay Troy’s vibrator.

Nick: I guess crass is all relative.

Dawkins rolls up to his feet. But Tsonda’s not so lucky, and he’s left rolling onto his back, yelling in pain. Dawkins looks around, like he doesn’t know exactly how to respond.

Nick: The impact of that suplex hit Tsonda right in his injured back.

Richard: Well, why doesn’t this gump win the match, then?

Nick: Maybe there’s something more than just winning this match. Maybe there’s a sense of honor between these two.

Richard: Maybe there’s some creepy man love between them.

Dawkins reaches down and offers his hand to Tsonda, who’s in visible pain. But the Model Citizen doesn’t take the hand, instead slowly rising of his own volition. He shakes off the cobwebs, then charges Dawkins. But the previous move has slowed him down, so it’s quite easy for the Flyin’ Hawaiian to catch his opponent and put him on the mat with a quick side slam.

Nick: More force on Tsonda’s back. But it’s not like Dawkins can do anything about this; if Tsonda’s in the match, he’s basically putting himself at the mercy of any legal move.

Richard: He’s wussing it up hard tonight.

With his opponent on the mat, and refusing to take his help, Dawkins goes to what he does best: please the fans by doing some gravity-defying shit. For his next trick, he bounces off the ropes to gain speed, then flips and lands on the face-up Tsonda with a senton splash that brings a hefty ovation from the crowd. He follows with a cover.

One…

Two…

Nick: Shoulder up!

Richard: So….I’m supposed to be excited about this guy’s chances against Shakur at Colossus?

Nick: He’s got a chronic injury, Richard. Some weeks he’s going to be the same stud that we’re used to…and some weeks, like tonight, he’s gonna appear very human.

Richard: Humans fight back, though. He’s got all the desire of a corpse.

Dawkins gets back to his feet, but Tsonda’s still down and out. So Dawkins does what any smart wrestler would do: go back to the well. He runs at the ropes, kicks off backwards, and comes flying off with a corkscrew Asai moonsault.

One…

Two…

ThreeNO!

Nick: Another kickout, but it was closer this time.

Richard: So if Tsonda loses this match, then Gamble’s officially the Number One Contender, right?

Nick: How do you figure?

Richard: Cantrell is not going to keep endorsing our spinally challenged friend if he loses to this schmoe.

Young and spry, Dawkins is able to pull himself up with the ropes. But Tsonda is much slower to his feet, wobbling and holding his back. Dawkins tries a stiff kick to Tsonda’s midsection, but the Viet Viper catches the foot. Unfortunately for Tsonda, Dawkins is ready with the other foot, putting boot to head with a nifty enziguiri.

Nick: Great move from Dawkins!

Richard: Well, at least somebody in this match showed up.

After the powerful kick from Dawkins, Tsonda doesn’t look too good. He’s sprawled on the mat, with his only movement being the shake of his head as he tries to find himself. Dawkins, meanwhile, ascends the turnbuckle, rocking the "hang loose" gesture for all to see. He even gets a decent chant going, as fans who enjoy a good underdog start letting their allegiances show.

DAW-KINS! DAW-KINS! DAW-KINS!

Perched on the top turnbuckle, Dawkins offers up two hands’ worth of "hang loose."

Nick: Could this be the biggest upset of 2008 in PRIME?

Groggy, wrenching guitar riffs hit over the speaker, distracting everyone in the building, including Bryan Dawkins. He, and all fans, turn their attention to the entrance ramp.

Richard: Yes! Sweet deliverance! Ya boy!

The song, of course, is "Black Hole Sun" by Peter Frampton & Co. The man whose music this is brings a heavy, heavy chorus of boos.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Devin Muhfuckin’ Shakur.

The Universal Champion stands, arms crossed, at the top of the ramp. His belt is draped across his chest in the gaudiest way possible, so that the entire gold section can be seen. The thing even looks like it’s been polished recently; ain’t a scratch on that bitch.

Richard: Haha, this is awesome.

Nick: What’s that rat bastard here for?

Richard: A ratings spike! No one’s watching this snoozefest.

Nick: This match has two of PRIME’s most talented aerial specialists!

Richard: Aerial, schmaerial. Devin Shakur is a champion for an age when MMA is the real big ticket. That’s why he who wears the gold just HAPPENS to be the best pure striker on the planet.

Dawkins’s gaze is fixed on Shakur, but the PRIMEate with the coveted gold does nothing. He doesn’t move a muscle, just keeps looking at the ring with arms crossed. His music cuts, but Dawkins still stares.

Richard: Hey little fella, don’tcha know there’s a match you could’ve just won?

Nick: Dawkins is mesmerized by the unexpected sight of Shakur!

The Flyin’ Hawaiian finally pulls his gaze from the Universal Champion, but by now, Chandler Tsonda has reached his feet, albeit in a shaky manner. Bryan Dawkins hops down, realizing that his opportune moment has now been flushed away by Devin Shakur. He throws a left hand at Tsonda, then a right, moving the Model Citizen back towards the ropes. Tsonda whips Dawkins to the far ropes, but the Flyin’ Hawaiian comes back off, takes off, and pulls the Viet Viper down with a jump swinging crucifix pin.

One…

Two…

ThreeNO!

Richard: Boy, Gamble v. Shakur is gonna be QUITE a big seller.

It seems to be the same story over and over. Dawkins is quickly up, and pulls Tsonda up by the head, quite unceremoniously. He tosses the Model Citizen into the corner, then lowers his shoulder and sprints towards Tsonda. The Number One Contender has just enough wherewithal to spin out of the corner at the last second, sending Dawkins barreling into the steel of the corner. The Flyin’ Hawaiian bounces off backwards, trying to gain his footing. The wily veteran sneaks in behind Dawkins and tries to end things with a schoolboy roll-up.

One…

Two…

Three!
NO!

Nick: One of these pinfall attempts has got to end this thing!

Richard: Why, it’s only been like ten minutes.

Nick: They’ve been going at a frenetic pace. Not even these two can keep it up.

After another Dawkins kickout, the two competitors meet eyes. But that doesn’t last for very long, as Tsonda uses what’s left in the tank to rush Dawkins. He goes for a Yakuza Kick, but misses badly, and when the Sultan of Style turns around, Dawkins is there to catch him with a hurricanrana that floors the Number One Contender.

Richard: And Admiral Yamamoto goes down!

Tsonda’s down (and possibly out), but Dawkins doesn’t immediately seize the moment. He looks down at the fallen Tsonda, then turns and starts jawing up to Shakur, who’s as still as a statue. If there are lip-readers in the crowd, they’ll notice Dawkins inviting Shakur to "come to the ring, bruh". He makes the age-old "come hither" motion, but there isn’t an ounce of change on the champ’s face.

Nick: Dawkins is inciting the Universal Champion!

Richard: Shakur would bury him so fast…

Nick: Well, at least Dawkins has the cajones to talk a little trash to the pesky Universal Champ!

But what Dawkins doesn’t see is Tsonda stirring. And then wobbling to his feet. Shakur still doesn’t say a word, but Dawkins seems compelled to keep inviting him down. Tsonda looks at Dawkins’ back (no homo), but doesn’t say a thing.

Richard: Tsonda, end this punk. Do something good for a change.

Nick: Tsonda’s weighing his options. Does he take Dawkins out now or does he wait to fight the good fight?

Richard: Well, he’s losing the good fight.

The Model Citizen looks for a long time, while Dawkins conveniently jaws at Shakur. Tsonda shakes his head, then sneaks behind Dawkins. Finally, a thin smile curls on Devin Shakur’s face, but it’s too late for Dawkins to realize what’s going on. As he whips his head around, he’s being lifted up onto Tsonda’s shoulders.

Nick: What?!

Richard: Just desserts, biatch.

Dawkins’s frame doesn’t rest on Tsonda’s shoulders for very long. From the torture rack position, it’s an almost immediate rotated slam onto his neck.

Nick: Whoa! Dawkins just got punished with that Argentine neckbreaker!

Richard: He’s out like the electricity in a project home.

Tsonda scurries over to Dawkins and hooks the leg.

One…

Two…

Three!

Nick: Shoulder up!

DING DING DING!

Richard: Too little, too late.

Dawkins got the shoulder up, but after LaCassa’s hand hit for the third time. Huffing and puffing, Tsonda rises, shooting eye-daggers up to where Devin Shakur…was. But the entranceway is now empty, with no more sign of the Universal Champion. "Welcome Home" hits to a mild pop, but the crowd is surprisingly quiet.

Nick: Well, Tsonda just got back on the winning track, but it seems that he was actually helped by the mysterious appearance of Devin Shakur.

Richard: Hear that? Even Nick says Shakur won the match. Throw that W in Dev’s column!

Tsonda turns to watch Dawkins climb to his feet, grabbing at his neck. He puts his hand out for a shake, saying something to Dawkins that the cameras don’t catch. But in an uncharacteristic move, Dawkins walks right past the Model Citizen, completely ignoring him.

Nick: It looks like Dawkins is pretty damn miffed about that match.

Richard: You win some…well, not if you’re Dawkins. He’s sorta a "lose some, lose some more" guy.

Before the match cuts away, we get a split screen. On the left side is Dawkins storming up the ramp, while on the right side is a thoroughly perplexed, hunched over Tsonda.

Nick: An interesting win for Tsonda, but one that offered more questions than answers. Let’s go backstage, where there’s been a Captain Justice sighting.

Somewhere, in the dark recesses of the Scottrade Center, two men and a woman are walking. Last week, they wrestled their debut in the main event, but came up short against Wade Elliott and Lindsay Troy. After weeks of claiming to be the best in the world, they now have entered PRIME without a win under their belts.

Yet, with the way these men walk around backstage as if they own it, you could swear that they won the match.

They are PRIME's newest tag team, the Princes of New England.

Neither man are dressed to compete. Simon's wearing his Kevin Garnett Celtics jersey and a pair of black slacks, while Connor's wearing his Paul Pierce jersey and a pair of jeans. Trailing behind them, as always, is their much more tolerable valet and public relations manager, Miranda O'Reily. Miranda is in a silky black dress, and her long brown hair is in a ponytail.

She seems to be annoyed.

Miranda O'Reily: Why are you guys just walking around? You know as well as I do that the first thing you're going to do is cause a scene.

Simon Knox: Relax, Miranda. You worry too much.

Connor O'Reily: Yeah, come on, sis. It's not like we actually go out and find trouble.

Miranda O'Reily: Why do I find that hard to believe coming from the most irresponsible man I've ever known and his cold, unfeeling best friend?

Simon Knox: (tonelessly) Hey, I'm not cold or unfeeling.

Connor O'Reily: And I'm not the most irresponsible man you've ever known! You've met Allen Brown, how is he not the most irresponsible man you've ever known? The guy spends most of his waking hours trying to find some lost treasure that you spend hours finding that does nothing!

Miranda glares at her twin brother, with the type of glare that could make even a man like Connor O'Reily shut up. Of course, it doesn't necessarilly work on Simon Knox, the cool-headed and detached member of the Princes of New England.

Simon Knox: Hmph. You want to know what we're doing? We're looking for somebody.

Miranda O'Reily: Looking?

Simon Knox: Let's just say that the best way to procure a title shot around here isn't necessarilly with one's in-ring merits. Sometimes, you just need to go out, get in somebody's face, and call them a "motherfucker".

Miranda slaps her forehead in frustration.

Miranda O'Reily: And once the FCC fines you for it, then what?

Simon Knox: Oh, please, nobody ever fines anyone any more except for indecent exposure. For example, if I were to, rather inappropriately, pull your dress off.

Miranda O'Reily glares at Simon, who quickly throws his hands up.

Simon Knox: Not that I ever would! I'm just saying, we curse. We're from New England, we watch sports a lot, we have that right. Plus, there's this whole first amendment thing, maybe you and the rest of America should look into it.

High Flyer: Maybe you should look into the Patriot Act.

The voice of the tag team champions. Bingo. Simon Knox smiles sinisterly.

High Flyer saunters up, putting a Brian Dawkin’s jersey on himself as he approaches. Tony Davis is there as well, playing Nintendo DS. Simon Knox immediately knocks it from his hand and it shatters on the floor.

Somewhere, Allen Brown cries.

High Flyer: First amendment’s dead. Fuck freedom, eh?

Tony Davis sheepishly waves to Simon Knox.

Tony Davis: Hi again.

Simon glares at him, and Tony retracts slightly. Flyer steps forward into Connor’s face.

High Flyer: I heard you were looking for trouble.

Tony Davis: And make it double!

Flyer turns to Davis.

High Flyer: This whole threatening them thing would work a whole lot easier if you weren’t six feet away from Simon.

Tony Davis: (*whispers*) But that’s the dude who I spat in his face.

High Flyer: (*whispers*) I know it wasn’t on purpose, but remind me to high five you later.

All of a sudden, Mary-Lynn Mayweather comes running in, holding a bag of watermelons and a gym bag full of machine guns.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Uh, Home depot doesn’t sell archery kits or replica busts of professional wrestler’s heads… so I had to make do. I drew Connor’s face on the one but I had to label it Connor because you couldn’t really tell-yeah-HI!

Mary-Lynn turns, and finally notices the intense stand off that had begun.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: That’s… another… Connor. Oh, who am I kidding. I can’t lie. I’m worse than Jim Carrey in Liar Liar, which I figured would have had more lies in it. But who am I to say, eh? Eh?!

Mary-Lynn elbows Miranda slightly, and chuckles as she does.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oooooh, this is awkward for me.

Miranda O'Reily: I, um... never saw that movie.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oh? Shame.

Miranda O'Reily: ...Let's just keep a good distance from them.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Who, the Princes?

Miranda O'Reily: Any of them, really.

Simon Knox adjusts his sunglasses, pushing them further up his nose. What, you didn't know he's wearing sunglasses? Maybe you should go back and reflect on this later. Anyway, he looks at Flyer and then he looks at Davis.

Simon Knox: Fuu.

Apparently, that's all he's going to say about them. Connor has more to say, which might be bad news for everybody within earshot.

Connor O'Reily: So, half of our glorious tag champions begin by cowering away from us? (to Simon) Why is he cowering from you, in particular?

Simon Knox: This douchebag spat in my face. I had to take, like, ten showers to wash the stain of suck off of me. I'm not even sure if I got all of it. Seriously, I even had to lower myself to asking TSONDA for tips. TSONDA! I had to ask a guy so fairy-like that he flies around on fucking wings all day and hangs out with Tyler Rayne for health care tips!

Connor O'Reily: I was wondering why you seemed to be glowing more than usual.

Simon Knox: Man knows his stuff, I'll give him that. Now, if he could just stop being a choke artist, and I'm not even talking about his inability to win Universal titles...

Connor O'Reily: Focus, Simon. We're in the presence of the PRIME Tag Team Champions.

Simon looks... shocked. He looks at Flyer, then he looks at Davis, and then he shakes his head.

Simon Knox: Seriously? Didn't they lose last week?

Connor O'Reily: And the week before that?

Simon Knox: Man, times changed. I remember a day and age when tag champions actually win matches.

It is at this point that Miranda O'Reily chooses a very inopportune moment to undermine everything Simon had been doing to tear down Team VIAGRA with his mere words.

Miranda O'Reily: Simon, you lost last week, too.

Simon Knox: That didn't happen.

Miranda O'Reily: You were pinned by Lindsay Troy.

Simon Knox: (clearly in denial) That didn't happen.

Miranda O'Reily: After Wade Elliott slammed you into the mat so hard that you deliriously declared that you loved me while Connor was helping you to the back, and wanted to take me home to cuddle.

Simon Knox: (still in denial) That didn't happen, either. (quietly, to himself) Though I wish you'd have said yes. (outloud) None of that matters, anyway. If these losers are all that stands between us and the tag titles, then all we need to do is challenge them for the titles.

And with that softly spoken phrase from Simon Knox, Flyer immediately takes his time to give Miranda O'Reilly quite the long look. Simon pushes him in his chest to regain his attention. Flyer smiles, and begins to chew on a straw.

High Flyer: You hear George Carlin died? Pity.

There is silence. It seems even the Princes didn't hate Carlin. However, Miranda notices something.

Miranda O'Reily: Um, I don't mean to point this out, too, but you're kind of avoiding whatever Simon said.

Connor O'Reily: I believe they call that a "no-sell".

High Flyer: I 'unno. Didn't exactly sound like a challenge. Sounded like someone who wasn't sure if they wanted to challenge or not. I was just waiting for confirmation.

Simon Knox: Fuu. The way I see it, you'd rather duck a challenge than face one head-on. After all, we're fairly certain that if you ever actually defended those props you're calling championship belts, you'd lose them faster... than the Rams lost to the Patriots in the Super Bowl.

The sound of booing can be heard. Then Simon glares at Flyer's jersey.

Simon Knox: Or the Eagles.

Tony decides to chime in.

Tony Davis: The only Super Bowl I know is the Tecmo Super Bowl.

Everyone looks at Tony.

Tony Davis: What?

Everyone no-sells Tony.

High Flyer: And the way I see it is you'd rather avoid actually challenging us and try to make us do it for ya. But shit, we're not gonna break your Primer-ginity, so you want a match, stop bein' the little bitch and you fucking ask for it.

Simon Knox: Hear that, Connor?

Connor O'Reily: Hm?

Simon Knox: This little cuntbag thinks that I'm beating around the bush.

Connor O'Reily: Doesn't Wade Elliott have a trademark on the word "cunt"?

Simon Knox: It's entirely possible. (pause, turns to Flyer) Look, I'm going to level with you. We know that the very second that we express interest in kicking your ass all over this building, you'll pussy your way out. You'll act all high and mighty, start claiming that we have to "earn our shot", and thus get to sit back and hold your precious championships longer while you make us jump through hoops.

Simon pauses, looking over at Miranda and Mary-Lynn, before he turns back to High Flyer.

Simon Knox: So, how about a happy medium, then? I'll name a time and place for you, and you can try to hold on to those belts until you get there. The time is August 10th, 2008. The place is Charlotte, North Carolina.

Dramatic pause, followed by a dramatic pulling-off of Simon's sunglasses. All of these things are done with so much flair that you could swear that Danny Ferguson is really dead and he's now reborn as Simon Knox.

Simon Knox: ...Colossus.

After another dramatic pause, Simon rather undramatically puts his sunglasses back on his face.

Simon Knox: There. I said it. If you don't get it, I'll write it in crayon later. Even Davis will get that.

High Flyer: Okay... I mean, I would have said next week would have been fine. But no, let's go big. Let's go Colossal. Makes perfect sense.

Simon Knox: The only stage worthy for our first tag title match... is Colossus. The biggest stage of them all. Allegedly, anyway. (pause) Also, we're actually still pissed at Memphis for losing in the Final Four.

Connor O'Reily: (muttering) We both lost fifty bucks in that debacle.

Simon Knox: So fuck them. Colossus will be fine.

High Flyer: So, do you mind if we don't see each other between now and then? This whole conversation has been pretty mind numbing.

Connor O'Reily: Oh, believe me, we'd like nothing more than that. I swear to God, the smell of that guy alone (points at Tony Davis) is one I fear might stay with me for at least a week. I swear to God, the girls are going to avoid me if I smell like him.

Simon Knox: Be that as it may, though, enjoy your belts while you still got them. We're out of-- (looks off to the side, where Miranda and Mary-Lynn were standing) ...here?

The camera pans out to reveal that Miranda O'Reily and Mary-Lynn Mayweather are now missing. Simon looks at the empty space, then at Connor, then at Team VIAGRA.

Simon Knox: Okay. Where the fuck did Miranda go?

Tony Davis: I hope Mary went to buy me a new nintendo ds...

We cut to Mary-Lynn and Miranda, looking at the dresses that Miranda has brought to the arena.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: So, I had this dream where a gorilla ate New York City,- Oooh, Nice. I like the cut...and then Superman came to stop him but got eaten, and then the gorilla-sharp color-gained superman like powers and was cooking whole towns for minutes before devouring them. You have any idea what that means? And oh I love to touch silk. It's like a psychiatric session.

Miranda O'Reily: Hmm. Do you ever think that maybe you hang out with those two too much? I know I sometimes feel the same being around Simon and Connor, but if I leave them unattended, I fear they'll do something *really* stupid.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Well, if I don't stay around Flyer, he occassionally winds up murdering people. So y'know. We all have our problems.

And then we cut back to High Flyer, standing over one of the staffers in the building, wielding a bloody shard of glass.

High Flyer: Awh man. I missed the major artery.

The fading in of the camera yields to the comtemplative face of one C.P. Cantrell, eyes scanning across a couple of pieces of paper in his hands, leaning slightly forward at his large desk.

C.P. Cantrell: You're not an easy one to find, Mr. Elliott.

The camera pans left, the cheers of the crowd audible in the background as it focuses in on The Bad Dog himself, arms folded and leaning back in a chair across from C.P.

Wade Elliott: Prefer keepin' it that way. What'd ya call me fer?

Cantrell sets the papers down before leaning back in his chair, locking his fingers together.

C.P. Cantrell: Wade...mind if I call you Wade?

Wade lifts an eyebrow. Cantrell smirks.

C.P. Cantrell: Wade, when you run a show such as this, it's good to know what your talent is up to. Where they are, where they're going, etc., etc. Largely, I am very well aware of the whereabouts of my roster and their plans, should they make any.

Cantrell squints before pointing his index finger at the Blue Collar Brawler.

C.P. Cantrell: You seem to be the exception.

Elliott shrugs.

Wade Elliott: Point bein'?

C.P. Cantrell: "Point bein'," that needs to change. Pronto.

Wade Elliott: Good fuckin' luck.

C.P. Cantrell: I won't need it, but I can assure you, you WILL keep me in the loop, whether you like it or not.

The 'Bama Bruiser starts to chuckle, amused at the absurdity of the claim. C.P. rolls his eyes.

Wade Elliott: So what, Cantrell. That all ya hunted me down fer? To tell me to "keep ya in the loop?"

Cantrell stands, hands resting behind him before walking toward a large window.

C.P. Cantrell: You're not terribly involved in anything currently, are you Wade?

Wade Elliott: Wouldn't say that, but I ain't lookin' over my shoulder.

C.P. Cantrell: Which, and this is the part I kinda like, means I haven't had to pay any extra property damage fees every week. People haven't been able to see some good ol' fashioned Wade asskicking backstage lately.

Wade Elliott: I feel real awful 'bout it. Honest.

C.P. Cantrell: That said, I could put you on a temporary suspension. It would certainly save ME money...

The Southern Sparkplug offers a smug smile. Cantrell sees that his passive threat isn't getting much of reaction and lets his eyes drift down to the desk in front of him, specifically to one piece of paper.

C.P. Cantrell: ...but I think I have something for you.

Before he has a chance to elaborate, Wade snorts, and pushes himself to his feet.

Wade Elliott: Well, been a real fuckin' pleasure speakin' with ya, Cantrell. But there's a flask needs drinkin' an' a shit needs takin'. You lemme know yer "big plans" fer ol' Wade.

Cantrell starts to say something to hold Wade up and explain his grand scheme, but after a moment's hesitation, he decides against it. Standing up to offer his hand, he offers his own shit-eating grin as a response.

C.P. Cantrell: I'll keep in touch.

Wade looks down at the producer's hand and snorts again before turning away, leaving Ceeps hanging. As Elliott disappears offscreen and out of the office, Cantrell slowly sinks back into his chair, brushing off the brush-off. On the bright side, another of his plans was starting to come together. Plus, he didn't even need to break out the hand sanitizer after a talent relations meeting, and in his world, that ALWAYS spelled success.

The fans hush, holding their collective breath to either let out a rousing cheer for the swelling guitar riff of Piece by Piece or explode into a tirade of jeers for the screech of Rock is Dead.

Instead, to their bemusement, they’re assaulted with Scandinavian electro-pop so saccharine that causes a diabetic coma somewhere in F section. That theme would be I Know UR Girlfriend Hates Me by Annie. It’s subject? Eleanor Kannon-Hall. As for ur girlfriend? Yes, she does.

Apparently, just about every fan in the Scottrade Center agrees with her.

Catwalking out onto the stage, Ellie is funnelled down the aisle by a ten-strong security detail. How does she look? Well… hot, cute, stunning and the like pretty much hold little meaning. I bet she goes like the clappers, would probably sum it up.

Encased in a pair of jeans so tight that it wouldn’t be too outlandish to think she’d undergone a denim graft, Ellie somehow manages to raise her feet enough to hop up the steps and duck in under the bottom rope.

The crowd, all anticipating Jonathan Rhine exacting revenge upon Ellie’s husband, refuse to give her silence, making her speak over sporadic boos and whistles.

Having brought her own mic, which naturally happens to have been customised in glittered silver and hot pink, Ellie addresses the fans.

Eleanor: Now, I know you’re all, like, waiting to see my husband so totally send Jon Rhine crying back to SCCW. With, like, the one eye he has left and stuff. But, being all, like, party-poopers, the Missouri State Athletic-y Commission people are total meanie-heads and have banned the match.

That’s not going to go down too well.

Eleanor: I know! So totally lame, right?

Suspicious of the blonde nukeshell, the Missouri fans jeer and heckle, a group of five along the barrier hurling a few lewd suggestions her way… to which she seems compelled to reply.

Eleanor: Um, no. Like, never ever. Ewwwww. And, like, you two on the end are so totally a couple but afraid to let the others know.

As the camera zooms in on the red-faced end pair, Ellie seems to have found a new way to combat ringside hecklers.

Eleanor: Um, like, where was I? Oh, yeah. Anyway, they were all, he’s totally missing an eyes so can’t wrestle. But we were all, I know, that’s half the fun, duh! But they were all, like, Grinch-y and said, you so can’t beat up on pathetic one-eyed losers for fun. Then we were all, um, never stopped us doing in before! Then they… um, yeah, it all kinda got repetitive and stuff after that. So, like, Rhine can’t wrestle because he doesn’t have enough eyes. Sucks to be him.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH-

-AGH-

AGH-

AGHHHH!

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Jonathan Rhine appears on the ramp, fully in his ring-gear. His bandage on his face has now been replaced with an eye patch.

Richard: YAR, Pirate Rhine!

Nick: Rhine will not stand for this!

Indeed, Rhine has a microphone and he’s shaking his head.

Rhine: The Missouri State Athletic-y Commission, huh? They say I’m not fit to go?

Ellie nods enthusiastically as Rhine chuckles.

Rhine: I call bullshit.

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Richard: Do they have to cheer EVERYTHING he says?

Nick: They appreciate him, Richard, because he isn’t a snot-nose punk like Kannon!

Richard: Not my Gold Patron…uh…somethingius!

Rhine: There was no Missouri State Athletic Commission ban. Know how I know? Because before I issued the challenge tonight, I cleared it up with them, and they gave me the a-okay. Know what that means? It means, my dear Ellie, that your husband is scared. Scared of a one-eyed man.

Richard: I would be too, look at him! He’s grotesque!

Nick: That’s not what he means.

Rhine: But if your husband is committed to ducking me, give him a message. Let him know…

Richard: Hahahaha! Let him know yourself!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Nick: Kannon! Kannon came from Rhine’s right side…

Richard: HIS BLIND SIDE.

Nick: And knocked Rhine off the ramp! He tumbled to the floor, and Kannon follows him down!

Kannon lands on his feet and grabs Rhine, then slaps him right on the patch, causing him to howl out in pain.

Nick: What cheap tactics! This match isn’t going to be fair at all!

Richard: Hey, if he wants to make it fair, he should have two eyes. It’s not Kannon’s…well, actually it is Kannon’s fault. Haha.

Kannon grabs Rhine by his head and walks him to the ring, ignoring the fans heckling and slaps. Kannon rolls Rhine under the ropes, then stands up and covers his eye, raising his other hand in victory.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Kannon grabs Rhine and stands him up, then begins moving to the right side of his body, trying to get on the side that he can’t see on. Rhine keeps moving, but Kannon speeds up until Rhine’s motion becomes a circle. Then, Kannon suddenly stops and hits Rhine with a clothesline.

Richard: HA! What a moron.

Nick: Wrestle like a man, Kannon!

Kannon laughs, then drops down for a cover.

ONE!

T…

"RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Nick: Not a chance! Rhine might only have one eye, but he’s still the SCCW Champion!

Rhine throws his shoulder up, rolls to his feet, and shakes his head, his one remaining eye wide. He beckons Kannon in, and the fans cheer again.

Kannon shrugs and goes for a collar-and-elbow tie up, which Rhine quickly turns into a side headlock! Rhine flips Kannon over in a Judo Hip Toss, continuing to work on the side headlock. Kannon reaches for the ropes, but they are just out of his reach. Rhine puts his knee into Kannon’s back and leans back, making Kannon scream.

Nick: See? Kannon was taking Rhine too lightly!

Kannon tries for the ropes again, but can’t reach. The ref asks if he wants to quit, but he shakes his head…and reaches his hand up towards Rhine’s face.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Richard: Hahaha, there goes the good eye!

Nick: Kannon poked Rhine in his left eye! Now he can’t see at all!

Rhine rolls off and grabs his eye, trying to stand up. He bends over, holding his head, as Kannon comes from behind…

Nick: 7-10 Split! Terrible low blow to a wounded Rhine, and The New Life is down!

Richard: Hey, maybe he punched one so hard that it pops up into his eye socket.

Kannon sits on top and applies an abdominal stretch, slapping Rhine on the chest as he screams. After a moment, Kannon lets go of the hold and begins to circle around Rhine, clapping.

Nick: He is not taking this match seriously!

Richard: Would you? Dude can’t even watch 3-D Movies at the IMAX. Think he can wrestle a match?

Ellie is shouting and cheering on the side, making jokes about Rhine and also covering her eye while cheering (because her husband did it first). Rhine crawls towards the ropes which is near her. Kannon discusses politics and the outcome of the Euro Cup with the referee as Ellie scratches Rhine with her nails…right across both eyes.

Nick: What a travesty! Talk about attacking a weakness!

Richard: Isn’t that what wrestlers are supposed to do?

Nick: But not like this, and not managers of wrestlers either!

Rhine rolls back in pain, and Kannon ends the conversation to place a knee to the face of Rhine, then go for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

T…

"RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Nick: This ain’t over yet! Rhine didn’t get to where he is now by being a quitter!

Richard: But he did get here with both eyes.

Kannon looks a little frustrated; he expected this to be over by now. Dropping to his knees, he begins clawing at Rhine’s good eye, screaming at him "JUST GO HOME!" before the referee pulls Kannon off, admonishing him.

Nick: The Gold Patron Meritorious is not happy now! He thought Rhine would just give up because he was injured! But there is way too much fight in the SCCW Champ!

As Kannon argues with the referee, swearing he wasn’t trying to blind his opponent, Rhine gets to his feet slowly, checking his eye for blood. There’s a little, but he wipes it off, looks up, and snarls as he sees Kannon not looking. He stands, perched, and the fans begin to cheer.

Richard: WATCH OUT, XAVIER, THERE’S A CYCLOPS BEHIND YOU!

Kannon finally turns around and walks straight into a kick from the New Life, then tucks Kannon’s arms under his stomach, then lifts up by Kannon’s arms, landing in a high angle powerbomb.

"RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

"RHINE! RHINE! RHINE! RHINE!"

Nick: Cross Arm Powerbomb! Rhine is coming back now! He gets up slowly, and he’s signaling for a move he likes to call the New Life Moonsault!

Rhine points to the side, judges…and misses completely. I mean, not even close. Rhine jumped over Kannon and landed about half a foot away. The fans don’t know how to react. But Richard does.

Richard: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Kannon seems to find it funny too. Getting up, he looks at Rhine and laughs. Then, dropping the smile, he does the cut-throat motion and grabs Rhine.

Nick: He’s looking to end this all now, The Hallmark, coming up!

As Kannon lifts Rhine up, though, Rhine kicks and squirms until he drops behind Kannon. Snarling, XK turns around…

*WHAMM!!!*

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Nick: RHINE REWIND! RHINE REWIND! Out of NOWHERE! And Rhine rolls up Kannon!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

*DING! DING! DING!*

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Howard: YOUR WINNER…JONNNAATHAAAAANNNN RHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!

Nick: Rhine wins! Rhine beat Kannon by hitting that sit-down Front Slam right in the middle of the ring!

Richard: No! Mulligan! Cheating! Kannon wasn’t taking it seriously! This doesn’t count!

But it does, as Rhine rolls out of the ring, passing Ellie. As he turns to look at Kannon, though, he is not smiling or celebrating his win. He looks at Kannon, absently touches his eyepatch, and shakes his head, pointing at Kannon. "This still isn’t over," the mics on the cameras pick up from Rhine.

In the middle of the ring, Kannon is seething. He gets up and shakes his head, making a motion to cut the music. Marching around the ring, he’s shouting and trying to get Strata to stop playing, but to no avail.

Nick: Kannon doesn’t think he lost! He’s telling them to cut Rhine’s music!

Richard: Well he didn’t lose. That was a fluke.

Nick: Kannon unhappy, but that doesn’t change the fact that Jonathan Rhine eked out a victory tonight in his first PRIME match, and it was against a man who won a Hell in the Cell last week!

Richard: But for all his goofy pandering, Rhine is right. This isn’t over. Because Kannon will strike back. I promise.

When the production assistant had sprinted up to Troy Douglas and told him that PRIME’s executive producer wanted to see him ASAP, the Intense Champion was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be a nice, friendly chat.

Troy had no idea.

As soon as he walked through the door of C.P. Cantrell’s office and saw another, dented, door sitting in the corner of the room, Douglas knew he was in trouble. The producer had his eyes down, fixed on something at his desk, but he knew the instant that he had company.

C.P. Cantrell: Doug.

Troy Douglas: Actually, it's Troy.

C.P. Cantrell: (still looking down) Mm. I've already got a Troy. I don't have a Doug.

Troy Douglas: Whatever.

He moved to sit down across from Cantrell, but the executive producer had other ideas. His eyes snap up to make contact with Troy's.

C.P. Cantrell: Don’t sit.

Troy Douglas: Ooookay then.

C.P. Cantrell: Do you know what the hell that is?

Troy Douglas: I believe it’s a locker room door from somewhere here in the arena, but if you want more details, you’ll probably have to bring in the cast of CSI.

By the look on Cantrell’s face, this was not the best time for Troy Douglas to be flippant.

C.P. Cantrell: Well here's the thing. I don't remember asking to have a locker room installed in my goddamn office, and even if I DID, I probably wouldn't have asked for the ones with pre-dented doors, so why would I have the thing sitting next to my desk instead of, you know, serving as an entrance somewhere?

Troy Douglas: Dunno. Maybe Cozen thought the door was Lindsay Troy and went all crazy martial arts on it? Maybe a rhino got loose from the St. Louis Zoo, got past security and wreaked a little havoc before calmly walking away?

At this point, Troy was hoping that his rampant sarcasm was doing something to distract Cantrell from the fact that Douglas was pretty much up Shit Creek without a paddle.

C.P. Cantrell: Save it. I’ve got it on good evidence that you were doing a little Kaiser hunting and took it out on inanimate objects, vis a vis this door and your little show in the catering area last week.

Troy Douglas: Well, I can explain--

C.P. Cantrell: Don't. Don't explain, don't apologize. You've been pretty quiet so far, Doug, so you haven't been given the ol' C.P. Cantrell "collateral damage" speech that guys like Dusk and Rayne heard. Bottom line, that kind of shit isn't going to be tolerated.

Troy Douglas: You want to know what can't be tolerated? This Vashaun asshole going around and telling anyone and everyone he can find that I'm a fraud, then running from me whenever I get in his face. Did I do a little damage? Yeah. But, I'm not going to let stuff like that stand, and if I can't get him inside the ring, I'll do it myself.

C.P. Cantrell: No, you won't.

That was the moment that Troy Douglas knew the hammer was about to fall. What he didn't know was exactly how hard and how swift.

Troy Douglas: What are you talking about?

C.P. Cantrell: I need to make it clear that no one in PRIME - not even the Intense Champion - is sitting pretty enough that they can use the "crimes of passion" excuse to throw shit around when life isn't being fair. I'm slapping you with ... well ... kind of a restraining order.

Troy Douglas: A restraining order?

C.P. Cantrell: Well, in wrestling terms, none of that legal-and-binding nonsense. You don't touch Kaiser Vashaun, not unless it's been officially sanctioned by myself and PRIME. More than that, you don't stalk him backstage, you don't interfere in his matches and you most certainly do not break down my arenas on some wild goose chase. Unless I say so, you stay away. Or else.

Troy Douglas: Or else what?

If he didn't like Cantrell's previous edict, Troy really wasn't going to like this part.

C.P. Cantrell: Or else I strip you of the belt, as a start. After that, it all sort of depends on how I feel at the moment. I might suspend you, I might fire you, I might make you clean underneath the ring after each and every show. Whatever the hell I feel like.

That statement certainly struck home for the Intense Champion, who slowly backed away, ready to get the hell out of the Gateway City and move on to greener pastures.

Troy Douglas: If that's what you want, fine. I'll stay away from the little bastard. But, one of these days, I'm getting him in the ring and I'm going to tear him limb from limb, until ... until ... until he's had enough. And then, I'm going to do it again. And when I'm finished, I'm going to take all the little bits that used to be Kaiser Vashaun, and I will JUMP on them. And I'll keep going until I get blisters, or I think of something even more unpleasant to do.

C.P. Cantrell: Yeah. You do that. Just, not unless I say so.

Looking one more time at the broken door before he exits Cantrell's office, Troy Douglas knew that his rather unpleasant adversary had turned him in. The fact that it made him angry enough to quote "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" nearly verbatim was a testament to how far this guy was getting under his skin.

Troy Douglas: I'm going to KILL that guy.

About five minutes from now, Tyler Rayne will compete in the single most important match of his PRIME career. In less than a year, the 5-Star Champion has amassed a list of opponents that reads like a veritable who's who of PRIME's elite. Hoyt Williams. Tony Gamble. Wade Elliott. Sonny Silver. Cozen. Lindsay Troy. Chandler Tsonda. Devin Shakur.

Tyler Rayne has stood toe-to-toe with the legends and gods of PRIME lore. He has fallen to a few. He has bested most. All of them have been changed by the encounter. He walked out the lone survivor of the 2008 Dual Halo tournament.

Not that any of that matters right now. Tonight, there is only one concern. Tonight, everyone is looking at that heavy gold strap hanging over his shoulder.

The 5-Star Championship.

A title he has defended with a violent fervor for the past six months. A title that no one has been able to wrench from his grasp. Since the last title defense, since UltraViolence...since the failure of Wade Elliott...Tyler Rayne has taken every opportunity possible to remind us of that. No one has beaten him for that belt.

Tonight, the most unstoppable wrestler in PRIME will have to defeat three consecutive no ones to retain that championship. He will have to be exactly what he claims he is. He will have to prove that it wasn't all talk. Wasn't all smoke and mirrors and colorful language. He will have to put down three top contenders to prove that he is the decimater, destroyer, and annihilator he boasts.

As the old saying goes, it's put up or shut up time.

The single most important match in Tyler Rayne's career. He should be focused. He should be prepared. He should be intent on the destruction of those before him. Resolute in his ability to persevere.

He should be a thousand different things that aren't distracted by the swinging legs of Mary-Lynn Mayweather, sitting all cute as a button near the gorilla position. The book in her hands?

Trademark & Copyright Disputes by Gregory J. Batters & Charles W. Grimes

Tyler Rayne: Can't say I expected to see you here. Not waiting for me, now were you?

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oh. You're up next are you Ty? Had no idea.

Mary-Lynn smiles.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Just figured now would be the best time to wish you luck. Seeing as we are friends and all.

Tyler Rayne: Appreciated. Not too many people 'round here wishing me luck tonight. Funny how things change over the course of a few weeks. Speaking of friends and all... how serious were you about that whole defending me against murder charges thing?

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Well... Jack did accidentally stab a grip earlier... at least he tells me it was an accident. So I might have my hands slightly tied up.

Tyler smiles at this choice of words. Mary-Lynn posthumously picks up on this.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Just... if you're planning on committing murder tonight, don't kill Logic. I hear from Flyer he's a nice if not enraged fellow.

The mention of his soon-to-be opponent cause Tyler to subconsciously shift the championship over his shoulder. He takes a few steps closer to Mary-Lynn, working his way over so he can lean in and get a better look at that book.

Tyler Rayne: Nah, not Logic. But if I lose this belt to some bullshit contraption of a match like this...I might be visiting Ceeps with a vial of poison while he's sleeping quietly in bed.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I mean. It's so archaic, this whole gauntlet thi-- are you trying to lear at my breasts?

Tyler flashes his smile at her, making quite sure not to let his eyes wander anywhere other than hers.

Tyler Rayne: Trust me, kid, I'm a lot less subtle when it comes to that sort of thing. I was actually trying to leer at the comic book you've got stashed behind this very intelligent volume of law type reading materials.

Mary-Lynn blushes. She lowers the law book to reveal a panel of the Walking Dead.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Just don't tell Fly. He's got our noises to the grindstone preparing us for our litigation battle on the whole Viagra name thing, and he wouldn't look kindly to me catching up on a zombie book. Even if it is my bookmark.

Tyler laughs and plucks the comic from her book, flipping through a few random pages before placing it back exactly as it had been.

Tyler Rayne: Never read that one, myself. Heard good things, though. Besides, I don't see why Flyer would get all upset. I mean, you can never be too prepared for the eventual zombie apocalypse. Which is totally how the world is going to end. Bona fide zombie apocalypse....

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oddly enough, Flyer's already bought himself a shotgun and a cape and is going to call himself Zombie Megadeath until he's eaten.

"Don’t you know you can get herpes by just talking to him, Mary-Lynn?"

From behind Rayne comes the Lost Soul himself, Dusk, with a large smile on his face as he directs his attention to Mary-Lynn. She flashes a smile back at her friend as he then turns his attention to Rayne.

Dusk: Sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, Tyler.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, that's awesome. Sorry, May, but unlike some other people round these parts...

Tyler offers a condescending smile to Dusk.

Tyler Rayne: ...I've got a title to defend. Adieu.

Tyler walks off, ready to defend his championship. Mary-Lynn and Dusk remain behind, as Mayweather clutches her law book to her chest. She almost seems to be containing her excitement.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Maybe not for long Craig, whattya say to that?

Dusk: I say that might happen sooner than later, Mary-Lynn. Let’s get goin’. Main event is coming up soon.

Mary-Lynn bites her lip as they walk off.

Nick: Alright people, coming up next is your 5-Star Championship match and quite a test for the seemingly unstoppable Tyler Rayne.

Richard: Unstoppable? Might I refer you to Captain Justice, Nick?

Nick: I don’t think anyone has forgotten about CJ’s monumental win a few weeks ago. Not like Son—

Richard: Mr. Silver.

Nick: --would let us forget, anyway. But Captain Justice is only one of three competitors Tyler Rayne will have to go through if he plans on walking out tonight with his championship.

Richard: Which he won’t.

Nick: One man’s opinion, Rich. Let’s kick it to Vince…

The ring. Vince Howard. A microphone. The fans at the edge of their seat.

Vince Howard: LADIES and GENTLEMEN…the following contest is a GAUNTLET CHALLENGE for the PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!! As per the rules of the gauntlet, three consecutive singles matches will take place in this ring. Winners stay. Losers drag their crying asses back to the locker room. The LAST MAN STANDING will be declared PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION!!

Richard: Man, I can’t wait ‘til Captain Justice wins this title.

Nick: If he wins, Rich. That’s a pretty big if.

Richard: Good thing Captain Justice is a pretty big guy.

Vince Howard: Introducing FIRST… hailing from TOKYO, JAPAN by way of BAJA, CALIFORNIA… he stands at SIX FEET and ONE INCH TALL… weighing in at a LEAN, MEAN TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN POUNDS... he is THE GOLDEN BOY, THE UNDERGROUND PIMP and the CURRENT PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION… he is… TYYYYYYYLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Richard: Ya know, I was talking to Mr. Silver earlier, and he was telling me all about the celebration he has planned for CJ’s big win.

Nick: *sigh* If he wins.

Richard: When Captain Justice wins, you’re going to see the biggest American extravaganza ever produced in the history of this country. It’ll be like the whole arena had a giant red, white and blue orgasm.

Nick: That’s… a disturbing visual, Rich.

"Come on! I stick ‘em up! Just stick ‘em up! Stick ‘em up!"
"Come on, Come on, Come on, Come on, Yeah!"

Tyler Rayne steps through the curtain to a moderately decent response from the crowd. He looks out over the arena, gauging what is probably a half-and-half fanbase. He shrugs and starts a long march down to the ring, forgoing the traditional flash and showboating that marks Rayne’s entrance to the ring.

Richard: Sounds like Rayne might have lost a few more fans after that little stunt he pulled earlier tonight.

Nick: I assume you’re referring to his attempt to relinquish the 5-Star Championship…

Richard: Let’s call a spade a spade, Nick. The guy knows he can’t cut it against Captain Justice, so he tried to puss out of the beating he’s bound to receive.

Nick: That’s if Rayne even makes it through both Logic and Simply Beautiful to get to Justice. And, while I may not agree with Rayne’s actions, I certainly don’t think he was trying to "puss out."

Richard: Trust me, Nick. I have a hyper-sensitive nose when it comes to these kinds of things. I know a pussy when I smell one.

Nick: I can’t believe you just said that on the air.

Tyler Rayne slides into the ring, jumping up to flash his 5-Star Championship before handing it off to the ref. Without much more than that, the 5-Star Champion walks to the corner, perching himself up on the top turnbuckle as he waits for the first participant of the Gauntlet.

Nick: Rayne looking pretty focused here tonight.

Richard: Focused on the last time he’ll ever see that 5-Star Championship.

Vince Howard: And the FIRST CHALLENGER… wrestling out of ORLANDO, FLORIDA… he stands SIX FOOT, NINE INCHES TALL and weighs in at an impressive TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-EIGHT POUNDS… he is THE THINKING MAN’S GRAPPLER…THE PENSIVE PUNISHER…HE…IS… LLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOGGGGGGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No fancy effects. No pyro. No fanfare. Not even entrance music. Just a big badass dude stalking down to the ring, looking intently at the shiny gold belt in the referee’s hands.

Nick: These two just met up last week in a fast-paced brawl that had Rayne coming out on top. Can’t say I’d be surprised if Logic was looking for a little redemption here tonight.

Richard: This guy’s the smartest man alive, Nick. He learned from his mistakes last week, and this week, he’s going to mop the mat with Rayne’s face.

Logic enters the ring. Rayne hops off the turnbuckle. Referee at center stage.

Ding! Ding!

Nick: Here we go…

The two competitors meet at the center of the ring. Staredown. No surprise attacks to start the match this week. Both men lock up…collar-and-elbow tie-up. Logic has an obvious strength advantage, and he’s using it to bully Rayne toward the corner. The 5-Star Champion tries to put on the brakes, but can’t quite match Logic’s power. So he tries something a little more…unconventional.

Nick: Stomp! Tyler Rayne just stomped right down on Logic’s toe!

Richard: That’s not very sportsman-like at all.

Nick: No, but it did seem to be effective.

As smart as he is, even Logic cannot stop the ingrained reaction to someone stomping on your foot. Which is, of course, to immediately halt what you’re doing and caress the injured toes. Unfortunately, this is a wrestling match, and there won’t be too much caressing going on tonight. There will be a European uppercut from Rayne, however. The big man staggers a step back before catching a snap kick right across his right thigh. A second. A third. Rayne leaps forward with a jumping forearm that catches Logic just under the jaw. Two snap kicks to the left thigh. Rayne drops to his knees, throwing all his weight into a forearm to the inside of that thigh. He immediately reverses the momentum of his arm, driving the point of his elbow into the inside of Logic’s other thigh.

Nick: A flurry of quick strikes from Rayne! Logic is down to a knee.

Logic eats another European uppercut from Rayne. Spinning kick to the temple. The Pensive Punisher nearly topples, but catches himself with a big palm on the mat. Rayne jaunts to the side, springboard off the middle rope, up to the top turnbuckle… leaps off with both knees to the back of Logic’s head and drives him face first to the mat!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Devastating move there from Rayne. Looks like he’s trying to put this one away early.

The 5-Star Champion scrambles to hook the leg for a cover…

ONE!!

TWO!!!

TH--

Shoulder up. Without a second’s hesitation, Rayne switches his position, sliding across Logic’s body for the full mount. Left hand pulls Logic up by the back of his head. Right arm drops in a vicious forearm. Another. And another. And another…

Nick: Rayne is laying into Logic here.

Richard: You just wait, Nick. I’m sure this is all part of Logic’s master plan.

The assault doesn’t last too long. Logic uses his strength advantage to shove Rayne away. Logic tries to roll away, but Rayne is right back on top of him, hooking the front chancery as Logic rolls. Rayne wrenches the headlock for just a second before thrusting his body into the air and dropping down with a devastating knee to the head. Again. And again. And again…

Nick: Rayne is absolutely relentless here tonight.

Richard: Much as I hate to admit it, this isn’t a bad strategy. Either of these men is going to have to end the match quickly, because there are still two more competitors to go.

Though Rayne still has the chancery cinched tight, Logic simply just pushes himself to his feet, effectively negating the usefulness of Rayne’s hold. This also leaves Rayne in the perfect position for an…

Nick: Exploding Northern Lights Suplex! And just like that…Logic is back in this match!

Logic turns to press his advantage, but instead receives a diving headbutt to the chest. Logic down to one knee yet again. Trying to catch his breath. Rayne bounds off the near ropes and…

Nick: Shining wizard! Another cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!!

This time Logic literally throws Rayne off the cover. Rayne comes rushing back, but Logic has caught on to the game, and bursts from his position with a rising Clothesline from Hell.

Nick: Rayne turned inside-out! Cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!!

T--

Nick: Not quite enough, but damn that was a hell of a clothesline.

Rayne is first to his feet, but he’s pretty damn groggy. Logic takes his time, measures up the champ’s stagger, and then levels Rayne with a huge knee lift. Rayne falls back into the ropes, bouncing back off into Logic’s waiting arms. The Thinking Man’s Grappler lifts the champ quite easily.

Nick: Vertical suplex…and Logic is just holding him up there!

Richard: Man it’s going to suck when he finally lets Rayne down.

Logic marches around the ring for a good five or six seconds, holding Rayne upside down in that suplex position. Finally, the champ comes crashing down to the mat. Logic rises and turns all in one motion, immediately dropping the point of his knee down across Rayne’s forehead. Logic drags Rayne to his feet, whip to the corner… Rayne reverses. Logic reverses the reversal. Rayne hard into the turnbuckle. Logic charging in…

Nick: Big avalanche splash in the corner!

Logic hops a few steps back, beckoning for Rayne to come at him. The champ, all woozy and near unconscious-like, doesn’t have much choice. He stumbles into the Grappler’s waiting arms yet again, and finds himself lifted straight up in the air…this time in a military press. Logic presses Rayne up, brings him back down, presses him up again. Three reps. Four. Five.

Richard: What a show of power from Logic! This is what 5-Star Champions are really made of.

Nick: I thought you were rooting for Captain Justice.

Richard: Well, he’s not in the ring right now is he, Nick? No. I didn’t think so.

Nick: Logic dropping Rayne down to the shoulder. Sprinting forward… running powerslam!

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THRE--

Richard: So close.

Nick: This match may have started out all Rayne, but Logic has really come alive here. He’s punishing Rayne with some big time power moves to try and end this early. The winner of this match is going to need all the strength he can conserve if he expects to walk out of here 5-Star Champion.

Logic drags Rayne up by his hair. Despite the kick-outs, it really doesn’t look like Rayne’s got much left in him. Logic scoops the champ up and flattens him with a sidewalk slam. The Squared-Circle Socrates points over to the corner and begins his march toward the turnbuckle.

Richard: Is he doing what I think he’s doing?

Nick: It’s not often you see someone this big going up top, but Logic has been known to go for the big splash from time-to-time.

Richard: Friggin’ sweet.

Rayne is all kinds of laid out on the mat. Logic takes a brief moment to calculate the distance and factor in the wind before going airborne.

Nick: The big man flies…

Logic falling like a rock toward Rayne…

Richard: Pancake City, baby.
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAA-THHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Nothin’ but mat! Rayne rolled out of the way!

Logic is holding his abdomen, but pushes himself to his feet just as Rayne is pulling himself to his. Rayne running forward.

Nick: Step-up enziguri! Logic is dazed! Rayne is worn out! Could be anyone’s match here now…

Richard: Come on, Logic! Do something super smart!

The Pensive Punisher remains on his feet after the enzuigiri, swaying back and forth like a redwood just begging for that final chop from the ax (can you fell a redwood with an axe? Who the fuck knows?) Rayne sees him dazed and lets a little half-smile slip. This was gonna be good.

The 5-Star champion runs to the ropes behind Logic and bounces off heavy. He continues all the way past his foe and bounces off the opposite set of ropes, now facing the big man. With just a short bounding step off the cables, he launches himself forward, tucking his knees and slamming full-bore into Logic with the kind of momentum that would have sent the guy into a backflip if he wasn't so damned big. Instead, the big man sprawls out, spread-eagled, KTFO'd and all sorts of other cute ways to say he's not kicking out of this pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Eliminated: Logic.

Nick: That's one!

Richard: But look at the beating he took! He's still got ANOTHER big man to fight at the end of this SB sandwich!

Nick: That's assuming he survives SB, of course.

This is the part where SB comes to the ring, fights valiantly against the plucky champion, and ultimately falls to his dreaded small package driver as the announcers play up how hard he fought.

Eliminated: SB.

"Hail To The Chief" by 3rd Bass interrupts any semblance of a victory celebration that the Underground Pimp was planning on having.

Richard: No rest for the wicked, Nick.

Nick: As expected, these first two matches took their toll on Rayne. I don't think his issue with C.P. Cantrell was that he had to fight three guys - it's that he had to fight two guys BEFORE getting a rematch with Captain Justice, who beat him two weeks ago!

Richard: That's just the luck of the draw, you know.

Nick: Right, except the guy with all the luck is the Buick-sized human being who happens to run with one of Cantrell's advisors.

Richard: Who is that again?

Nick: You know as well as I do that it's Son-

Richard: MR. SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON TO PRIME.

Nick: Le sigh.

Captain Justice wastes no time bursting out from the back, and he breaks into a dead sprint toward the ring at the insistence of Silver, who steps out behind him and makes a more casual approach. In the ring, Rayne is still down on his knees, trying to recharge himself as much as possible. He sees CJ coming, but not until the hoss is just steps from the ring. Then it's a flash of red, white and blue and suddenly the behemoth is in the ring, wasting no time stomping a mudhole in the 5-Star Champ.

Nick: Captain Justice wasting no time here! He's not giving Rayne any room to breathe!

Richard: He'll put a boot in yer ass, it's the American way!

Nick: I always figured you to be a Toby Keith fan.

Richard: Actually, I'm an early-2000s Hardcore Holly fan. "How do you like me now?"

Nick: Less by the minute.

Rayne tries to fight hisway up against the onslaught, but it's to no avail. When he manages to get back up to his knees (as opposed to sprawled out on his stomach), CJ takes the opportunity to straddle him and apply a hold more commonly known for the enemies of America - the camel clutch. Sitting on the lower back, Justice cranks back on the chin to apply all the spine-bending power that his bulky frame allows.

The hold is constricting, but Tyler tries to crawl towards the ropes, knowing that it was only going to get more painful and more difficult to reverse. Despite Silver's protests, the Captain can't keep a good Rayne down.

Nick: Tired as he may be, the champ is still in this one!

Richard: Pfft, the champ will soon be dead. Long live the champ!

With a few short pulls, somewhat akin to an army crawl, Rayne gets close enough to reach the bottom rope and break the hold. The official steps in, but Captain Justice breaks the hold almost immediately. He grabs Rayne under his arms and hurls him up, draping his body over the middle rope. Then CJ takes off across the ring, bouncing off the opposite cables and rebounding to throw a leg over Rayne's body and crush him against the ropes. You know that move, it happens all the time on TV, but has it ever showed up in eW? Does anyone know what it's called? Does it matter?

Captain Justice immediately pulls Rayne up off the mat and pushes him up against the ropes. He Irish whips the Underground Pimp across the ring, catches him on the return and hoists him up effortlessly into a gorilla press.

Nick: He just picked Rayne up like it was no problem!

Richard: Is that any surprise? Captain Justice is probably the strongest member of the PRIME roster!

Nick: It's certainly impressive, but if he wastes a lot of energy trying to muscle Rayne around, he could wear himself out quickly.

Justice throws Rayne up and steps forward, leaving the 5-Star champion to plunge some eight feet to the mat. Rayne lands and rolls over to his back, stunned from the impact. CJ pivots and drops an elbow across his chest, bringing all three bills and change down onto his prone opponent. Then he bounces back to his feet, sizes Rayne up and drops a knee into the midsection, using his weight to continue wearing the champion down.

He's up again and he grabs Rayne by his hair, pulling him into a standing facelock. Rayne's body sags, exhausted from the breakneck pace with which CJ has taken the match so far. Without hesitation, Justice heaves and pulls Rayne up on brute strength alone. Once he has the underground Pimp up, he holds him in the vertical suplex position.

Nick: Again, Richard, we all know that Justice is the stronger man, but I think he's got himself a little excited about the prospect of Rayne being worn out. He's going too hard, too fast.

Richard: You saw the beating Rayne took so far. Plus, CJ already has cracked the code of how to beat him, so don't mistake confidence for overexcitement.

Nick: I'm just saying, we know that the Dual Halo winner is, by nature, known for his perseverance.

CJ drops back and slams Rayne into the canvas with the stalling suplex. He jumps up and backs into the ropes, taking a few steps out before propelling his giant frame into the air and crashing down witha big splash. One leg hook later and CJ makes his first pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Rayne kicks out and shows signs of life, to the delight of the audience.

Nick: Rayne's not done yet!

Richard: 'Yet' being the operative word...

Aggravated, Justice is back to his feet with another handful of Rayne's hair. He attempts another facelock, presumably for another stalling suplex or something equally devestating, but Rayne pulls away and throws a hard knee into the big man's thigh. The blow and the pain both catch CJ off guard, and he leans forward, leaving himself open to a follow-up side elbow from Tyler.

He swings a haymaker shot, more out of desperation than strategy, but the Underground Pimp, slowly regaining his bearings, sidesteps the shot, then shuffles forward and pummels CJ's rib and kidney area with body shots. The blows exacerbate any physical weariness the big man is feeling, and he can tell that his body is wearing down fast now that he's not on the full-time offensive. Rayne sees him slowing down and capitalizes immediately, ducking and putting a shoulder right into his side, then driving him back into the nearest turnbuckle.

Nick: Has CJ punched himself out? Does he have anything left in the tank to weather this Rayne-storm?

Richard: Dear Lord, how long have you been sitting on that pun?

Nick: Too long, man. Too damn long.

Tyler climbs up to the middle turnbuckle and raises his fist upto the crowd, the universal symbol for "I'm going to punch this dude in the face a bunch of times, but I can't multitask and keep count myself so I need you guys to scream out the numbers as I go."

"One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine!"

At nine, the good Captain has enough energy to shove Rayne off, but not to shove him very far. Tyler lands on his feet a little bit back from the turnbuckle, and he immediately bounds forward, plants one foot on CJ's thigh and rockets up with a pseudo-Shining Wizard flying knee smash right under the chin.

"TEN!"

Rayne lands back on the mat and steps away, letting Justice stumble out of the corner and do a poor man's Flair Flop right into the center of the ring. Tyler crouches, sizing the big man up as a low rumble begins amongst the crowd.

Nick: How fortunes have changed! Rayne's looking to put this one away and make a successful defense of the 5-Star Title!

Richard: It's a travesty of Justice!

Nick: Now who's rocking the puns?

Captain Justice begins to get to his feet, but as Rayne prepares himself for the kill shot, his attention - as well as the attention of the referee - is grabbed by an unwelcomed third...er, fourth party's arrival on the apron.

Nick: What the hell is Son-

Richard: MR. SILVER, SP-

Nick: WHATEVER, what the hell is he doing?

Silver stands at the ropes, screaming to the official about the illegal nature of Rayne's flying knee. The zebra will have none of it, and tries to brush him off, but Silver persists, even going so faras to grab the ref's shirt to accent his point. Rayne doesn't let himself get sucked in by the shenanigans, but he does shout something loud and bleepable to the Sports Entertainment Liason before returning to his regularly scheduled asskicking...only to find that there's been a last-minute program change, as the Captain practically beheads him with a monstrous lariat.

Richard: LONG ARM OF THE LAW!

The Clothesline-from-Hell-ish delivery of the move leaves CJ on his knees, winded and huffing. The breakneck pace of the match hits him like a cinder block to the lower back, and he's not quick to make the pin attempt on the dazed (and that's an understatement) Rayne.

Silver, meanwhile, changes his tune to the ref and drops his appeal. He's so enthusiastic about getting the official back to work that he practically shoves him backwards. As the stripes hit the mat, they roll over to see CJ finally draping an arm over Rayne's chest and a count ensues.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Rayne pushes a shoulder up and rolls over to his side, blinking several times as his vision stabilizes. Justice is slow to get up, too...he's blaming it on exhaustion, but in all honesty, that knee to the face was brutal, even if the mask isn't letting anyone see the effects. The Heroic Hoss pushes to his knees but takes another break, letting the gears of his massive body slowly creak to a stop as they run out of juice.

Nick: This is exactly like I said, Richard! The monster is out of gas!

Richard: He's just looking for that second wind...it's tiring to rep the red, white and blue 24/7! He just needs a boost!

Outside the ring, Silver senses the need for this boost, and begins slamming his hands on the mat, like any good wrestling manager. He also begins to chant.

Silver: U! S! A! U! S! A! USA! USA!

The attempt falls on deaf ears as the St. Louis crowd just kinda looks at the Sports Entertainment Liason.

Nick: That might be the first time in history that a "USA" chant got no-sold.

Richard: You can't blame the guy for trying.

Rayne notices the sloth-like speed of his adversary and makes every effort to get up himself. With an assist from the ropes, he makes it all the way to his feet. Justice tries getting up, too, but he comes up with his head down, and Rayne grabs him in a Muay Thai clinch before he can bull himself up.

A knee smashes into CJ's face, cutting short any sort of recovery process. Another one follows it up and he begins to wobble. Rayne pivots and uses the clinch to snap Justice back down. He twists before releasing the hold and delivers one final knee before the big man is laid back out on the mat.

Nick: Rayne's found his own second wind! Heck, he could be on his fourth or fifth at this point!

Shaking everything out for good measure, Rayne positions himself in front of the Captain and turns his back. He crouches low and loads up, then flips backwards for an impressive standing moonsault. No sooner had he hit the mat then he bounces back up, regains his footing and springs into another backflip, this time sailing forward to connect on a shooting star press!

On impact, he hooks the leg deep and leans back.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Justice may be gassed, but he's got enough left to kick out hard at the last second. In fact, he's slowly starting to churn back to life, rolling over to his stomach and pushing up to his knees with a sort of focus and determination more reserved for Hulking up than gassing out. Rayne sees the new life and tries to cut it off at the knees (literally), stopping the behemoth before he can rise to his feet. He slams a few strong-style forearms into the masked head, but they don't fell the beast like the knees did earlier. Rayne ups the ante with some sharp downward elbows, but their impact is heavy on the "slow him down" and light on the "stop him." In seconds, Captain Justice is up on his feet, and Rayne is resorting back to the body shots that revived him earlier in the match.

Richard: Here we go! I told you he just needed a breather!

Nick: That guy needed a freakin' respirator! He's got to be running on fumes here!

Like Jason rising from the dead so many times, Captain Justice shakes off the striking - even though the shots are clearly taking their toll - and grabs the Underground Pimp by the head. He sets up for another Long Arm Of The Law, except proper-like this time, Kobashi-style. When he reels back for the shot, though, Rayne jumps up, wrapping his legs around CJ's head and the arm that was holding him in place.

Nick: Another last gasp by Rayne! He's got a triangle choke locked in!

Richard: Are those even legal?

Nick: He's used them in countless matches before.

Richard: So you're saying his whole record could be invalid?

Justice sags as Rayne falls to the ground and secures the choke, locking his legs in a figure-four position around the head and arm. The Captain roars, fighting back as best he can. He squats and lifts Rayne into the air, standing up to his full height with the champion hanging off of him. He turns toward the nearby turnbuckle and the crowd oohs and ahhs at what they're seeing.

Richard: Is he going for the Fastball Special?!

Nick: If he can successfully finish the running turnbuckle powerbomb, this one is going to be over!

CJ charges toward the turnbuckle, looking to finish this battle once and for all. The one wrinkle he hadn't quite resolved in the heat of the moment was how to finish the move. See, the Fastball Special, like any turnbuckle powerbomb, required that moment of release when you (the attacker) stopped moving and he (the victim) continued forward to slam back-first into all that mess. But when he (the victim?) is gripping your head and arm with every ounce of energy left in his body, and you (the attacker...ish) are slowly losing consciousness as the hold constricts your air flow, the mechanics of the finish aren't quite as clean. One could suppose that Mr. Knox thought that the momentum of the running would be enough to shake Rayne when he eventually stopped.

One could then suppose that Captain Justice thought wrong.

At the end of the running, CJ throws Rayne forward, and Rayne pulls CJ with him. The two of them both collide with the turnbuckle, and while Rayne's back hitting it was kinda painful, his thought at the moment was that it couldn't possibly hurt as bad as Captain Justice's head hitting the middle buckle at full, unexpected force. His choke loosened slightly on the impact, but as the smoke cleared he locked it back in, rolled the big guy over to his back and left himself seated on the chest, slowly forcing any remaining energy and breath out of the big man.

He had been thrown from pillar to post three times over, and had battled this final hoss like he was taking out a freakin' rancor. And now, as the Captain made his final struggle before tapping out, the fight was over.

Eliminated: Captain Justice

"Stick 'Em Up" erupts just a few seconds after the crowd does, and somewhere in there the bell rings to signal the official end. Tyler Rayne, STILL the 5-Star Champion, rolls off of Captain Justice and to his back, breathing heavily and successful in yet another challenge. Perhaps an even greater task lied ahead, and perhaps a rubber match with Justice was in the cards somewhere down the line. But at this very instant, Rayne was content on two things:

1. It was still his belt.
2. C.P. Cantrell could go fuck himself.

The official hands Rayne the belt, and he takes it with the kind of reverence he hadn't shown earlier in the night. Then, he does what he always does after reminding everyone that he's Tyler motherfucking Rayne. He smiles.

So, Mega Job are still alive after their interview with the duo of Sonny Silver and Captain Justice.

Against all odds, I might add.

El Janito: I never thought anyone wearing the United States all over his body would be so scary.

Beef: Yeah, no kidding. It's like he was Del Wilkes, only bigger.

El Janito: Scary, scary.

Steve: WUSSIES.

Beef: Look, maybe YOU could have beaten the crap out of him, but we're... you know... US. People use US as weapons.

El Janito: Don't remind me. I still remember Logic doing that to us. Bad memories, man. Bad memories.

Beef: We just need to quietly move along, and not get into any more trouble. Like, no more psychopaths. That means, no crazy American-flag wearing poof, no Dusk, no Cozen, no anything remotely considered completely frickin' insane.

El Janito: That's a first. You usually go picking the most insane frickin' thing we can find so we can suffer more.

Beef: Not this week. One insane psychopath is enough. Let's go home and forget about tonight.

Voice: And... Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's FLYER!

High Flyer walks up to Mega Job using his best Shinning impersonation, with Tony Davis and Mary-Lynn trailing him along. Tony Davis, miraculously, is playing a gold plated Zelda themed DS now, having no forebearing on the term "continuity."

He looks up, and smiles at Mega Job.

Tony Davis: Hey. I remember these guys. Vaguely of course.

Beef looks up to the sky. Ceiling. Whatever.

Beef: WHY, GOD!? WHY!?

El Janito: See, this is why I told you to convert to Sphereism. But nooooo, you were like, "Why should I worship a deity who just bosses everyone around?" Idiot.

Beef: Shut up, Janito.

High Flyer: Sphereism isn't dead? Shows what I know.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oh hi there! We haven't met, and these two are jerks. So, I'm Mary-Lynn Mayweather. Pleasure.

She extends her hand to Beef specifically.

Beef: Well, HEL-LO there. (he shakes her hand) Awesome. I actually get to touch a girl. See this, Janito? This is the power of my presence. ...Urk.

After a pause, Beef lets go of Mary-Lynn's hand and comments that the woman has a vice grip instead of a girly hand. He then thinks of something.

Beef: Wait, does this mean that Steve could cause you to orgasm if he just looks at you?

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Y'know, it's pretty hard to avoid Lunatics if you yourself are one. No offense Steve, but you'd need more than just eyes to make me squeal.

Tony walks over to Steve's side.

Tony Davis: You think you could teach me that look-at-a-girl-and-she-orgasms trick?

High Flyer: I didn't think that was possible. Steve? Is that possible?

As it turns out, Steve isn't even paying attention. Instead, he's looking at some ladies on the other side of the hall. They're either looking like they're having orgasms while still having their clothes on, or they really need to pee. One of the two.

Steve: POSSIBLY.

Beef: Steve... is quite mighty. (to Flyer) Look, we already interviewed you guys, remember?

High Flyer: That happened?

Beef: Yeah. Two weeks ago.

El Janito: Beef... we lost that footage, remember?

Beef: We did?

El Janito: You wanted to see if you could use the film as a whip, like Indiana Jones or something. It didn't work.

Beef: Dammit! (looks at Flyer) Dammit! (looks at Davis) DAMMIT! (looks at Mary-Lynn) Hi. (looks at Janito) DAMMIT!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: So... why don't I remember meeting them earlier?

High Flyer: It's an issue of continuity. Just look past it. Like how Tony has a new ds and his old one was broken tonight.

Tony Davis: Well, I have like, six spares.

High Flyer: Stop bringing logic to a Mega Job Segment.

Tony Davis: Sorry.

High Flyer: So... what did we do last time? I'm so hopped up on goofballs and psychiatric drugs I don't remember.

Tony Davis: And I don't pay attention, so I don't remember either.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: And apparently I have amnesia or something...

Beef: Alright. Flyer, you were insane, stripped naked, and then stood on the ceiling using Spider-man powers. Tony Davis was trying to shoot webs out of his wrists and failing miserably. And Mary-Lynn... well, she was being the Mary-Jane to Flyer's Spider-man, but she wasn't naked. (muttering) Unfortunately.

El Janito: None of that happened. I remember it the interview consisting of you spending most of your time trying to invite Mary-Lynn to ride the Mean Beef Machine while High Flyer and Tony Davis spent the entire interview trying to beat the crap out of each other in Tecmo Super Bowl.

They look to each other, then they look to Steve.

Beef: Steve, what happened the last time we interviewd these guys?

Steve: CHAOS.

Beef: That's... what I thought, actually.

High Flyer: Welp, we can't disappoint our fans. ALRIGHT! Chaos! Let's organize up! Penguins. You'll stand next to the llama's and essentially make fun of the tigers. The tigers will get pissed and eat the penguins and llama's. And then we'll all have Tiger patties for dinner. Who's with me?

Steve raises his hand. Mary-Lynn tilts her head to it's side.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: There aren't any penquins tonight.

High Flyer: How can we not have penquins? It says, SPECIFICALLY, in my PRIME contract that every edition of Revolution requiring my prescence will contain 15 penguins of varying black and white striped colors. Remember? When I signed my contract? I asked for blue penquins and they told me they didn't exist and so I settled? *grumbles* Always fucking settling.

Tony Davis: Like a house! Hey. Can we do what Janito said we did last time? That sounds like fun actually.

Beef: I dunno, my attempts to persuade girls to ride the Mean Beef Machine usually end painfully for said Machine. Like, one time, I asked Poison Ivy to ride it. I couldn't walk straight for at *least* a month.

El Janito: That usually happens regardless of who you ask, Beef.

Beef: I know. It's like nobody wants to ride the hottest ride since Space Mountain.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Well... why wouldn't girls just go and ride Space Mountain then?

Beef: It belongs to Ric Flair.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I thought it belonged to Disney.

Beef: Jesus, woman! It's supposed to be sexual innuendo!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Then perhaps you're not good at it.

Beef: ...Steve, help a brother out.

Steve gives Beef the finger.

Beef: Dammit!

El Janito: (chiming in) Uh, you know, if nobody remembers us interviewing them, perhaps we should do it again to make up for it?

High Flyer: Well, we're facin' the Princes at Colossus now... Why not ask us questions revolving around pompous jackassery?

Tony Davis: Or water balloon fights.

Flyer smacks Tony in the back of his skull.

El Janito: So, you're facing Prince at Colossus? Tell me, do you know what it's like when doves cry?

Beef: That was awful, and you know it.

El Janito: I'm a broadcast journalist. These are the questions that MUST be asked.

High Flyer I think that question could have been left unquestioned... But to answer it, no, I have no idea. I've never harmed a dove to the point of making it cry. Hey Mary. Bust out my to do list. We've got some additions to make.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I'm not helping you make a dove cry.

High Flyer: I just need you to catch me one, tie it down, and let me do the rest.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: No!

High Flyer: Spoil Sport.

El Janito: Mmhmm. So, Colossus is coming up. What are your plans for this historic and breathtaking event that will shape and reshape the very values and standards of professional wrestling as we all know it?

High Flyer: Well. I want to really change the world. You know, make it a better place. So my first plan is to have Mary-Lynn topless.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: NO!

High Flyer: Bottomless?

Mary-Lynn Mayweather sighs, and storms off. Beef reaches out as she walks away.

Beef: ... Pretty lady...

He cries slightly.

High Flyer: Welp, shit. Now I don't have any plans.

Beef: I suddenly lost the will to continue this interview.

High Flyer: So you're like me, twenty minutes ago.

Beef: Hey, we didn't want to do it either. To us, we already did it. We even mentioned it before we started talking to Dusk.

El Janito: Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

Beef: Because Dusk is insane.

El Janito: Or at least a little unstable.

Beef: Like a table with two uneven legs.

El Janito: With an elephant on it.

Tony Davis has re-committed himself to playing his Nintendo DS. Something Beef didn't notice once he mentioned Dusk, was that High Flyer had dialed his cell phone, and was currently holding it out to Mega Job. Quickly, he places the phone back to his head.

High Flyer: Yeah. Heard all that? Sure. Yeah. I know. So, you wanna stop by? (covers mouthpiece) I think Dusk is stopping by to kill you. (Uncovers) Oh no? You're busy. Changed man and all that garbage. Bah. Well. Maybe later then. Peace.

Flyer closes his cell phone and smiles at Beef.

Beef: ...We're going to go now.

Beef immediately turns and flees in terror, his arms flailing in the air. He is also screaming like a little girl.

El Janito stares at High Flyer.

El Janito: You know, that's nothing he didn't hear from us to his face two weeks ago.

High Flyer: That's why Dusk said he was lazy... But that doesn't explain why Beef ran screaming for the hills.

Tony Davis: Maybe he has selective amnesia?

High Flyer: Are you going to make sure he doesn't run into any vending machines? Because if he does, I'd like to be told. I frequent many vendors and I don't want to stick my dollars into a broken machine.

El Janito: He'll tire out eventually.

Steve: INDEED.

El Janito: And if not, Steve will hit him with his ball-buster lariat.

Steve: TOTALLY.

El Janito: Come on, Steve. Why don't you get Clothesline From Shanghai number 5,000 on Beef to shut him up?

Steve: JOY.

With that, the two of them go in the direction of Beef.

Flyer turns to Tony. Tony turns to Flyer.

Tony Davis: Should we miss this?

High Flyer: We totally shouldn't.

Flyer and Tony now chase after the two remaining members of Mega Job. As they finally catch up, a flailing Beef clutches at his eyes, a vending machine horribly disfigured in his wake.

Steve promptly clotheslines Beef in the genitals. He falls. Flyer and Tony laugh, and, having seen what they wanted, go their seperate way.

Tony Davis: That was balltastic.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Those are the mutterings of one Chandler Tsonda, as he speedwalks down a random corridor of the Scottrade Center. He looks from side-to-side, not stopping for even a moment. The remnants of sweat still cast a dull shine on his forehead; while the match has been over for a while, it doesn’t look like the Number One Contender has gotten much rest since then.

Chandler Tsonda: Kid, where the hell are you?

As he shouts, Tsonda cups his hands over his mouth to amplify the sound. But when no response comes, he just keeps walking. His stride carries him around a corner, where he nearly bumps into someone.

Chandler Tsonda: Get out of my…uh, hi.

That someone he nearly bumped into also happened to be his opponent from earlier in the night, PRIME’s own Flyin’ Hawaiian. And needless to say, because of the result of the match, Dawkins wasn’t too happy. The young Hawaiian carried the ENTIRE fruit spread from the refreshment table, and was going to TOWN on the fruit; more specifically, the pineapple.

Dawkins: (mouth full of pineapple, mumbling) Yeah, bruh? What ya need? I could easily walk a little further so you’ve got access to my back. Ya seemed to jump at the opportunity earlier, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: Okay, you’re pissed. That’s good. It means that you’ve gotten past the whole "the fans are the only thing that matters" hurdle. Good. (Hesitates) And I didn’t want to do that to you out there, if that makes things any better.

Dawkins, still munching on his tropical fruit, glances briefly at Tsonda, and then focuses back to his fruit.

Dawkins: (still mumbling due to the fruit) Ya didn’t want to, but ya did it anyway? Yeah, makes alotta sense, bruh. And I’m sure, since you’re Chandler Tsonda and all, ya don’t feel as though ya have to explain yourself. I get it, bruh. The last few weeks have just been a biiiiiig misunderstanding.

Chandler Tsonda: If you didn’t get the message, kid, I’m trying to impart some wisdom on you. But you’re just looking at the surface, failing to appreciate what I’m doing for you. Plus, you keep reminding me that "I’m Chandler Tsonda." Yeah, dude, I know. If I have trouble remembering, I’ll invest in some name tags.

Not in the mood for Tsonda’s sarcasm, Dawkins begins to walk away from the Viet Viper.

Dawkins: Yeah, bruh. See ya around. Good luck with that whole Devin Shakur thing.

Before Dawkins can go, Tsonda grabs him by the shoulder. The Flyin’ Hawaiian slaps the Model Citizen’s hand away, but he stops, for the moment.

Chandler Tsonda: Wouldn’t you rather get some tough love from me than have your career ended? Because that’s what happens when you turn your back on someone in the ring. Yeah, Shakur’s a jackass and he was up there parading around for all to see. That’s his full-time job. If I was somebody trying to hurt you, I mean really hurt you, I could’ve blown out one of your vertebrae. When you took that one second to glance up at that d-bag, you lost all focus. And now…

The Model Citizen exhales deeply, trying to keep his voice steady. He wants to scream and shout, to explain why he was right for breaking the gentleman’s code of the ring. But he would rather walk Dawkins through his reasoning than let the youngster walk away from mountains of good advice.

Chandler Tsonda: …and now, you learned a lesson you’ll never forget. I guarantee you’ll never have a problem keeping your eyes on an opponent again.

Dawkins sighs and loosens up, turning towards Tsonda.

Dawkins: Yeah bruh, I guess you’re right. If that would’a been Union Jack in that match tonight, I’d probably be getting a free, but not-so-enjoyable ride in an ambulance right now.

For a second, something that might be construed as a smile creeps onto Tsonda’s face. He stifles it quickly, but the astute observer just saw a moment of actual compassion from the Sultan of Style.

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah well, if it’d been Jack, you would’ve walked out with a W. You just had the bad luck to go up against me and still put up quite a fight…ya know, for a crummy mid-carder.

The fact that he’d just been thrown somewhat of a compliment by the Model Citizen caused a Tony Gamble-esque grin to appear across Dawkins’ face. The Flyin’ Hawaiian takes another bite of pineapple before proceeding.

Dawkins: Thanks bruh. I gave ya all I had. Right now, I’ve got nothin’ in the tank. I’m runnin’ on fumes, so-to-say.

Chandler Tsonda: I’ve never been hit with an enziguiri that hard. I thought my fucking jaw was broken.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian laughs, throwing his head back, only to snap it back into place after hearing a slight cracking sound. You know, the kinda pop you hear when you crack your back? Yeah, like that…only imagine it in your neck. Not fun.

Dawkins: (rubbing his neck) Yeah bruh, I’m not sure I’ll be movin’ my neck too much over the next couple days. That rack neckbreaker ya dropped me with was WICKED.

Chandler Tsonda: It’s not perfect yet, but if I can figure out how to hit it right, that thing’ll break more necks than the gallows.

The Number One Contender finally chuckles softly.

Chandler Tsonda: I’m…it’s too bad we got interrupted by Prince Dickwad out there. I’ll getcha a rematch someday…since you proved you can keep up and all that.

Dawkins smiles widely.

Dawkins: Yeah, and Im’ma win it, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: You beat me and you can give the lessons. Until then, it’s time to put on the dunce cap, cover your books with recycled brown paper, and get ready for Sloppy Joes on Thursdays. ‘Cuz you’re going back to school; there’s oodles we need to reteach you, kid.

With a dumbfounded look on his face, Dawkins shoves another piece of fruit into his mouth.

Dawkins: Yeah, bruh?

The Model Citizen nods as he wraps an arm around Dawkins’s shoulder, and as the scene cuts away and the two walk down the hallway, but the audio of Tsonda’s voice makes it onto the broadcast.

"First things, first. We start by ditching the fruit fetish. Because I know it creeps me the hell out."

Have you ever seen Matt Mills run? We’re not gonna lie. It’s kinda funny. He runs like a girl. If said girl also ran like an emu. An emu with one leg that’s longer than the other. Try and picture that. Because it’s hilarious. And it’s happening right now.

Matt Mills: Rayne! Rayne, wait up!

Yeah. The figure marching quite in the opposite direction of Matt Mills is in fact the Underground Pimp himself, Tyler Rayne. Still all sweaty and heated from his just recently finished gauntlet.

Matt Mills: Rayne? Can I get a word about the match? Rayne, please!

He stops. He turns. He holds up the 5-Star Championship so Matt and the camera can get a very good look. He throws the title over his shoulder. Positions himself so everyone can see the retaining champion in all his glory.

Tyler Rayne: Ceeps. Silver. Next time…

He slaps the belt with his free hand.

Tyler Rayne: …try harder. Ya fuckin’ douche holes.

Mr. Mills, good interview. Now on to more backstage shenaningans…

"Tough break with that whole ‘restraining order’ thing."

The words smack Troy Douglas in the back of his head as he stuffs the last of his belongings into a small gym bag, prepping for the end of the evening. Pulling the zipper closed, PRIME’s Intense Champion turns in the direction of the statement, though at this point, he’s already far too familiar with the voice. Standing just outside the doorway of his locker room stands Kaiser Vashaun.

Troy: Yeah, tough break. And I’m sure you had no prior knowledge of anything?

Douglas takes a heavy step towards the recent thorn in his side.

Kaiser: Whoooaaa! Hold up, champ. You don’t want to violate any official orders and end up tossed in jail. PRIME couldn’t have that… might have to strip you of that title you’ve got and make sure it winds up in… better hands.

Troy: You're just loving this, aren't you? Coming in to this place and pushing my buttons, crawling under my skin, then hiding behind some lame restraining order? You aren’t afraid of a ‘fraudulent champ’, are you?

Kaiser: Not at all. I just feel a guy ought to be able to enjoy the peaceful backstage environment of ReVolution without having to worry about when some Neanderthal-on-the-loose is gonna come and bang the door down.

Douglas draws in a deep breath and for the briefest of moments, contemplates violating the restraining order.

Troy: You’re lucky you weren’t around when I showed up. Otherwise, I might have run your head through some dry-wall.

Kaiser: What bothers you most, Troy? Is it the fact that the only thing you were able to beat up tonight was a door, or the fact that if you ever want the chance to kick my ass, you’re gonna have forget that whole "wait in line" garbage and demand a match with me at Colossus?

Douglas nods his head at the words.

Troy: You know, that might not be the worst idea you've ever had. Yet.

A small smirk spreads across the face of Kaiser Vashaun

Kaiser: Looking forward to it.

The Next in Line turns and starts to walk away.

Troy: Give it a few weeks… you’ll change your mind about that.

What do you do before a big day at work? Do you take a shower? Get a new haircut? Maybe try out some swank new clothes?

If your name is "Cozen" (and, hey, let's be honest, even though the tall woman in the yellow-and-black with long black hair probably isn't actually named "Cozen," she doesn't remember who she was before any more than you or I remember what you had for lunch on August 12, 2003), you track down the gentleman you have been asked to team with tonight.

His name is Craiggles. He doesn't like you very much.

There have been a lot of "Excuse me" statements and a number of "Have you seen...?" style questions as the tall woman sought out the Icon of PRIME. She found him in the hall, waiting at the base of the stairs that led up to the entranceway (stands to reason if you come down a ramp, you've gotta go up something first).

As she approaches him though, Dusk turns his head, and shoots her a look.

Dusk: Listen, I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.

Cozen: When are you ever, silly?

The smile is brilliant and the eyes are not crazy (except insofar as one is black as night and one is white). She seems almost normal.

Cozen: I have been looking all over for you. I just wanted... you know. Wanted to wish you good luck out there and to ask you to please not beat in my face. I like this one.

Dusk just shakes his head at the insane Cozen.

Dusk: Until you decide to get a new one, I imagine. Unable to become who you truly are, scared by the screams that fill your head, and the reality that awaits you on the other side. No matter how hard you try, Cozen, eventually you’re going to have to face life and become what you’re destined to be.

He then lowers his head for a brief moment, a rare sign of exhaustion.

Dusk: After this, you and I, we’re done.

His eyes glance up at her.

Dusk: I’m tired of letting you get into my mind and fuck with things. You’re Troy’s problem now. I’ve got other things to take care of and the crazy talk that escapes from your mouth isn’t worth it.

Cozen: But... but... but we can't be done. I like talking to you! You're fun in that kind of "Grrr!" way.

Dusk: Cozen, I can’t plug the holes in your consciousness. I’ve let you get to me for far too long and it’s frankly not worth it. You and I could go at it inside of that ring, but the issues between us will never be resolved; because you can’t comprehend common sense or the world around you.

Cozen: I comprehend things just fine, Craiggy. It's like I told Jonny Rhine -- you're cute and I want to have your... wait, before that. I'm not as crazy as the Vandies or you think I am. See, my name is --

She laughs, reaching out to brush a hand against his arm.

Cozen: (giggling) Oh, man. I totally had you going there. You're all... (stern voice) "I am tired of the crazy!" (normal -- wait, we better put that in quotes -- "normal" voice) And I'm like, "Teehee, I am just a girl named Hannah!" Yeah, I might be a little odd, but you can't deny I would be a blast to have at parties.

Dusk: A little odd? Cozen, you take the cake and own the corner when it comes to odd. You’ve covered your past and who you are in this façade and have everyone just eating out of your hand. You look at me though, Cozen, and you know I see right through you.

He pauses for a brief moment.

Dusk: I’m done, Cozen, just done. You’re not worth the time anymore.

Cozen: Hmph. See if I let you in on the super-great reveal, then. Well, if you're going to be a big old jerk about it, then I'd just as soon go out there and fight two guys who both need their ribcage removed in a non-surgical procedure so they can go back to sucking their own dicks.

She lets that sit there, turning her head to the side like, say it with us, a bird.

Cozen: Is that too much of a stretch?

Dusk: Look, I’m going out there because hitting Shakur and Gamble seem to release quite a bit of stress for me personally. You cross me once though, Cozen, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Keep your pets at bay as well.

Cozen: Oh, come on, you big Snuffleupagus. Andy and Miss Siena are completely harmless if you get over the fact that they probably think you're stupid or crazy or stupid and crazy.

The brilliant smile returns; it's the kind of smile that would probably make you want to like her.

If she wasn't, you know, nuts.

Cozen: We'll make the best team ever. We need a cool team name.

She claps her hands together suddenly.

Cozen: OH! And music!

You can see the intensity boil in Dusk’s eyes as he looks around for something or someone to hit. As his eyes graze over Cozen’s face though he feels himself calm down as he just lets it all out.

Dusk: You enjoy living in your fantasy world, wishing that Rayne would give you what you crave. Just leave me out of it.

A smile slips over Dusk’s lips.

Dusk: It’s funny, because the old Dusk would’ve smashed something a few times while threatening you within an inch of your life. Now? Now you’re just Lindsay’s problem.

Cozen: Hey, does Ty smile at you all the time? I'm guessing the answer to that is no, buddy. And I don't sweat Lindsay Troy. She's... kind of like you, except she's never wanted to kiss me. That I know of, at least.

Is it statutory rape if the girl just acts like she's jailbait? Because Cozen crosses the distance between them in a hurry, putting glittery pink-nailed hands onto one of his forearms, looking up to him with wide dark-and-light eyes.

Cozen: Not that I'd enjoy it as much.

Dusk: Do you hear yourself? The incessant rambling? You know what… forget it. It’s not worth it. We’ve got a match that I’m certain Andreas and Siena cooked up. I’d much rather let Shakur bash my brains in instead of listening to you ramble on for the next century.

He begins to walk up the stairs.

As he turns away, her expression flickers for a moment. For reasons we'd best not get into, she adopts an officious British accent as she folds her arms.

Cozen: You cocked-up little git. Here I am, espousing you as One True Love've my bloody heart an' yer going to just walk away? Did yer mum raise you in a barn or was Daddy just lit'rally a pig? Show a lady some kindness and maybe there'll be someone at yer wake when you die, lovely.

The words stir an intense anger inside the pit of his stomach as he walks up to Cozen with his bright, red eyes burning.

Dusk: Keep yappin’ your gums, Cozen, and you’ll wish you never had. I would hate to have to break that lovely jaw of your’s.

She smiles at him before walking up the stairs and towards the ramp for the main event.

Tony Gamble and Devin Shakur are standing near the gorilla position, waiting on their first tag match with each other as partners in a good long while.

Devin Shakur: You ready for tonight, killer?

Tony Gamble: Ready like a fox.

Devin Shakur: I just want to make sure that we are on the same page, completely. That whole doppelganger stuff freaked me out a little last week, not to mention you somehow getting The Office cameras into the building.

Tony Gamble: That was actually due more to people wanting to see my pretty face and CP’s whole reality show feel.

Devin Shakur: We didn’t necessarily have to see the Tyler Rayne shower cam at the beginning of the show.

Tony Gamble: Tsonda probably thought it was mesmerizing.

Devin Shakur: Yeah, that little shit better not get in my business tonight or I’m going to have something for him.

Tony Gamble: You are going to show him your left eye?

Devin Shakur: …Alright, Prince, don’t make me go smash your Red Corvette with the dove paint on it outside.

Tony Gamble: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Devin Shakur: Yeah, let’s just forget this ever happened, Meatloaf out.

Tony Gamble: I sense purple rain somewhere.

Devin Shakur: Probably some of those idiot fans who put on eyeliner thinking that I do, but start crying when I don’t.

Vince Howard: The following match is set for one fall…

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: …and is our main event of the evening!

Nick: A huge, monstrous main event here tonight as we’ve got the tag team of Devin Shakur, the PRIME Universal Champion, and Tony Gamble going up against the unorthodox and unique team of Dusk and Cozen, two people who couldn’t stand each other if they tried their hardest.

Richard: I think secretly that Dusk has a crush on Cozen.

Nick: Richard, I think you need to stop snorting crack off of Rayne’s stomach during the commercial breaks.

Richard: You just know how to ruin all of my fun, now don’t you Nick?

Nick: Exactly, it’s what I’m here for. You have to imagine that Dusk is going to be looking over his shoulder throughout this match as he has enemies not only across from him, but in his own corner as the rivalry between Cozen and Dusk has been well documented.

Richard: Wait, you’re telling me that Dusk might get killed tonight?! SWEET!

Nick: It’s a possibility, though Dusk has put Team VIAGRA on standby just in case it gets ugly out here.

Richard: Really, we’re supposed to be scared of a guy named High Flyer? I mean, how unoriginal of a name! Why would I be scared of him?

Nick: He bought a shotgun.

Richard: Now, I’m scared.

Nick: I thought you’d be.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…

The PRIME*View goes dark, spiraling into images in half-remembered gray smoke. Faces, laughing and in tears.

Keep holding on when my brain's tickin' like a bomb
Guess the black thoughts come to get me
Sweet bitter words unlike nothing I have heard
Sing along, mockingbird, you don't affect me

The PRIME*View explodes with black and red letters on a white field.

< center >< b >< font size="+0.5" color="#990000" >COZEN< /b>< /center>< /font>

And the crowd? They boo a bunch.

That's right - deliver it to my heart
Please strike - be deliberate

Vince Howard: And introducing the next participant to this bout... from St Louis... accompanied to the ringside area by Andreas and Siena van der Wal!

Nick: For God's sake, do we have to deal with this woman lying every week?

Richard: What? She's obviously from this neck of woods!

Wait - I'm coming undone
Irate - I'm coming undone
Too late - I'm coming undone
What looks so strong so delicate

The curtain is thrown open by a tall woman (at least, it's probably a woman) in dark pants and a pink t-shirt, falling down around her face in a series of ringlets. A sharply pointed jaw and a bright smile meet the light of house lights. At her left, a smallish blond man with a smile that makes you want to hit him. At her right, an Asian woman with auburn hair and a fine dress.

For a moment, when she stops at the top of the rampway, hip cocked to the side, a grin that's like a knife slashes across her lips and she's Lindsay Troy, basking in the cheers. Except the cheers sound like this:

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: She is the Faceless Fighter! SHE! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!! COOOOOOOOOOOH-ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZEN!

I'm starting to suffocate
And so I anticipate
I'm coming undone
What looks so strong, so delicate

Both expressions melt away into the empty void as she strides down to the ring, fingers flexing. Andreas and Siena follow in her wake; the former attempts (futilely) to lead the crowd in cheering. The latter is consumed with chatting up some men at ringside. Cozen hops gracefully to the ring apron, then launches herself bodily over the ring ropes, coming up to a knee.

Her teeth show in her grin as she tips her head to the side, like some kind of animal.

Nick: That is one scary woman right there, Richard. Deranged and out of this world.

Richard: Sounds like my kind of woman, Nick! Come to papa!

Nick: And those words right there might’ve taken you past Cozen in sheer terms of insanity.

Richard: I bet she likes that in a man. She reminds me of our version of Angelina Jolie.

Nick: And that’s a thought I never thought would cross my mind. Thanks Richard for filling my head with vivid thoughts of large boobs and African babies.

Richard: As always, I try my best.

Vince Howard: Introducing her tag team partner…

#Th-th-that that don't kill me
#Can only make me stronger

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

With the opening lines of Kanye West’s "Stronger" ringing throughout the arena, from the back comes the "Lost Soul" himself wearing his trademark trench coat and blue jeans with a pair of boots on his feet. He doesn’t stroll down to the ring as he normally does, hesitant at first as he eyes Cozen and then the Van der Wals. You can see the cautiousness in his eyes before closes his eyes, drops his head, and then snaps his head back and roars out to the crowd!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

He then explodes out of his spot as he sprints down the ramp and slides into the ring before heading straight for Cozen and getting into her face!

Nick: And these two did not just have the most pleasant of conversations prior to this match, and that’s carried over into the ring.

Richard: Get it together, Dusk! You want a victory, you’ve gotta work with her! And who wouldn’t want to work with her anyways?!

Nick: I think Dusk would fit that profile perfectly.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at 250 pounds and standing at 6 feet 4 inches tall, he hails from Los Angeles, California!

DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSK!

Dusk ignores the crowd and the announcer though as his burning red eyes glare straight ahead at Cozen, never flinching, and ready to strike back at a moment’s notice! Cozen doesn’t seem fazed though, even with the Van der wals watching the situation rather carefully, not wanting it to explode before the match gets a chance to begin.

Richard: This is like a powder keg ready to explode! I love it!

Nick: I think the fans are in for a real treat tonight as the road to Colossus continues to tick down to zero.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…

"You think I'm funny... Funny how?"

The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica's 'Better Than You' begins to blast through the PA System, the new calling card of PRIME's 5 Star Champion; Tony 'The Grin' Gamble. He walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance toward the crowd before making his way toward the ring once the lyrics of the song kick in.

## I look at you, then you me
Hungry and thirsty are we
Holding the lion's share
Holding the key
Holding me back 'cause I'm striving to be ##

With the 5 Star title wrapped around his waist, Tony Gamble marches proudly down the small portion of ramp, no-selling the crowd's jeers and snide remarks as he remains focused on the ring. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.

## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##

Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. The Wal*tron now shows footage from Revolution 106, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his 'Stop Laughing At Me' signature move

## Lock horns, I push and I strive
Some how I feel more alive
Bury the need for it
Bury the seed
Bury me deep when there's no will to be ##

He unfastens the title from around his waist, holding it up above his head by one end of the leather strap; a wide grin painted on his face as he hears the negative reaction from the crowd. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.

## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##

Gamble hands the title to the referee as his music dies down.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, weighing in at 187 pounds and standing at 5 feet 9 inches, he hails from Las Vegas, Nevada! He is… TOOOOOOOOOOOOONY! "THE GRRRRRRRIN"! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

Gamble stands around, noticing the obvious tension between Cozen and Dusk! Cozen points towards Gamble, hoping to get Dusk to focus on the task at hand and Dusk turns around before glaring at Gamble, showing his displeasure at being in such a match. Gamble stretches out though, ready to go to work on destroying Dusk while Dusk throws his trench coat out to the crowd.

Nick: The tension inside of that ring just continues to rise with each passing moment! Gamble would love to get his hands on Dusk once again after last week’s five-man match, and of course, their match at Culture Shock.

Richard: Gamble is living in the past and doing some awkward, freaky stuff. He’s like becoming emo like Shakur. It’s kind of weird.

Nick: Very true.

Vince Howard: And introducing his tag team partner…

An absolute bitchin guitar rift resonates throughout the joint. Fingers slowly move on the strings and belligerent fans want to cut their collective wrists.

Oh yeah, this guy again.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Drums pound over the speakers as Frampton fires up an acoustic version of the classic song, Black Hole Sun. The curtain opens up and PRIME’s Universal Championship steps out onto the stage. Walking with arrogance, Devin Shakur stops atop the ramp and thrusts his arms high into the air, setting off a wave of red and black pyrotechnics behind him.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Ignoring the enraged masses, Shakur begins the walk down the aisle. Fans are giving him mad heat while he performs a spin move before hitting the ringside mats.

The lighting casts Shakur in a magnificent glow, the fifteenth shade of pale up from the fiftieth, while he climbs up the stairs and walks into the ring. Amidst the hatred from the crowd, he walks over to his corner and high fives Gamble, waiting on the match to start.

DING! DING! DING!

With the bell ringing, Cozen and Gamble circle off in the ring. Dusk stands in his corner while Shakur stands in his, but the stark difference is the smile on Shakur's face while Dusk is in another realm of anger. Cozen grins at Gamble, being her traditional, loony self before Gamble runs right at her and goes for a clothesline, but the swift Cozen manages to duck it and turns around quickly before connecting with an elbow to his jaw. Gamble is stunned by the shot as Cozen grabs his arm and whips him into the ropes before sending him to the mat with a Savate kick. Tony goes down clutching his chest as Cozen bounces off the ropes and slams her elbow into his chest this time around.

Nick: And a good start from Cozen as she is taking it right to Gamble who has to be a little embarrassed in the company of his friend, Shakur.

Richard: Gamble’s going to have to get on the ball if he wants to compete with Cozen. From the first moment that she walked into PRIME, she established herself as a player, and has yet to slow down. After losing to Tsonda at UltraViolence, Gamble should want to make a statement against Cozen.

Nick: Easier said then done with the Faceless Fighter as she’s quick, nimble, and is larger then Gamble.

Richard: Yeah, it was embarrassing when there was one woman bigger than Tony, but now there’s two! Can we get some smaller woman that Tony can manhandle?

Nick: That just sounds so sad and pathetic.

Richard: I know, but it made Chris laugh.

Nick: Makes sense.

As Gamble begins to rise to his feet, Cozen waits patiently before coming up behind him and kneeing him in the back. Gamble howls in pain as he begins to turn towards Cozen only for her to unload with an uppercut that nearly knocks a few teeth out of his mouth. Gamble stumbles into the ropes as Cozen slams her forearm into his face before whipping him off the ropes and connecting with a judo-style throw over her shoulder. Gamble hits the mat hard, but wastes no time as he rolls through it and tags in Shakur who isn't so pleased at being tagged in. Thinking of this as a game, Cozen rushes over to her corner and tags in the reluctant Dusk who glares at her as he enters into the ring.

Nick: And you have to imagine that Dusk is just a little off of his game with Cozen as his tag team partner and the weird and odd dynamic between them.

Richard: That weird and odd dynamic is called wanting to get into her pants, Nick.

Nick: I’m going to seriously doubt that. Maybe killing her or sending her to hell, but not getting in her pants. But, you never know. Weirder things have happened in PRIME. Like, Shakur becoming Universal Champion or you somehow keeping your job.

Richard: So true—HEY!

Nick: I call it like it is, Richard.

Behind him, the fans are chanting Dusk's name as he stares across the ring at Shakur, almost licking his chops to go at it with his old sparring partner. They carefully move towards the center of the ring, well aware of their tendencies and strengths as well as weaknesses. Shakur and Dusk immediately lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up with each man jockeying for position before Dusk takes advantage due to his size. He gets Shakur into a side headlock, but that doesn't last for long as Shakur slams his forearm into Dusk's back. The former Intense Champion breaks the hold and turns towards Shakur before getting hit with a brutal jab from the Universal Champion! Shakur follows it up with another one before he kicks Dusk in the stomach and plants him in the middle of the ring with a DDT.

Richard: And Shakur showing Dusk how it’s done at the main event level!

Nick: These two know each other very well, and it shows with the quick back and forth between the two. It was said last year that you could see these two competing for the Universal Title at Colossus V, and one of them is with the other one not that far behind him.

Richard: I think we’d see hell freeze over before we see Dusk and Shakur in the main event fighting over the Universal Title. One, that would have to see Dusk actually winning some matches. Two, we already saw them feud for over eight months. Do we really want to see any more of that?

Nick: Good point.

Richard: Score one for me!

Shakur gloats for a moment as he taunts Dusk to get back up to his feet. It doesn't take long for the Lost Soul though to fight his way back to his feet and connects with an elbow to Shakur's stomach while doing so. Shakur doubles over as Dusk slams his forearm into the back of Shakur before pulling him straight up and nailing him with a jab to the jaw! Shakur, not as dazed as Dusk would've liked from the shot, goes for a shot of his own, but Dusk manages to duck it before wrapping his arms around Shakur's waist and nailing him with a German Suplex. Dusk is quick back up to his feet and grabs Shakur by the back of his neck as he starts to get to his knees, a little woozy from the pain. As Dusk is pulling him up though, Shakur connects with a shin kick before sending Dusk to the mat with a roundhouse kick!

Richard: And that’s my boy right there! He bought me a stripper last week and EVERYTHING!

Nick: First time you’d ever seen a naked chick?

Richard: Except for your mom.

Nick: That’s just sad. My mom weighs like 300 pounds.

Richard: I know. I ate a buffet off of her.

Nick: What were you doing putting food on her?!

Richard: No dude, her clothes came off and food was already on her! BURN!

Nick: That was weak.

Richard: I know, but look who’s writing me.

Nick: Huh?

Richard: Nevermind.

With Dusk slow to get back up to his feet, Shakur walks over to the corner and tags back in Gamble who eagerly gets into the ring. He wastes no time as he goes straight for Dusk, connecting with a few stiff kicks to Dusk's chest. The Icon of PRIME grabs at his chest before rolling over to his stomach, but that just gives a new opening to Gamble as he drives his knee into Dusk's rib cage before bouncing off the ropes and dropping a leg across his lower back. The pain is obvious on Dusk's face as Gamble begins to pull him up off of his feet and goes to whip him into the ropes. However, Dusk manages to reverse it and sends Gamble flying into the ropes before connecting with a spinebuster. Gamble clenches up as he hits the ground and this opening allows Dusk to tag back in an eager Cozen.

Nick: And here comes Cozen!

Richard: YEAH!

Nick: That’s all you can muster up? YEAH?!

Richard: Look, I have to watch my blood pressure, Nick.

Nick: The pressure of the business.

Cozen begins to walk over to the downed Gamble and begins to drag him to his feet. As she does so, Gamble wraps his arms around her and surprises her with a belly-to-belly suplex that takes the wind out of the former Universal Champion. Tony is slow to his feet, but beats Cozen and drops an elbow across her back to keep her down. It doesn't keep her down for long though as she continues to fight through the pain before he rips her up off of her feet, whips her into the ropes, and connects with a dropkick. This time, she stays down as Gamble mounts her and starts wailing away at the Faceless Fighter. She does everything she can to cover up, but it's no use as Cozen continues to get physically assaulted by Gamble.

Richard: And Gamble is just taking control of Cozen!

Nick: Cozen’s going to need to get out of the ring before Shakur and Gamble team up on her.

Richard: Come on, Nick, you know how these things work. Shakur and Gamble beat on Cozen, and then Dusk comes in and the crowd goes crazy.

Nick: Sorry, let’s let the match unfold.

Gamble then rips her back up to her feet before whipping her into the ropes and sending her back down to the mat with a back body drop. He then grabs her arm and drags her over to his corner where he tags in Shakur. Devin slowly gets into the ring and eyes the woman who's been giving him hell for quite some time. He glances over at Dusk and yells at him.

Devin Shakur: This is for you!

He then begins to stomp away at her, the intensity increasing with each kick. You can see the pain etched on her face as Shakur doesn't let it up before pulling her up off the mat, and then connects with a punch to the throat. Feeling the pain from the Reverse Evolution Theory, Cozen clutches her throat and falls to her knee, doing her best to get to her corner and tag her partner in. Yet, Shakur is far too smart for this and slams his boot into the back of her head. She falls flat on her face as Shakur comes up behind her and puts her into a rear naked choke hold. She screams out in pain as the referee checks on her. You can see the expression on her face as she fights to get out of it, but Shakur uses his size advantage to hold her down. Yet, from behind, Dusk gets into the ring and slams his boot into the side of Shakur's head as the referee grabs Dusk and yells at him to get out of the ring.

Nick: And Dusk making the save there. Something that I didn’t think I would see or say in my lifetime when it pertained to Cozen.

Richard: The truth of the matter is that Dusk still wants to win this match, of course. Cozen having to submit isn’t going to really make him that happy at all. So, he’s gotta keep her in this thing if he wants a chance at victory.

Nick: You never cease to amaze me, Richard.

Richard: I know.

Glaring at Dusk, he then turns his attention back to Cozen who is clutching the ropes and trying to get back up to her feet. He allows her to do so before nailing her with a Millennium Suplex that sends her crashing to the mat. He gets back up and tags Gamble back into the match who is more than happy to serve at Shakur's bidding. He rushes over to the fallen Cozen and drags her up to her feet before sending her flying into the corner. She slams into the turnbuckles back first and connects with a clothesline to her throat. The force of the shot causes her to stumble out of her corner and Gamble connects with a bulldog that sends the Faceless Fighter back down to the mat.

Nick: And Cozen is still being manhandled here by Gamble and Shakur with no end in sight!

Richard: She’s going to have to do something fast if she wants to get over to Dusk. It’s going to take her fighting back and not Dusk doing something here.

Nick: So true. I’m really shocked that Richard is actually making sense here tonight.

Richard: Credit me with some intelligence.

Nick: I wouldn’t go that far.

In the ring, Cozen is on her knees, looking over at Dusk, who has his hand extended and just waiting for the tag to get back into this match. As she starts to extend over to Dusk though, Gamble slams his knee into her back before pulling her up to the match and slamming his forearm into her chest. With Cozen completely out of the match, Gamble manages to connect with a Tiger Driver on the Faceless Fighter. You can see the energy being drained out of Cozen as she reaches out, hoping to tag her partner, but with no avail. Gamble then grabs her hand and helps her up, but for only brief moment as he connects with the Stop Laughing at Me!

Richard: And it looks like the end of the road for Cozen as Gamble is going for the Smile for Me!

Nick: With Dusk still fresh though, he might not be able to keep it locked in there for long before Dusk explodes into the ring.

Richard: That’s what Shakur’s for!

He then goes to grab Cozen’s legs, but she kicks him away with some random burst of energy. Gamble stumbles backwards as she begins to crawl over to her corner as Dusk is yelling at her that she can do it. As she gets into reach of him though, Gamble grabs her leg and begins pulling her back away. She leans as hard as she can, but nothing happens as she starts to hop on one leg. Gamble tries dragging her to him, but she holds her ground as she nails him with an Enziguiri. With Gamble on the ground, struggling to get back up to his feet, Cozen does a front roll and tags Dusk in.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: AND DUSK IS IN! DUSK IS IN!

Richard: Did you say that Dusk is in?!

Nick: Yes, I did! And he just took Gamble down with a big right hand!

Richard: And now let’s see if Chris remembers how to write a match.

Gamble has the unfortunate situation of being on the opposing side of the hot tag. Dusk pelts him again with a right hand, and yet again once Gamble rises. Shakur groans, knowing all too well what will happen if he goes in there himself. Dusk brings Gamble up to a vertical base and unloads with a forearm to the side of the head before executing a picture perfect Irish whip. Gamble steamrolls back and gets flipped high into the air, flailing his arms and legs in all directions on the way down from the backdrop. His own momentum backing him into the ropes, Gamble tries to reach out for a tag to Shakur, but gets dropkicked in the face courtesy of the Lost Soul. Minding his own business, Shakur gets decked with a right hand that sends him crashing into the steel stairs.

Nick: Dusk is a house of fire.

Richard: Someone better call the fire department then.

Nick: …

Richard: What, with all these people in the building he’s a fire hazard.

Gamble receives another forearm to his head before getting thrown into the nearby turnbuckle. Dusk backs up about six feet, bulrushes ahead, and connects on a big splash that takes all the wind out of Gamble’s sails. Running off the ropes, Dusk leaps into the air, gets a firm grip on Gamble’s neck with his right arm, and drives The Grin down into the canvas with a bulldog. Shakur gets back on the apron to try and stop the one man wrecking crew, but gets a spinning back kick and throated across the top rope for his efforts.

Nick: Nobody capable of stopping Dusk now.

Richard: Well Cozen probably could if she remembered that she hated him.

Dusk jumps back up to his feet and lets out a primal scream that gets the crowd fired up.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

But it also gives Gamble a second to catch his breath and kick Dusk in the balls.

Only Dusk no sells it because he has no balls.

HA! I still got it.

Ok, no, he crumbles over in a heap and the crowd boos like hardcore Sex and the City fans when they introduced the Russian as a foil to Mr. Big and Carrie reuniting at the end of the series…What? Oh, match, right, right. Gamble scurries up to his feet, eager to capitalize on the advantage, and connects with a swinging neckbreaker. Gamble makes the desperation tag over to his partner. Shakur steps into the ring and puts an elbow directly into the back of the neck. Dusk tries to massage the pain away while stumbling into the corner, right where Shakur wants him.

Nick: Not the best place to be against someone like the Champ.

Shakur delivers a stinging body blow to the right side, connects again in the same spot, and with speed that would make Floyd Mayweather go "He only HALF as good as I am", Shakur begins to unload with a barrage of body shots that leave Dusk gasping for air. Only when Shakur delivers a stunning headbutt that sends Dusk down the turnbuckles does the former Intense Champion get a respite. Shakur measures Dusk up, takes a fake photograph, and then bounces off the ropes, gaining a full head of steam and charging ahead for an attempted Facewash, but the Champion moves out of the way.

And Shakur surprisingly gets a boot upside his own head courtesy of the Faceless Fighter.

Richard: What the hell, they are working together like a team? Am I in a parallel universe?

Nick: No, you’ve just entered the Twilight Zone.

Richard turns and sees Nick wearing a pig’s mask and flips the fuck out hard, hiding under the table.

Nick: Hmm, so that’s all it took to scare him away.
Shakur stumbles out to the center of the ring, giving Dusk enough time to scale the ropes and land a picture perfect moonsault. He gets the easy cover attempt.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Shakur with the kickout, and he’s a little surprised that Gamble didn’t come in for the save. Dusk, still a little hurt in the rib area, manages to pull the smaller Shakur up and deliver a forearm to the head and then an Irish whip. This whip conveniently sends Shakur back first into Cozen, who is all too ready to kick Shakur in the shoulder blades, sending a shiver up his spine, and an elbow in Cozen’s direction. The Faceless Fighter blocks the move, and spins Shakur into Dusk, who is all but ready to lift The Man in Black up for a devastating Samoan Drop that further damages Shakur’s back. Dusk rolls over and goes for another cover attempt.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

This time Gamble rushes in immediately to make the save before running away like an eight year old who just broke a window. Dusk admonishes Gamble verbally and threatens to go over and continue their long rivalry, but unfortunately his face meets the canvas when Shakur trips him up. Commie Emo does a roll through and makes the tag to The Permascar Superstar.

Richard: He let his mouth get the better of him there.

Gamble slowly brings Dusk up to his feet and performs a couple dirty boxing punches, backs Dusk into the ropes, and connects on a knife edge chop. In a move of ingenuity, Shakur has Dusk’s feet locked in with his own on the outside, which allows Gamble to run off the ropes, springboard, and nail a nice 540 back elbow that rocks The Lost Soul. Dusk gets shot off into the ropes, disoriented as get out, but unbeknownst to him, Cozen sneaks a blind tag in and catapults onto the top rope.

At the very same moment, Shakur has decided to blind tag Gamble and has the very same idea. Both wrestlers springboard into the middle of the ring with the exact same idea in mind, a spinning heel kick. Well, they both connect on the move, knocking each other out, cold as ice in the middle of the ring.

Richard: HO SNAP!

Nick: They just knocked each other the FUCK out.

Richard: What are you, Chris Tucker? This ain’t Friday you moron.

Nick: Actually this is, at least that is when the match is being written.

Richard: Oh

The referee looks down at the situation and doesn’t bother to look behind him, as Gamble charges at Dusk, hoping to get a cheap advantage for the team since both of the captains are out. Dusk manages to catch Gamble with a nasty boot that backs The Grin into the ropes. He comes back off looking for some revenge, but finds a kick to his midsection instead. Dusk quickly puts the head in between his legs, hooks the waist, and lifts up, descending quickly and connecting on an effective sit down powerbomb that sends The Grin into a wonderful dream with Oompa Loompas feeding him grapes.

Nick: GOOD NIGHT MARIA!

Richard: Yeah, call me! We’ll do dinner next week.

Unfortunately, Dusk is on top and ready to go for a cover. Since Elvis Nixon isn’t out here, and he’s the only smart referee, Bernie Roberts saw neither blind tag so he’s going to count.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

FOOT ON THE ROPE!

Gamble somehow had the wherewithal in his mind to put the tip of his boot on the rope and that counts. Dusk grunts in frustration and turns around to see Shakur slowly rising up to his feet along with Cozen. Seeing the chance to give his team one giant assist, Dusk crouches down and awaits Shakur to walk right into his Lights Out.

Nick: Dusk could be looking for the big time victory right here.

Richard: DB ALERT AT 6 O CLOCK COMMIE E!

Nick: Who in the hell would understand something like that?

Well, apparently someone named Devin Shakur who looks in between his legs and pretends to be woozy, to see said crouching Dusk. When he turns around, he’s well prepared.

What Dusk doesn’t anticipate is Cozen rising at the exact same time, but with one difference than Shakur, she’s not aware the kick is coming.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww"

Nick: Dusk stopped! He didn’t kick Cozen’s head off!

Richard: …Wow, dude must really want to win a match here.

Unfortunately, fate isn’t so kind to the duo, fate being Tony Gamble and Devin Shakur. Gamble sees an opportunity and takes it, chopping both Cozen and Dusk’s right leg while The Champ springboards off the second rope and connects with a double rifle kick that gives new definition to the meaning of high/low. Dusk and Cozen are both bent at an awkward angle, and Gamble decides to go to work, attempting to lock in the Smile for Me on Cozen.

Nick: Do you think Cozen would actually give up?

Richard: She would probably if you gave her a cupcake and syrup.

Nick: …What?

Richard: I’m just thinking up weird shit she might like.

Gamble steps over with the legs and just as he’s about to arch Cozen back, she somehow rolls around to the side of Gamble’s leg and puts him flat on his face. Grabbing a hold of his leg, Cozen is twisting the ankle and locking in a nasty heel hook that has Gamble screaming like a four year old after having her bike taken away.

Richard: TROUBLE! SHORTY IN HOT!

Nick: Where did you and Shakur find the time to establish this awkward code for matches?

Richard: Waffle House with Mega Job and Steve. You should see how much those fuckers can chow down when they are off the clock.

Somehow, Shakur interprets the words being said and dives over to save his partner by booting Cozen hard in the head with a snap kick that sends The Faceless Fighter rolling down to the floor.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Dusk sneaks in behind Shakur and catches The Champ with a release German suplex that folds the Champion up like an accordion.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: Right on the neck!

Dusk turns around and gets a boot right to the package courtesy of Tony Gamble, before Gamble tries to be all sneaky and get a roll up.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Kickout by Dusk!

Nick: This has turned into a full out melee. Roberts can’t get control in there.

Richard: Now if only Tyler Rayne were to come out here, it’d be a goddamn circus.

With Gamble being the only one half standing at the moment, he seizes the opportunity and once again goes over to Cozen, stepping through on the legs, and this time able to arch her body back into the Smile for Me.

Nick: HE’S GOT IT! SMILE FOR ME AND COZEN IS CAUGHT DEAD CENTER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!

Richard: Do you think Dusk is going to continue his hospitality olive branch toward her?

With Dusk about halfway up to his feet and still groggy from his second kick in the balls courtesy of The Grin, he’s a little worse for wear at the moment. Shakur is still holding the back of his neck in pain, having been dropped on it a good six or seven times throughout the match. Having almost a month between matches is not a good idea if you are going to face the likes of Cozen and Dusk upon your return. Gamble, meanwhile, is begging to get a win and submitting the former Universal Champion and now Number 1 Contender would put him back in the thick of things at the top of the totem pole.

Cozen is trying to find some kind of way to escape from this painful submission hold. Her limber body is keeping the seemingly inevitable tap from occurring, and giving more time for her mind to cognitively operate. Wait, does Cozen’s mind even know how to do that? Well, regardless, Cozen tries to rock around and get Gamble off balance in order to break the hold.

Nick: Cozen is fighting out of this, you gotta give her credit, she’s hanging in there.

Richard: I put her through worse during flexibility training.

Nick: You give out flexibility training?

Richard: To her…in the bedroom…all night long

Ric Flair walks by and shouts out "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO". What, he’s retired now.

Cozen continues to rock and tries to use her hands for some kind of balancing act, but Gamble has this locked in pretty tight. Luckily, her knight in shining armor, Dusk comes in and makes the save, knocking Gamble off. By doing so, he has left himself wide open to an attack from The Champ, and he’s not about to let it go to waist.

Nick: GOOD TIMES PA-

Richard: LIGHTS OUT! HAHAHA! HE JUST DUSKED DUSK!

Dusk has just been knocked completely out of the ring and Gamble seems all too eager to dive out after him. Cozen meanwhile is ripe for the picking and Shakur has a smile ten miles wide looking down at his number one contender to the Championship. Shakur pokes and prods at her with shin kicks to her defenseless frame, before picking her up and slapping her hard across the face. Nothing happens, just like Shakur expected. He looks out to the crowd and makes taunting remarks before front hand slapping her once again. Cozen sinks down to the second rope while Shakur smirks once again, poking her in the chest and ruffling around with her hair.

Nick: I don’t think he should tempt something that wild, especially in her natural element.

Richard: The fuck is this, the Discovery Channel?

Shakur pushes her back into the corner while Dusk has managed to fight his way back up to an even keel with Tony Gamble, with the two trading blows on the outside. Gamble delivers a boot to the midsection and runs Dusk’s injured shoulder into the ring post just as Shakur delivers a third open palm slap to Cozen.

Her head slowly slides up to meet Shakur’s.

Her body becomes its full six feet in height.

She gets a freaky look in her eyes, one that even startles Shakur a little bit.

Her fists clinch real tight.

That trademark head tilt.

Richard: RUN MOTHERFUCKER RUN!

First, it’s a liver punch that sends Shakur back several paces. Next, she extends her right foot forward Lyoto Machida style and absolutely kicks the holy shit out of his heart. Shakur can barely stand at this moment. He trudges forward into a spinning backfist that turns his legs into Jell-O. An elbow finds his temple and Shakur almost wakes up in the hospital bed with a tube helping him breathe. The Faceless Fighter rushes forward, capitalizing on her opportunity, and literally throwing Shakur into the ropes. Commie Emo is helpless, his own momentum carrying him back into a spinning roundhouse kick that finds the top of his head and freezes him solid. He drops straight down to the mat, staring up at the lights like he’s just been turned to stone by Medusa’s eyes.

Nick: Good God!

Cozen, with little effort, leaps up to the top rope and stands there, perched like a cat for a moment staring down at her prey. Crouching down, she leaps high into the air and seems to be locked in a Japanese martial arts movie, hung in mid-air for what seems like an eternity before coming down on the body of Devin Shakur. Blood comes spewing from his mouth at an alarming rate like a waterfall in front of a building.

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"

Nick: The demon has been brought to life.

Richard: She just dismantled our Universal Champion like he was a fucking dark match worker.

The only thing that brings Cozen’s rampage to a stop is a sneaky Tony Gamble, jumping into the air behind her, locking her arms up, and rolling her entire body back for a pin attempt.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Cozen kicks out! Dusk doesn’t need to come in for the save, but it doesn’t help that he’s returned to the ring and clubbed Gamble in the back. Gamble is now trapped in between Dusk and Cozen, which is never good thing in any circumstance. Dusk clubs Gamble in the back and sends him into the assassin, Cozen, who delivers a spin kick to his midsection. Shakur is just starting to move his limbs around like a turtle upside down, while Gamble is getting assaulted by the unorthodox tag team. Dusk fires Gamble off into the ropes and goes in for a spinebuster, but Gamble has the testicular fortitude, hey he’s gotta be big somewhere right, to hold onto the ropes and throw Dusk off his game.

Dusk charges ahead and receives a desperation kick to the package, for like the third time tonight. Shakur rolls over onto his stomach while Cozen charges ahead and gives Gamble and nasty pair of knees to the sternum. Gamble stumbles back into the ropes and is forced to fall forward, landing right on the package of Dusk. Cozen starts giggling like a school girl, which gets a funny look from Dusk while he’s rolling around in pain on the mat.

Nick: She’s taking enjoyment in watching Dusk getting hit repeatedly in the package.

Richard: We all are Nick, we all are. Chris is back, baby! Running jokes on Craig 4 Life!

Shakur continues to start moving on the opposite side of the ring while Gamble tries to regain his bearings. Dusk is wondering if he’s ever going to be able to procreate again while Cozen is moving in for the kill on Gamble. She measures Gamble up for the Terrible Lie. The Grin is stirring up to his feet, somehow able to withstand the steel balls that Dusk possesses…Sorry, I had to stop to laugh there. Cozen starts into her motion for the butterfly kick, but it is at this moment that Commie Emo comes to life, springing from his dormant state and going for the end all shot…

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: GOOD TIMES, PAINFUL MEMORIES!

Richard: HE MISSED! DAMMIT!

Indeed he did. In one of the most aesthetic displays in history, Cozen was able to arch her body out of the way of Devin Shakur’s incoming left shin, in mid spin, she bended herself backwards and landed on the apron. Everybody in the front two rows was left in shock, their jaws down to the floor.

Dusk’s jaw on the other hand is pretty much on the floor, detached from the rest of his face. He’s out cold on the canvas. Meanwhile the same fate has met Tony Gamble, who has been kicked in the head courtesy of Cozen and a Good Times, Painful Memories of her own. He drops down and goes for the cover.

Unfortunately, Bernie Roberts has a selective memory and tells him that Dusk is not the legal man.

He hasn’t been for a good long time.

That’s when Shakur turns around and sees the legal person.

Or her feet for that matter

Right in his face

He goes down, out, in a heap. She drops over his body and it’s academic.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: Your winners of the match…COZEN AND DUSK!

Nick: Cozen has picked up the win…But I don’t think that she’s done.

Completely ignoring Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble, Cozen’s attention is turned solely on Dusk and Dusk alone. She throws her arms out and then drops down Indian style, sitting in front of his body and patting her legs while waiting for him to regain some kind of consciousness.

Nick: I can only imagine what she’s going to do here.

Richard: Maybe she’ll play patty cake with him. You want to play?

Nick: …

Richard: Geez, you coulda said no.

Dusk’s eyes open and he sees Cozen staring at him in her sitting style. He goes to roll over and she mimics his roll, to a bizarre reaction from Dusk. He mouths "What the fuck are you doing?" and she mouths the same thing back at him.

Nick: Oh boy, its Cozen being Cozen again.

Dusk rolls the other way and Cozen replicates his actions verbatim, but this time adds a little twist to it…head butting him and sending him down to his back.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Cozen rises up to her feet and brings Dusk up with her, unloading on him with vicious rights and lefts in the corner. Dusk is at her mercy and there is no way he is going to be able to escape this onslaught of rights and lefts.

Nick: The former Universal Champion is going to town on Dusk here!

Richard: BEATDOWN!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: Oh come on, not again.

Richard: What?

Nick: I’m being told that we’re out of time.

Richard: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Cozen winds up her left foot to fire off a kick but Dusk manages to catch it-

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

And flip her overhead in a leg capture suplex.

Nick: DUSK IS BACK!

Dusk throws a right hand of his own, Cozen retaliates. Dusk backs off the ropes, ducks a kick, spins around, catches Cozen in a jawbreaker, and launches her halfway across the ring in a belly to belly overhead suplex.

Dusk rushes across the ring and almost gets his head taken off by a spinning roundhouse kick, but manages to back Cozen up to the ropes and start throwing rights and lefts of his own.

Los Enemigos Security bolts down the aisle to break up the fight, and we're met with a mishmash of yellow jackets and red-hot tempers as the scene cuts away from the ring, but surprisingly, no copyright info comes up...

Nick: Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's been another incredible night on the march to Colossus, and it's just a shame that we'll have to wait until next week-

"We Care A Lot" by Faith No More hits the arenas speakers, catching more than a few fans off guard as they had begun to make their way up the aisles and towards the exits.

Richard: What the...?

Nick: I don't have anything else on the program, we were supposed to end in the ring...

C.P. Cantrell steps out from behind the curtain and more than a few fans decide that he's not worth turning around, and continue heading for the parking lot. For the most part, though, interests are piqued at the sudden late-show arrival of the executive producer.

Nick: This is absolutely unorthodox, folks.

Richard: Hey, he calls the shots on the show, he can ad-lib as he sees fit!

Cantrell reaches the ring and steps inside, beaming all the way as he produces a mic from his jacket pocket.

C.P. Cantrell: Good evening everyone! I'd like to thank you for coming to this evening's show, and I hope you enjoyed another EXCITING episode of ReVolution!

The attempt at a cheap pop doesn't get quite the reaction that the producer was hoping for, so he continues on.

C.P. Cantrell: As I promised several weeks ago, this would be the biggest summer in PRIME history, and we've already delivered some incredible surprises!

Nick: What, like the blinding of another company's star and the insulting treatment of a Hall-of-Famer?

Richard: Dude, don't dwell on the negative.

C.P. Cantrell: We've got more surprises in store, but before everyone goes tonight, I wanted to take the time to speak on a very serious matter. As many of you are painfully aware, PRIME has found itself embroiled in quite a few drug-related incidents as of late, some dating back to before my arrival. So, like Roger Goodell stepping in and cleaning house, it's my time to really get TOUGH on our drug policy.

Nick: Is that really his jurisdiction? Doesn't that sound like a matter of the Board of Directors?

Richard: This is no time for democracy - we need a strong leader, and C.P. Cantrell IS that leader!

Nick: Take it easy, Che.

C.P. Cantrell: It's time to do away with the abuse of performance-enhancing drugs, and make PRIME a forerunner in this industry. No longer will abusers like Danny Ferguson be given a free pass.

Nick: Quite a dig at the former PRIME superstar....

Richard: Not undeserved, though, no?

C.P. Cantrell: And no longer will men like Killean Sirrajin be allowed to fail multiple tests without penalty-

Suddenly, Cantrell practically hits the deck as pyro explodes from the four posts of the ring. At the same time more explodes from the ramp area, throwing the crowd in the Scottrade Center into a frenzy.

Richard: What the hell was that?!

The opening rifts are unmistakable to the sold out crowd in St. Louis.

Nick: I don’t think this was supposed to happen.

Most of the crowd get off their collective asses and cheer as "Ladies and Gentlemen" swings into full gear. The remaining members of the audience hold up signs saying "HGH" and "drugged up freak" just to name a few. Killean Sirrajin bats away the curtain and the crowd gets a bit louder as he steps out onto the stage. He isn’t alone however.

Richard: He’s suspended! Get ‘roid boy outta here!

Nick: You wanna tell him to leave when he has that baseball bat in his hand?

After stopping to observe the rowdy fans, he quickly sets his sunglass covered eyes on Cantrell in the ring. The silver baseball bat, which has not been seen since his return to in ring competition is secured tightly in his right hand as he hops up onto the ring apron.

Nick: He has his sights set directly on our Executive Producer and he definitely doesn’t look happy.

Richard: Where’s security? We need some heavy beef out here to get rid of this chemically enhanced idiot.

Sirrajin debates ripping the microphone from Cantrell’s hand but reconsiders, wanting everyone to hear PRIME’s current on-screen boss squirm over the air. He kindly asks for a mic from Vince Howard, most likely his only kind gesture for the rest of the night.

Nick: We’re almost out of time, but I’ve just been advised that the FX Network is staying with the feed until we are done here.

Richard: This better be worth the extra time. I’ve got a booty call tonight.

Nick: Online pornography never goes away.

Richard: But certain models have set time… IMEANNO!

Sirrajin settles into the middle of the ring with Cantrell leaning against a corner, staying as far away from the obviously upset Supreme Machine.

Killean: I can see it in everyone’s eyes. Nick, Rich, Vince Howard and all the fans standing around this building. But I can especially see it in your face Cantrell. The question on everyone’s mind… why is a suspended superstar, a proven performance enhanced cheater, interrupting the Executive Producer at the end of the show? What good could I possibly have to say?

Richard: Nothing, now get out.

Nick: Shut up for once!

C.P. Cantrell nods, and the crowd cheers a little, waiting to see how the baseball bat may come into play… violent sickos.

Killean: Well since my suspension, I have made it my endless quest to find out what went wrong. Instead of sitting back home on my couch and wallowing in self pity, I set out to discover how exactly I could have tested positive for HGH. So needless to say, I haven’t rested. I’ve invested my time and a lot of my money into International Professional testing of the two positive tests from PRIME and three independent tests from the world’s most reputable companies and boy did the results surprise me.

Cantrell moves closer, bringing his own microphone to his lips.

Cantrell: I suggest you get to the point alre…

He is cut off as The PRIME Choice steps towards him and raises the baseball bat. C.P. puts his hands up defensively and urges the Hall of Fame Superstar to continue. The electricity in the crowd grows with the gesture.

Killean: I’d thank you to not do that again… boss.

Richard: That was sarcasm if I’ve ever heard it.

Killean: I have always considered PRIME to be my home. Following that, I’ve always considered PRIME to be a trustworthy company, tops in this business with a reputation to precede it. So after I advised Blaine Blair and Lisa Tyler of my findings, I quickly hopped a flight to St. Louis in search of answers. Having apologies from them is wonderful, but then again I’ve never had issues with either of them. No no, my issue is with you.

He points the bat directly at the Executive Producer. His actions win some cheers from his fans.

Killean: Your attitude since I arrived back in PRIME towards me has been nothing short of shitty. In turn you’ve been a fuckhead to everyone else. It stops NOW! Not only because of what I have discovered, but also because we have to work together now as we have a rat among us!

Nick: What is he trying to say?

Richard: Excuses excuses. It sounds almost like the countless teenagers who say, "I have no idea how I got pregnant". Much like them, if you feel you’re old enough to open your legs, you… well you get my point.

Nick: You’re a sick man.

Cantrell has a quizzical look on his face as Killean approaches.

Killean: Yes Ceeps, I said a rat. I’m not gonna bother going into details, but through the testing I paid for, it’s been discovered that the PRIME tests were tainted and that I am indeed drug free and clean!

The crowd explodes, most always believing that Killean was innocent. The few audience members who believed otherwise have yet to be deterred, still holding their signs high and booing.

Killean: Three tests from these international companies all say the same thing. I am one hundred percent clean. Three tests say the same thing; the tests conducted here in PRIME have been tainted… exactly the same way each time. I was screwed.

Nick: Yes! Finally we have legal proof that Killean is not chemically enhanced! He is innocent!

Richard: Good, can I leave now?

Richard gets up to leave but is pulled back to his seat by his broadcast partner.

Nick: Look at the anger in those eyes Rich.

Sure enough, Killean removes his sunglasses and rests them on top of his head. His bloodshot eyes are once again focusing on the Executive Producer.

Killean: My reputation has been tainted, possibly beyond repair. That however, is my next mission. Now I’m not saying by any means that YOU are the one responsible for what happened here Ceeps. But since you’ve come around, numerous things have gone wrong. I’m not mentioning names or specific situations, but needless to say there are many guys and gals back in that locker room who would rather see you back behind the scenes of the terrible reality shows on TV instead of here with us.

He steps closer to Cantrell, who now ducks under the top and middle rope. With a few more steps, The PRIME Choice is almost directly on top of The ExecProd, his eyes staring death.

Killean: The last thing I wanna do is use this bat, so I offer you this. Follow the examples of your superiors. Do what Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair had the balls to do. Right about now, the fines I incurred for these bogus tests should be entering my bank account via wire transfer. Yeah, they apologized for everything that has gone down. So grow a sack and do the same.

Nick: This crowd is on the edge of their seats. Sirrajin is demanding an apology from the Executive Producer and I think he deserves it!

Richard: You heard Killean, C.P. probably had nothing to do with it!

Nick: Regardless, as a figurehead he is responsible for such things.

Killean leans over a ducking Cantrell, yelling at him without a mic. Only the people in the first few rows can hear him begging Cantrell to NOT apologize. His anger is taking over, wanting to take it out on the first person he can. But Cantrell seems to finally relent, begging Killean to back away. After a few requests, The Supreme Machine backs away a little. The Executive Producer gets out from between the ropes.

Cantrell: Ok look, as you said I had NOTHING to do with what happened here. I was told you were suspended and I followed orders.

Killean steps closer again, making C.P. back into the corner again.

Cantrell: BUT… I understand what you’ve been put through.

Killean: YOU HAVE NO IDEA!

Cantrell: Alright alright, maybe I don’t. B-b-b...but I’m sorry for what happened to you.

Nick: Cantrell just doesn’t want to get a baseball bat in the back of the head.

Richard: Nor should he. It’s not his fault. Maybe it was… maybe it was yours! You tainted the tests!

Nick: Yeah, like I’d have anything to gain from that.

Killean nods and backs away from Cantrell. The ExecProd feels confident he diffused the situation and moves out of the corner.

Killean: That’s all I wanted to hear. After giving my blood, sweat and tears for the good of this company, I expect nothing less. I guess you can go about your business.

Killean makes his way to the far ropes appearing to leave the ring. The crowd settles down, some booing while witnessing the lack of payback. But then Killean stops.

Killean: Oh and just one more thing. I remember the first time I met you backstage. It was, needless to say, a stressful experience. So perhaps you had nothing to do with what happened to me, but I wanted to thank you none the less for being nothing short of a son of a bitch.

He swings the bat at Cantrell and the crowd comes unglued...but the weapon stops just short of the producer's face. Already having abandoned any semblance of coolness to save his own ass, Cantrell now drops into the fetal position in the corner, cowering without any concern for how many people are going to see him get punked. The frenzy in the audience is slow to die down.

Killean: (laughing) So let’s clean the slate Ceeps. I’m Killean Sirrajin… PRIME LEGEND. It’ll be a pleasure working with you… boss.

He tosses down the mic and picks up his trademark silver bat, throwing it and his arms up for the St. Louis fans to eat up. Ladies and Gentlemen starts up again to close out the show.

Richard: He didn’t deserve that kind of treatment! That stupid Canuck should be hung out to dry for this!

Nick: Sirrajin has been through enough Rich. His suspension is undoubtedly lifted and his mission is just beginning to find the culprit for the tainted tests. I am only guessing that the Original Grand Slam Champion is gonna snap once he finds out who did this to him. Cantrell’s co-operation is the least he could ask for!

The former Universal Champion poses on the turnbuckles for the crowd as the PRIME Logo and Copyright show up on the screen.

P R I M E