For the first time in its broadcast history, PRIME’s ReVolution opens with the logo of one of its rival promotions emblazoned across the screen. Either a lot of cash has been stumped up, or Cantrell wants to stick the knife in.

Someone on the PRIME roster has been a very, very naughty boy...

SCCW Temptation
13 July, 2008
SCCW Universal Championship Match

Jonathan Rhine and Eleanor Kannon-Hall do some shouting on the apron. Unkind words are had by all.

A headset is pulled off a regal head at the very same time that --

SMACK!

Gibson: Ellie! Ellie just slapped the taste out of Rhine's mouth!

Jonathan Rhine looks out to the crowd; they scream for him to "Hit the bitch!"

There's a misconception about Jonathan Rhine -- that he wouldn't hit a woman.

Ask Lindsay Troy about that; they've had two wars now.

Ask Amy Campbell about that; they've had three.

Jonathan Rhine wouldn't hit a woman; the people who say this are right.

Unless she deserved it.

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Gibson: Rhine! Rhine shoves Eleanor off the apron! XK catches his wife!

Ware: He is a master and a dashing romantic lead!

Gibson: Rhine turns and -- David Hamill's gonna call for the bell! Hamill's gonna call for the bell!

Jonathan Rhine grabs David Hamill by the arm, pulling the referee to face him. Super-sensitive microphones, your time is now. "No way, David!" Rhine pleads. "She struck you, that's outside interference, I don't have a choice," Hamill says. "I don't want to win that way -- no Uni-title match should end like that."

In the end, Hamill drops his hand and the bell is not called for. Rhine turns around and, within seconds, a part of him is regretting the decision to stop the disqualification win.

Gibson: Lariat! Lariat! Lance Marshall just damn near turned the SCCW Universal Champion inside out! Marshall pulls up Rhine! Irish whip across the ring! Reversed by Rhine! Marshall sent into the corner!

Ware: HAH! Squishy Hamill!

Gibson: David Hamill just got squashed in the corner by Lance Marshall's 320 pounds! Marshall stumbles out of the corner! Jumping calf kick by Rhine -- ducked by Lance! Rhine continues past, off the ropes and -- Samoa--No!

Ware: Samoa No is... I can't make that joke without violating copyright, can I?

Gibson: Rhine slithers over the shoulder of Marshall! Kick to the midsection and -- WHAM! WHAM! CROSS-ARM POWERBOMB! I can't believe he got Lance Marshall up! I can't believe he got Marshall up! Rhine is down! Marshall is down!

When they come, they come from the crowd, but you knew they were coming. Amy Campbell, super-snazzy chair in hand, stands on the barricade. Lauren Fox says something to Kathryn Shaw as they appear on the other side; the two women laugh.

Gibson: Dammit! Dammit, you just knew they were coming! You just knew they were --

Ware: Gah!

There is the sound of a headset being picked up, and there is a whispery-soft voice on the headphones.

Desade: Good evening, Eugene.

Ware: If I said, "Don't do that" very nicely, would you listen?

In the ring, Lance Marshall and Jonathan Rhine pull themselves up, slowly. David Hamill is still down.

Gibson: Lance Marshall and Jonathan Rhine get to their feet as the damn---

Ware: She's sitting right here.

Desade: I am well aware of Mr. Gibson's beliefs.

Gibson: Aimz over the barricade! Marshall and Rhine have essentially stopped fighting, just like Charlie Ramone and Jay Draven did last week.

Jonathan says something to Lance. "You take that side; I'll take this side," perhaps.

Gibson: Lance Marshall steps out of the ring.

Marshall has made a beeline for Campbell, effectively blocking off the former Universal champion from interfering. "Hit me!" Lance roars in Aimz' face. "I fucking dare you!"

Jonathan Rhine turns to face the Dead Man's Hand members that are coming from behind him.

Only no DMH member is there.

Xavier Kannon is.

Gibson: Boot to the midsection! Kannon lifts Rhine and -- NO! NO! NO!

Desade: (very-damn-quietly) Yes.

Gibson: HALLMARK! HALLMARK! HALLMARK ON JON RHINE! Xavier Kannon hit the cradle piledriver! That's his move!

The long-shot we see shows the Director seated on the super-comfy-chair that XK had occupied, one elbow on her knee, chin in her hand in thought.

On the floor, Aimz swings that chair, baseball style, at Lance Marshall's head -- because, well, he offered.

Gibson: Lance! Lance! Lance Marshall just punched the goddamn chair right out of Amy Campbell's grip!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Gibson: And here comes the cavalry! Alanna Marshall! Elliott Rollins! Sean Sterling! The Dead Man's Hand and Aimz make themselves scarce!

Alanna Marshall and the Highwaymen were just waiting for word something had happened; it's very likely they have no idea that the Hallmark happened at this point; once the fighting stopped, it'd be "Get the hell out there and stop them."

Sean Sterling is up on the barricade, shouting after Aimz. Elliott Rollins places himself between the commentary "table" (and the redheaded woman who has not moved from there) and the ring. But the does not move to lay a hand on the Spider.

David Hamill is up; he's counting the Lion out. Alanna rests her hand on her husband's shoulder; it's a silent "we got this". It's a count of eight before Lance makes his mind up; anything else would be insulting.

Gibson: Lance slides into the ring! He looks and -- Lance sees Jon getting slowly back to his feet!

Jonathan Rhine is a warrior.

Jonathan Rhine is a true champion.

Jonathan Rhine possesses a never-say-die attitude that is refreshing, that reminds Lance of... himself, really.

So neither Lance Marshall nor the home audience should be surprised that, despite the fact that he can barely stand, despite the fact that he just got dropped on his head, despite all of that... Jonathan Rhine beckons Lance Marshall on.

Gibson: What heart! What determination!

Ware: What a fool!

Gibson: Lance nods and Jon -- oh, sweet Lordy Lou! Jon can barely walk forward!

But he does; so quickly that Lance can't do anything but react; it's a blur of motion that results in the Lion snatching the New Life off the canvas and onto his shoulders.

Gibson: Torture Rack! Torture Rack and Lance spins and -- WHAM! WHAM! CODE RED! CODE RED! CODE RED!!

Ware: You're kidding me! No!

Gibson: Lance drops down, he cinches the leg of the New Life and --

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!

Gibson: WE'VE GOT A NEW CHAMPION!! MY GOD LANCE MARSHALL HAS BEATEN JONATHAN RHINE!

Ding, ding!

Myers: The winner of this bout... AND NEEEEEWWWWWW SIN CITY CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!!!! "THE LIIIIIIION!" LANNNNNNCE! MAAAAAAARRRRSHALLLLLLL!

The footage of Temptation then crackles into static. Under the flickering monochome shower, a narrowed, fuming eye stares straight out of the viewership's TV screen. Tracking bars dance up and down the image, before it clears up to show the eye-patched face of "The New Life" Jonathan Rhine.

Stood sentry outside the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Centre Arena, the dethroned champion's face sports a look of rage that hasn't diminished one iota since Xavier Kannon's Hallmark switched his lights off.

Every arrival at the wrestler’s entrance or loading bay is scanned by Jon’s enraged, judging eye, and every one of those arrivals thanks their deity of choice that their name if not Xavier Kannon.

Rhine: That’s as far as you go.

A silver saloon sweeps into the wrestler’s parking lot, and in the blink of an eye (yes, just one), Rhine grabs the length of wood that he broke off from a packing crate and has used to stand guard.

Rhine: I said STOP.

Without flinching, Rhine steps into the path of the car, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes, squeezing him against his seat. Through the windshield, Rhine sees the driver start to run his mouth as he goes to unbuckle his seat-belt, but one close-up look of the roughened, tooled-up New Life convinces him to just sit there and shut up.

Striding around to the driver’s side, Rhine taps the plank against the glass, head gesturing for it to be wound down.

Driver: Er… um… hi? Can I help you?

As the driver nervously goes through the pleasantries, Rhine peers through into the backseat, checking that there isn’t a stowaway Scientologist and his mischievous wife onboard.

Rhine: Pop the trunk.

Driver: What? Why? What are yo-

Rhine: Pop. The. Trunk.

Ask twice (while wielding a length of solid wood and looking like you’re about to smash in a wing mirror) and ye shall receive.

Securing his grip around the splintering wood, Rhine calmly paces around to the trunk, tapping the corner of the plank along the width of the car, almost prompting the driver to protest, which he quickly thinks wiser of.

Rhine: Come out and I’ll leave you enough bones intact to one day walk again.

Under his breath, Rhine counts down, "five… four… three… two… one…"

The trunk is flung up and Rhine’s weapon flung down… but only a holdall and a change of shoes are there to channel his vengeance into.

For hours, Rhine had patrolled. Every runner who’d ever professed to being a fan of the dethroned SCCW champion were on look-out for the slippery Gold Patron Meritorious, ring crew had been bribed to check every crate for cowardly human contents, and everyone who’d passed him into the wrestler’s entrance had told him to take the wooden plant and smack Kannon all the way out of PRIME.

But still… nothing.

Rhine: Go on in… sorry.

As the silver saloon hastily speeds off, Rhine hurls the wooden plank away, sending it skipping across the asphalt as he balls up his fists and yells out into the night…

"WHERE ARE YOU, KANNON?!"

It’s then that the camera on Rhine lowers to the ground, then does that kick-ass thing where instead of hitting the concrete, it emerges from the ceiling somewhere else. Sure, it’s a little contrived, but have it.

"Okay, it totally smells of Rolo down here."

The view has descended from the parking lot to somewhere altogether dingier. Only a single light on the camera illuminates the scene, with fleeting glimpses of damp brickwork appearing on screen.

"You, camerapeon, shine that over here."

Squelching footsteps are heard above the hushed, nose-pinched voices, before the halo of light exuding from the camera hits what appears to be… the blue-prints of the sewer system around the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Centre Arena?

Yes, he’ll sink even this low.

"We’re here. The light of Hubbard has guided us through the darkness in our hour of need!"

There’s a hiss, followed by a fizzing, and the red glow of a flare dawns throughout the tunnels, illuminating a grubby, wet and queasy Xavier and Eleanor Kannon. Safe to say, Ellie looks like a little girl who has just been told she can’t have a pony for Christmas.

Eleanor: Um, okay, like, next time, you can take this way, and I’ll totally take a helicopter.

Despite the moaning of his wife, the suspicious brown liquid that’s soaked into his shirt, and, I don’t know, the fact that’s he’s skulking through a SEWER, there’s still a self-satisfied grin across the lips of the Gold Patron Meritorious.

Kannon: El, a hot shower, together with the twenty security guards Ceepers promised us, are only are only a minute or two away. But the look on Rhine’s face when he realises I’m lathering you up while he’s out there playing village vigilante? Well, that’s just one more photo for the album.

I like the helicopter idea, the cameraman chips in as Kannon leaps up onto the ladder below the manhole cover that delivers him to ReVolution in one (rather damp and smelly) piece, untouched by the vengeful hand of Jonathan Rhine.

"State of the Union," by Rise Against is light on the subtlety, but heavy on the "get ready to watch asses get kicked." As it kicks in to gear, we go straight to the titles and the highlight reel.

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.

DUI vs. Risk & Reward

Champ Chamberlain vs. Tony Rolo

Non-Title Match: The UPstarts vs. Team VIAGRA

No-DQ Scramble: Troy Douglas vs. Xavier Kannon vs. Crucifix vs. Rhett Locke

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

Killean Sirrajin vs. Mr. Silver

Chandler Tsonda/Bryan Dawkins vs. Devin Shakur/Union Jack

Elite Championship First-Round Match: Steven Holt (rW) vs. Lance Marshall (SCCW)

Wade Elliott vs. Cozen

"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 Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Center Arena erupts with pyro and drunken revelry as the show entrance gives us the guided tour. The whirlwind spin brings us to a screeching halt at the announce desk, where our party hosts are practically brimming with excitement to tell us what's on tap.

Nick: WELCOME TO REVOLUTION ONE-SIXTY-SEVEN! I'm Nick Stuart!

Richard: And I'm Richard Parker!

Nick: It's two shows until Colossus, and we're presenting one of the biggest episodes in recent memory! One week after taking Universal Champion Devin Shakur to the limit in New Orleans, Cozen is back in the main event! However, her job doesn't get any easier as she squares off with Lindsay Troy ally - and Alabama hometown son - Wade Elliott!

Richard: But that's not all, Nick! Elliott is C.P. Cantrell's choice for the prestigious Elite Championship Tournament, and tonight we host a first-round match with two stars from other organizations!

Nick: That's right! Steven Holt, an up-and-comer for grassroots federation Ringside Wrestling, will meet Sin City Championship Wrestling notable Lance Marshall!

Richard: Plus we've got a tag team match featuring two boiling feuds, as Shakur and Union Jack meet on-again, off-again allies Bryan Dawkins and Chandler Tsonda!

Nick: Tyler Rayne can tell you that there's nothing wrong with being Chandler Tsonda's frienemy...if that's what Dawkins is.

Richard: Only Tsonda knows...also tonight, that steroid monkey Killean Sirrajin is going to get smacked down by MR. SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON OF PRIME before he even gets his hands on Captain Justice!

Nick: We'll see about that...Silver looked none too happy to be facing the music after he got exposed as the man who framed Sirrajin with those positive tests!

Richard: Which were no doubt covering the REAL positive tests that he WOULD have turned in if Silver hadn't stepped in, so what's the difference?

Nick: Respect is the difference, Richard, and speaking of respect, some PRIME newcomers who debuted last week are making huge leaps forward in their second weeks! First, the UPstarts get their first classic tag team match since returning, and it's a non-title affair against division champs Team VIAGRA! Then, former OSW great Rhett Locke enters the ring with four other accomplished names - legend Xavier Kannon, streaking Crucifix and Intense Champ Troy Douglas - for a No-DQ brawl that could just tear the whole house down!

Richard: With all the structural integrity of Alabama architechure, I doubt that's such a hard feat.

Nick: Irrational prejudice aside, we're certainly going to test the walls tonight! We've got eight matches, and it's only a PREVIEW for Colossus! It's all here on ReVolution!

Richard: On FX!

"I told you I'd have something for you."

The words of C.P. Cantrell elicited an eye-roll from The Bad Dog, Wade Elliott. He took a look around the office, trying not to get an eyeful of the Executive Producer's amused grin, lest he be compelled to wipe it off him.

Wade Elliott: An' I do thank ya kindly, C.P., but don't 'xpect a hug 'r nothin'.

C.P. Cantrell: I won't. That was a big win in the first round. I don't know anything about this Mayhem character, but he's SCCW, so I WANTED that win. Ever since Rhine's "incident" I've had to take it from them. Now we're hosting this Marshall character on our own damn show, like it's SCCW ReVolution. Anyway, that was huge. You made me proud.

Wade Elliott (dripping in sarcasm): Number one on Ol' Wade's priority, no lie.

C.P. Cantrell: I'm sure. But listen, I've got a couple of notes...

Wade Elliott: Notes?

C.P. Cantrell: Yeah. Things you can improve on, tighten the act up, etc. It's a TV thing.

Wade Elliott: Ain't a fuckin' TV star.

C.P. Cantrell: Yeah, but we're working on that. And it starts here...

He pulls a handful of cloth from a desk drawer and tosses it at Wade. Wade unfolds it and holds it up in front of himself, revealing a t-shirt with a PRIME logo on the chest and "ReVolution LIVE, Wednesdays on FX" underneath it. He balls it up, and throws it back at Cantrell.

Wade Elliott: Nope.

C.P. Cantrell: Oh come on!

Wade Elliott: Ain't happenin', Cantrell. Won't be dressin' up Ol' Wade.

C.P. Cantrell: It's a t-shirt, not an oxford! Clean your truck with it, use it as your mutt's pillow, whatever you need to "break it in" to Wade Elliott standards, I don't care. But this is a big interfed event! I need to get the name out there!

Wade Elliott: It's called PRIME, Cantrell. Fairly certain people know 'bout it.

C.P. Cantrell: Yeah, but this is about flying our colors on the national stage!

Wade Elliott: Then bring a big ol' flag an' plant it at the show! Just don't plant it on me!

Cantrell picks up the shirt again and drops it on the table in front of them. The smirk is gone and the gleam in his eye, which could either be attributed to the presence of happiness or a money-making opportunity (not that the two are mutually exclusive) fades. He leans forward in his seat.

C.P. Cantrell: Wade, I chose you for this tournament for a reason.

Wade Elliott: If yer reason was to make me a fuckin' poster boy, ya didn't pick too good.

C.P. Cantrell: I went with you because I wanted someone who'd be a patriot, who'd throw down for his people when needed.

Wade Elliott: ...so ya picked a feller with a Confederate Flag branded on his chest?

C.P. Cantrell: (backpedaling) No no no...I went with the guy who will walk over and through anyone, no matter what, for his principles. You're repping PRIME here, Wade.

Wade Elliott: I ain't reppin' shit.

C.P. Cantrell: Well if you want to continue in this tournament, you'd better-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The rapping on the door is light and very methodical. Cantrell eyes the door suspiciously, not used to someone knocking on his door, and then looks at Elliott.

C.P. Cantrell: Must be the Twilight Zone all of a sudden.

He then glares back at the door, shocked even more by the fact that no one had barged through the door wanting his time, attention, and an anal probe.

C.P. Cantrell: Come in!

Slowly, the door opens, and as it does, a man walks through the threshold. This man though is not a man known by anyone in PRIME, much less Elliott or Cantrell. Both men look at this new man with a careful look in their eyes. Standing there in a very nice, pressed, pinstripe suit and clean shaven, he looks at both men with a small twinkle in his eyes.

Man: Good Evening.

Cantrell looks at Elliott.

C.P. Cantrell: Okay, this must be one of the Studio Executives. Wanna give us a minute?

The man though shakes his head as he sticks his hands in his pockets and begins to look around the office, noticing how bland it is. His eyes then land back on Cantrell before he extends his hand. Cantrell is slow to the take at first, but slowly shakes the hand of this man.

Man: The name is David Long, and I'm not a Studio Executive. Far from it. I'm the man in charge of the Elite Championship. The owner I guess you would call it. I'm the one who looks out for the best interests of the title and the division.

Cantrell immediatelly jumps to his feet and walks around his desk, wanting to make a good first impression to the head of the Elite Championship. He sits on the edge of his desk with a smile on his face.

C.P. Cantrell: How nice to finally meet you. I had only talked to your secretary and a few others, but to meet the man behind the title--

And then, Long holds up his hand before turning his attention to Elliott.

David Long: I want to congratulate you on your victory over Mayhem. It was one hell of a match to witness live. Good luck in your next match

Long extends his to Elliott. Elliott eyes the hand a moment before taking it and giving Long a firm shake.

Wade Elliott: It's appreciated, but you can save the sugar coatin'.

Long nods, retrieving his hand.

David Long: Very well.

David looks to Cantrell once again with a careful and steady eye.

David Long: I figured I should start taking the time to meet with a few of the people involved in the Inaugural Touranment, and I figured PRIME would be a good place to start, seeing as how this is where the Elite Championship will be crowned at Colossus. Just wanted to get a feel for the place.

C.P. Cantrell: Well, just give me a moment, and I'll give you a tour of the place! You want to meet Lindsay Troy? Former champion of the Unified Title, you know? I'm sure Devin Shakur is around here as well, though he might be a little bit--

Once again, Long holds up his hand to Cantrell to stop him from rambling on.

David Long: Honestly, not interested. I don't care about Troy or Shakur. Don't care about you either. It's nothing against you or those two, but I look after the best interests of the title, and that's what I care about. I don't care about a tour, Cantrell, because you're not going to impress me. Neither is meeting whoever just happens to not be in the middle of a fight at this moment.

Cantrell is left a little taken a back by the rather blunt statements from the Elite Championship Chairman. With a little nod though, Long's hands are back in his pockets and he begins to stride back to the door he walked through just moments ago. As he reaches there though, he pauses on his feet before turning back around and looking at Cantrell.

David Long: I also want to make something else clear. Cantrell, if you try anything sneaky or backhanded to see that Mr. Elliott wins the Elite Championship, you will regret it. I promise you that much.

Just like that, he turns back around, and walks out of the office. As he walks out, he offers one final comment.

David Long: I look forward to crowning the first Elite Champion here. I think Colossus will be an amazing event.

Nick: Well, ladies and gentlemen, so glad you could be with us this evening! And during the commercial break, we’ve already got this mysterious podium set up in the middle of the ring.

Richard: Yeah, what’s going on? Is Lindsay Troy finally getting Biggest Butch of the Century award?

Nick: RICHARD!

"Hail to the Chief" by 3rd Bass.

Nick: Uh-oh…

Smiling to the legions of Alabama fans, Captain Justice peers from behind the curtains, waving and nodding like a goof. The fans make with the hatred and jeering as the Americanimal walks to the ring with purpose. Hopping atop the apron, a MASSIVE explosion of patriotic pyro erupts from four corners of turnbuckles before he leaps over the top rope landing perfectly in the ring.

Nick: Well, we see Captain Justice is out here now, but what’s he doing? And what’s underneath that cover in the middle of the ring?

As the music cuts, Captain Justice brandishes a microphone from the ring announcer as he laughs. Referee Thomas Giles is also present in the ring while the Heroic Hoss motions for the music to be cut.

Captain Justice: Ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, and even the inbred citizens of Birmingham, lend me your ears!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Captain Justice: Yes, you have EVERY right to boo the fact that Killean Sirrajin is a dirty, no-good, low-life… *shuddering*… CANADIAN… that’s FAR too long been allowed to taint this country with his appearance… dirty Canadians. I tell you what they are! Forgive my harsh language, but they’re nothing but a bunch of dirty Snowbacks coming here, speaking in their METRIC tongues while stealing jobs from the REAL hard-working, all-natural wrestlers of this fine PRIME ring!

Nick: WHAT? He’s a racist!

Richard: He speaks the truth!

Captain Justice: They’re a bunch of uncouth savages! But fear not, America! For those in attendance and the millions watching us from around the world from their fifth-world huts and coat hangars as antennae, you will witness me BURYING that Canadian filth underneath the unwashed heap of trash that is his own flag!

Last week, Killean, I challenged you to strongman contests, but you weren’t in attendance. I believe when you went to the doctor’s for your annual physical, they diagnosed you with a yellow spine. But tonight, we know you’re in the building right now! Killean, come on out! GET OUT HERE NOW BEFORE I DRAG YOU BY YOUR CARIBOU-EATING HIDE!

CJ drops the mic, giving the fans a chance to cheer on Killean.

Nick: Uh-oh! Looks like Captain Justice is itching for a fight!

Richard: Great! We’re gonna get a preview of Colossus V right here!

Mere moments pass by as CJ stalks the ring like a wild animal until…

"Ladies and Gentlemen" by Saliva.

Ladies and gentlemen please
Would you bring your attention to me?
For a feast for your eyes to see
An explosion of catastrophe

*BOOM! BOOM! BA-BOOOOOOOM~!*

A giant burst of white pyrotechnics and the continuation of "Ladies and Gentlemen" heralds the arrival of the Supreme Machine. Dressed in regular street clothes, the look on Killean’s face is less than that of amused. He makes his way down to the ring with purpose in mind while Captain Justice begs him to walk faster.

Nick: I don’t believe this! The Captain’s got some GUMPTION to challenge a very pissed-off Killean Sirrajin. I’m aware he and Sonny Silver will be going one-on-one in a No DQ match, but that’s later!

Richard: Pfft. You don’t need GUMPTION when you’re the strongest man in PRIME today!

Nick: Well, these two bulls are looking to lock horns right quick!

Not stupid enough to slide under the ropes and risk any sort of blindside attack from the Captain, Killean merely climbs the steps and walks through the ropes, not taking his gaze off his Colossus V opponent. The music cuts and for those next sixty seconds before a word is uttered, the tension between the two powerhouses is thick enough to be cut and served with a side of toast.

"KILLEAN! KILLEAN! KILLEAN! KILLEAN!"

As the raucous crowd continue to root on the Winnipeg native, he rubs a hand through his locks and sneers.

Captain Justice: Killean Sirrajin. I see you found the time away from your needles to…

Sirrajin: Shut the FUCK UP!

"KILLEAN! KILLEAN! KILLEAN! KILLEAN!"

Without missing a beat, Killean continues.

Sirrajin: For MONTHS now, I’ve had to listen to you and your boss TARNISH my name. Because of your boss, people will never look at me or my accomplishments in PRIME the same again. Whenever the s-word comes up, people are going to associate that with my name. And you, Captain, did a not-so-heroic thing and JUMPED me two weeks ago. If you think I haven’t forgotten about that, you’re dead wrong. At Colossus, I’m going to make you regret EVERY last second that’s passed by since you didn’t finish the job.

Eyeing the covered podium, he nods in its direction.

Sirrajin: And believe you me. I can think of a MILLION things better to do than to pander to you and Silver’s bullshit, but I’m here to prove once and for all that A) I’m clean as a sheet and B) To prove to YOU that you aren’t the bastion of power you think you are.

Nick: WHOA! Killean’s heated tonight!

Richard: Roid rage.

Captain Justice takes the low blows in stride. A scowl forms underneath his mask before he throws the tarp away to reveal an arm-wrestling table.

Nick: What is THIS?

Captain Justice: Killean, if you would cease production on that lie factory you call your tongue, you’d know by now that I DO plan to take you down. I am younger than you, I am stronger than you, I am faster than you, I’ve more conviction in my heart than you and most of all, I am BETTER. THAN. YOU. So what say you, you knave? Accept my challenge for an AMERICAN old-fashioned Arm-Wrestling Contest or turn tail and run.

Nick: An ARM-WRESTILNG contest? Killean wants to tear him apart with his bare hands and he wants to have an ARM-WRESTLING contest?!

Richard: An AMERICAN arm-wrestling contest, thank you!

Not even thinking a second thought, Killean braces himself on the table to a raucous pop from the Birminghamians in attendance.

Sirrajin: If it means shutting your ass up, even for two seconds, then I’m game. Nut up, kid.

Dropping the mic with a dull thud, The Supreme Machine stands poised, ready to go while Captain Justice drops his in reciprocation.

Nick: Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves an arm-wrestling contest!

Richard: He’s gonna rip off Killean Sirrajin’s arm and beat him to death with it while he bleeds! FOR AMERICA, CAPTAIN!

Thomas Giles checks Sirrajin’s arm placement to make sure that he’s on the table right and proper. The Heroic Hoss braces himself to compete against the Supreme Machine, motioning to begin. Killean braces himself as he and Justice clinch hands when…

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Justice pulls away!

Nick: What’s he doing? He made this challenge, now he’s stalling!

Killean, looking incredibly impatient, burns a hole through Justice’s head as he yells for the referee to do his job and make sure Killean isn’t up to no good.

Giles: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GRAB HIM?

Justice: LOOK AT HIS ARMS!

Killean prepares to whoop some ass, but Justice nods his head and finally braces himself for the war to come. Sirrajin eyes him closely, placing his own hand on the table. Once they lock up, the referee nods to both men to make sure they understand the rules before beginning.

Giles: ONE… TWO… BEGIN!

Thousands of Alabamans roar for the Supreme Machine as he and the Gothametropolis Colossus start straining against one another. Shocked by the outright strength his opposition is greeting him with, Killean’s face begins to grimace and turn beet-red while on the other side, Justice shows some resistance.

Nick: Come on, do it, Killean!

Richard: Come on, Justice! For America!

Amidst the sea of screaming fans, Sirrajin continues to fight back against the raw power packed into the frame of Captain Justice, but the Heroic Hoss gets the advantage when he presses firmly down on the table, cornering the PRIME Choice with his fury.

Sirrajin struggles with it as he might, but Justice has him on the ropes. Seeing the smile underneath the mask of the New Face of PRIME, Killean fights back a bit by managing to power Justice’s arm to the stationary height before pressing him down to the side just a little bit. Veins throb and muscles tense as the two continue their struggle. Getting what appears to be a second wind, Justice lets out a roar and quickly overtakes Sirrajin again, beaming proudly that he’s getting the upper hand.

Captain Justice: GIVE UP, IRRITANT!

Richard: Look at that! Younger, smarter, stronger… THIS is what Killean’s gonna look down the barrel of come Colossus!

Nick: Not so! LOOK!

Call it whatever you want. Pure strength, divine intervention, but Killean reaches deep within to fight back from the brink of defeat! With an unbridled fury dwelling deep within, the Supreme Machine manages to overtake Justice, pushing him to the other side.

The "KILLEAN!" chants continue to rain down. Justice finds himself in dire straits and tries with all his might to muster Sirrajin’s weight back over. But it’s not to be…

Killean’s muscles clinch…

His arms burn, but he can feel victory close at hand…

Nick: WAIT, LOOK!

Right before that arm comes down, Killean feels the shift in the air change dramatically. The roaring all but gone, in its place was burning hatred. As this wasn’t Sirrajin’s first hockey game, he knew what that meant.

Silver: MOTHERFUCKER!

Killean lets go of Justice and walks into the path of a Silver forearm shot to the head! As the fans jeer the cowardly assault, Sonny prepares to launch a Corona leaping kick, but Sirrajin blocks the blow, powers Sonny up and HURLS the Sports Entertainment Liaison out of the ring!

Richard: Mr. Silver, NO!

Justice comes to the aid of his manager and tries to mount an assault on the Supreme Machine, but Killean turns and DRIVES the bulky do-gooder into the mat with the SUPREME JUSTICE!

Nick: The sneak attack failed AND Captain Justice is down and out!

Silver scurries to the aid of his charge by helping him out of the ring. Killean, none too happy, grabs the table and THROWS it outside the ring, crashing into pieces in front of both the SEL and his patriotic protégé. Running into the night like a pack of those stupid animals Jim Ross likes to mention, Silver and an aching Justice head to the back while "Ladies and Gentlemen" plays, Killean begging for the two to come back.

Nick: THEIR SNEAK ATTACK FELL TO PIECES! AND TONIGHT, SONNY ISN’T GONNA HAVE ANYWHERE TO RUN! HE’S GOT KILLEAN SIRRAJIN TO DEAL WITH AND ALL THE PENT-UP FRUSTRATION THAT COMES WITH IT!

Richard: Cheater!

The crowd goes into a frenzy as the Supreme Machine rips his shirt off, throwing it into the crowd and wiping sweat off his brow.

The battle between the Silver/Justice duo and Killean Sirrajin was only just beginning.

The scene opens up in the parking lot of the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Center Arena, the site of ReVolution 167. The jammed packed crowd inside can be heard cheering and roaring all the way here n the garage area. Suddenly a black on black Cadillac Escalade pulls into the lot and wheels into a vacant parking spot. The door opens up and out comes Jimmy Bonafide with his black duffle bag. He slams the door shut, and proceeds on toward the entrance of the Jefferson Convention Center. He begins to walk up the hallways of the arena where he sees the Delta Upsilon Iota locker room. He first passes by it, but then stops in his tracks and back up to the door. Hearing the sounds of a television from within, Bonafide decides to pay the frat boys a little visit. He knocks on the door and is immediately greeted by a response from the other side.

Colby Kover: Who is it?

Jimmy Bonafide: Jimmy Bonafide

Korver: It’s open.

The PosterBoy pushes open the locker room and finds Colby Korver and Hank Cobb gathered around a television set, playing NCAA 09 on their Xbox360. As Bonafide enters the room, however, they are quick to pause the game and turn their full attention to the unexpected visitor.

Korver: And how may we assist you, sire?

Bonafide: Actually, I just wanted to wish you luck on you upcoming match against Risk & Reward tonight.

Hank Cobb: Well we appreciate the gesture, right classy of you and all, but somethin’ tells me this is more than just a courtesy call. Seems to me that you might be fixin’ to enlist the brothers of Delta Upsilon Iota for your cause, whatever that might be.

Bonafide: Looks like the country boy has everything figured out. But have you ever stopped to think that you guys might actually end up needing my help?

Korver: The floor is yours. If you’re looking to prove the big guy wrong, you have my full support.

Cobb: Jackass.

Bonafide: Anyway, the way I see it, your beef with Jason Natas is far from over, even after you two laid his punk ass out last week, which was real nice by the way. And as you’ve both found out in the last few months, that boy fights dirty as shit, so I just wanted to let you both know that if Natas decides to stick his nose into your business during your match tonight, I’m going to make it mine. But all this comes on one condition.

Korver: Give it to me.

Bonafide: When the time comes, whether it be next week or next year, when I need you two to watch my back, you’re there, no questions asked.

Cobb: Son, you got ‘yerself a deal, fair and square.

Korver: Yep, sounds like a plan.

Bonafide: Alright boys, take care of business tonight. I’ll be watching.

Cobb: Damn right, them boys ain’t got a prayer.

Korver: Adios Senor Santana.

And with that, Bonafide returns to the hallway, closing the door behind him and leaving the frat boys to their own devices, which include not only wireless controllers, but also humor as well.

Cobb: You might as well just say it already, seein’ as how you’ve been fixin’ to run your mouth since the door closed.

Korver: Ok, is it just me, or was that whole ‘I’ll be watching…" thing a little creepy? A little too boiling rabbit on the stove for my taste.

Cobb: You’re an idiot.

Korver: Be that as it may, we have a game to play, Mr. Cobb, and this shit doesn’t unpause itself, you know what I’m saying? So why don’t you just go ahead and take this ass-whipping like a man? There is no shame in losing to an NCAA 09 whiz kid.

Cobb: Korver, I served with Allen Brown: I knew Allen Brown; Allen Brown was a friend of mine. Korver, you’re no Allen Brown.

The opening chords of "Down" by Stone Temple Pilots hits the system and the crowd sends out a chorus of boos as Aaron Andrews and Tyler Chance make their way from behind the curtain. They each have their own cocky strut as they slowly make their way down the ramp.

# PLEASED TO MEET YOU #
# NICE TO KNOW ME #
# WHAT’S THE MESSAGE #
# WILL YOU SHOW ME #

Howard: Introducing now, from Easton, Pennsylvania at a combined weight of four hundred-forty pounds. "Photogenic" Tyler Chance and "High Definition" Aaron Andrews, they are Risk and Reward!

# I’VE BEEN WAITING #
# A LONG TIME NOW #
# NOW HERE’S THE ANSWER #
# YOU’RE ALL MINE NOW #
# YA, I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR MY SUNDAY GIRL #

Aaron stops to shout at a fan ringside as Tyler gets to the apron and grasps the top rope, somersaulting into the ring and rolling over on the canvas. Aaron finally turns his attention from the fans and slides in underneath the bottom rope, raising his right arm into the air as their music fades.

Richard: Finally, we get to see some real tag team wrestling around here.

The familiar guitar riffs from "Master of Puppets" by Metallica begin to pump through the speakers, as the crowd’s attention turns from the ring to the stage, eagerly awaiting the next entrance.

Richard: Looks like I spoke too soon.

The frat boys Colby Korver and Hank Cobb burst on to the arena stage, soaking up the excitement as they play to the cheering crowd. As they make their way down to the ring, Cobb stops to slap hands with several kids, while Korver gravitates toward hugs and photo opportunities with aesthetically-pleasing female fans. Arriving at the ring, Cobb and Korver pause briefly, staring up at the team of Risk and Reward, who long ago began the verbal phase of their assault.

Richard: Perhaps they’re having second thoughts, after all these are the former Tag Team Champions we’re talking about here.

Nick: Then again, maybe not.

For just as Richard finishes suggesting a hasty retreat, Cobb and Korver slide into the ring and go full speed at the former champs, Korver drops Tyler Change with a forearm to the face and Cobb obliterates Aaron Andrews with a devastating shoulder block, knocking both members of Risk and Reward through the ropes to the outside.

Nick: A hot start for Cobb and Korver here, the frat boys are really looking to build on the momentum they got going last time out on ReV 165.

Richard: You mean …ahem…"The Shooting Stars and Armbars, Red, White, Black and Blue Independence Day SPECTACULAR?"

Nick: That’s the one.

Richard: You mean against Mega Job?

Nick: A win’s a win, Richard.

As Risk and Reward climb gingerly back onto the apron, Cobb and Korver stand ready in center ring, daring them to step back into the square circle. While Aaron Andrews takes his place in the corner, Tyler Chance steps through the ring ropes and prepares to square off against Colby Korver, as Hank Cobb also steps out onto the apron.

Nick: Colby Korver and Tyler Chance getting things started here, first time these two teams have stepped into the ring with each other since being involved in the three way TLC match for the tag titles at UltraViolence, along with the eventual winners Team VIAGRA.

Richard: Chance and Andrews got robbed. That’s the bottom line.

Korver and Chance circle each other, each looking for an opportunity to strike. It is Korver who first locates one, shooting for Chance’s leg.

Nick: Nice single leg by Korver, showing off a little amateur know-how.

Richard: Very little.

Korver holds the left foot under his arm, landing a couple smacks to the face, which obviously does not sit particularly well with Tyler Chance, who responds in turn with an enziguri to Korver’s left temple.

Richard: It was just a matter of time, Nick. The cream always rises to the top.

As Korver staggers backward, Chance follows up with a textbook dropkick that sends Korver to the mat. Chance rebounds off the far ropes, picking up speed and landing a hard leg drop to the back of Korver’s head. Standing over the downed frat boy, Chance suddenly wheels and rushes DUI’s corner, hitting Hank Cobb square in the face with a hard right hand.

Nick: Cheap shot by Chance.

Richard: Pretty smart if you ask me.

Nick: Of course, I didn’t.

As Hank Cobb tries to dust off the cobwebs, Tyler Chance backpedals slowly, taunting his much larger opponent. Now turning his attention back to the legal man, Chance picks Korver up off the ground and sets him up for an overhead belly-to-belly Suplex, only to have his nose smashed by a nasty head butt from Korver. With blood now trickling from his left nostril, Chance staggers back toward his own corner, tagging in the fresh Aaron Andrews, who charges across the ring and drops Korver back to the mat with a running mafia kick.

Nick: Risk and Reward in firm control of the match here, looking to keep the big man Cobb inactive on the outside.

Richard: Just another example of their in-ring acumen, always a step or two ahead of the competition. And that’s the very reason that Jason Natas has enlisted their help in ridding PRIME of the fraternal disease known as Delta Upsilon Iota once and for all, very cagey move by the Anti-Superstar.

Andrews scoops Korver off the mat and sets him up for a backdrop driver, but Korver flips backwards, landing behind Andrews and hitting a backdrop driver of his own.

Richard: Well that didn’t work out as planned.

Picking himself back up to his feet, Korver dives back to his corner, tagging in the reading and willing Hank Cobb.

Nick: Well there goes that strategy.

And just as Aaron Andrews gets back to his feet, he is sent right back down, courtesy of a running shoulder block by Hank Cobb. Cobb picks Andrews back up and plants him center ring with a big throwdown spinebuster, as Korver watches confidently on the apron. Seeing his partner take the brunt of Cobb’s entrance into the match, Tyler Chance elects to take matters into his own hands and springboards off the ropes with an attempted crossbody block. Unfortunately for Chance, however, Cobb catches him with relative ease and then hits him with a devastating swinging side slam.

Nick: Hank Cobb in total control right now.

Richard: These things have a way of working themselves out, Nicolas; don’t get your panties in a bunch.

A crunchy guitar riff begins to play over the PA system as "Hail Destroyer" by Cancer Bats hits the arena system.

"TEAR US DOWN!"

Richard: You see what I mean?

Nick: And that can only mean one thing…Jason Natas.

On cue, the Anti-Superstar steps out from the back in street clothes, refusing to acknowledge the crowd’s intense booing with anything more than a hateful sneer. He begins to walk down to the ring at a steady pace, flexing his neck and arm muscles whilst keeping both eyes focused on the ring before him. Gesturing for the frat boys to continue their match, Natas seems content to merely watch the match, now standing silently with his arms crossed, taking in the action from ringside.

Richard: Looks like a routine scouting visit to me. Natas is just doing his homework.

Nick: I just wish he would have stayed home to do it.

Richard: Hater.

As Hank Cobb and Colby Korver lean against the ropes, looking down at their hated rival, Aaron Andrews and Tyler Chance seize the opportunity to attack them from behind with clubbing blows. As Risk and Reward assault the frat boys, Natas suddenly springs into action, reaching under the apron and pulling out a table. Looking at the incensed crowd, Natas cracks a smile and slides the table into the ring.

Richard: I love it when a plan comes together.

Nick: And that’s just what this is, a premeditated setup.

Richard: Of course it is, Nick, when three great minds like these come together they can’t help but produce genius.

Pounding and kicking at their fallen opponents, Andrews and Chance finally pick Korver and Cobb up off the mat and Irish whip them across the ring, setting them up for tandem backbody drops onto the unforgiving table. As the frat boys rebound off the far ropes, Andrews and Chance drop their heads just a split second too early, allowing Korver and Cobb to brain them with simultaneous kicks to the head.

Nick: Great resiliency by DUI, as they avoid the hard landing.

Richard: This isn’t good.

Cobb grabs Andrews and throws him into the powerbomb position, as Korver spins Chance around and locks him in a double-chickenwing.

Sensing his well-orchestrated plan going horribly awry, Natas leaps up onto the apron, attempting to distract the frat boys long enough for Risk and Reward to turn things around.

Richard: Get some control out there Jase, rally the troops.

Nick: I think he may have his own issues to attend to.

Richard: What are you talking about, Stuart?

Nick: Please turn your attention to the entrance ramp.

And with good reason, for sprinting to ringside is none other than Jimmy Bonafide.

Nick: Looks like Natas’ attitude is finally catching up with him.

Richard: Haters.

Bonafide grabs Natas’ feet and pulls him off the apron, dropping his face six feet straight down onto the aforementioned apron. Now staggered, Natas turns and stumbles right into Bonafide, who quickly wraps his right arm under Natas’ right arm and over his left shoulder, locking him firmly into position for his finisher.

Nick: Bonafide sets Natas up outside of the ring, as Korver and Cobb ready themselves to execute their finishers inside on Risk and Reward.

Richard: Can we please cut to commercial already? This is getting depressing.

And it gets much worse almost immediately as Korver snaps Chance back in his double-chickenwing backcracker, CK1; Cobb lifts Andrews overhead before launching him halfway across the ring with his throwing crucifix powerbomb, Southern Justice; and finally, Bonafide drops Natas with his sideslam finisher, Ghettonomics.

The ref drops to the mat to make the count.

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!!

Vince Howard: And your winners…DELTA UPSILON IOTA!!!

Nick: Delta Upsilon Iota and Jimmy Bonafide have taken out both Jason Natas and his hired guns Risk and Reward! Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?

Richard: Drown yourself, Stuart. I can’t believe these…wait, what are they doing?

In the ring, Colby Korver sets up the table in the middle of the ring, as Hank Cobb begins to lift Andrews’ and Chance’s dead weight to their feet. Bonafide slides into the ring and helps Korver lock the table into place, as Natas begins to crawl back up the entrance ramp.

Nick: And this definitely doesn’t look good for Risk and Reward.

With Andrews and Chance now leaning with their backs against the ropes, Korver readies himself on the other side of the table, as Bonafide moves out of the way, standing guard against any further Natas intervention. Cobb crouches down and puts his right arm through Andrews’ legs and his left arm through Chance’s legs, locking his hands and then lifting both members of Risk and Reward in an awesome display of strength.

Nick: Hank Cobb has Risk and Reward high above the ring, with a table only a few feet behind him.

Richard: I give up, let’s get this over with and move on with our lives.

As Cobb falls backward in a monstrous double-flapjack, Korver grabs both Chance and Andrews with simultaneous cutters on the way down, putting Risk and Reward neck first through the table.

Nick: Oh my dear god! Double Blackball! The frat boys of Delta Upsilon Iota just took out Risk and Reward with the very table that Jason Natas had earmarked for their destruction.

With Aaron Andrews and Tyler Chance lying motionless in what little remains of the table behind them, the frat boys Hank Cobb and Colby Korver now stand tall alongside Jimmy Bonafide, staring down at Jason Natas as he rises to his feet and spits out a wad of blood at his feet.

Nick: It looks like Delta Upsilon Iota’s insurance policy has reaped major dividends, as Jimmy Bonafide helped turn the tables on Jason Natas.

Richard: Good one, Nick.

Nick: And in the process, they may have taken out Risk and Reward permanently.

Tyler Rayne isn’t usually right about anything. In fact, he’s dead ass wrong 99 percent of the time. James Varga and Axel Action have a better chance of being accurate on a more consistent basis than this windbag. However, the one thing which he invested time and energy into, and also encouraged everybody else to, has now skyrocketed to the upper tier of PRIME backstage lore...

The Catering Area.

Bryan Dawkins has had issues said area in the past and it’s not usually where he likes to lounge on a given show, especially when he’s got a tag match with mentor/creepy senior roster member, Chandler Tsonda. Unfortunately for those of the food preparing variety, word got down to Dawkins about a hot rumor, fresh pineapple.

Needless to say, dude is holding up the line and tearing that shit up! Employees are growing restless while Dawkins makes funny hand signals, indicating they go around while he munches down on pieces of heaven. The crowd in Birmingham is excited to see the Hawaiian, and now know not to challenge him to an eating contest.

Behind him though is someone who has just cut through the line and holds fifteen pounds of shiny gold over his shoulder. Fat and pale women scream into their televisions so loud that nearby windows shatter on impact and every car alarm within a five mile radius goes off.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Ladies and Gents, the Champ. He’s got a full trey of food, which consists primarily of Pixie Sticks and Fruit Mentos. The Emo desires a fruit cup to make this nutritious meal complete and Dawkins is blocking the way.

Shakur lightly taps him on the shoulder.

Dawkins acts as if nothing else is going on but delicious pineapple hitting his taste buds.

Shakur taps him on the shoulder again.

Dawkins still doesn’t acknowledge his presence. Shakur frowns and ponders for a quick second what to do. Looking up to the ceiling, he raises his hands into the air and calls for a majestic stick of oratory enhancement.

THE NEW SKOOL MIC!!!!!!!11111

Shakur whips out a stopwatch and waits impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground while Dawkins chomps into another pineapple.

Devin Shakur: Ugh, ridiculous.

The Champ rolls his eyes. Meanwhile an employee finally slams through the door, out of breath, sweating, and hands Shakur a standard ring microphone.

Yes, that’s new school.

Promptly kicking him in the ass, Shakur speaks into the stick.

Devin Shakur: HULA DANCING CONTEST! OUR FIRST COMPETITOR…BRYAN DAWKINS!

Dawkins emerges from his trance state and immediately makes his way to the middle of the cafeteria, ready to dance his heart out.

It takes him a minute to realize Shakur just snatched a fruit cup and is waving at him with the microphone in hand.

Bryan Dawkins: Wait a minute bruh, where’s the hula dancing contest? I was ready to go!

Shakur lifts up his trey and walks over to Dawkins with a friendly smile.

Bryan Dawkins: What’s the big idea? I’m havin’ a feast over there and you see fit to interrupt my paradise.

Devin Shakur: Yeah, I needed that fruit cup badly.

Bryan Dawkins: You can get them at the store for 99 cents, bruh. I can’t get no pineapple feast this epic at any store.

Devin Shakur: For 99 cents? Dude, I’m a heel, I don’t pay for anything. We all sneak in the back of the store, knock out the workers, and haul ass with boxes of that shit. Have a seat, we need to chat.

Dawkins reluctantly sits down while all PRIME employees will be giving Shakur a Thank You at the end of the night for eliminating their line nuisance. Shakur places his trey down and looks at the rising superstar.

Devin Shakur: Universal Champion Devin Shakur.

He extends a hand, and Dawkins is cautious of accepting the gesture.

Bryan Dawkins: Whoa, bruh, I ain’t shakin’ that hand unless you guarantee me right now I’m not gonna get any emo cooties. I know how you freaks like to get down and any incidental contact might convert me. I ain’t having that garbage, bruh.

Devin Shakur: You are safe, I assure you.

Dawkins, still apprehensive, shakes Shakur’s hand.

Devin Shakur: Fabulous. Now then, I’ve noticed over the past couple months you’ve been having a rather awkward relationship with Tson Tson and it’s beginning to concern me.

Bryan Dawkins: What’cha mean, bruh?

Devin Shakur: Well, you are someone who I think has a lot of talent...A true blue chipper in this business with the potential to go places that not many people have gone before. But you’ve got your priorities all wrong. Hang on a sec, I gotta open these pixie stick bags, and they are always a challenge. Hold onto this for a minute.

Shakur nonchalantly shoves the Universal Championship toward Dawkins. The PRIME rookie takes a hold of the belt and seems transfixed with the object while Shakur ruthlessly battles his bags of pixie sticks. Dawkins shows a little quiver in his hands and almost drops the Championship belt. This is the pinnacle of PRIME and something everybody on the roster aspires for. Now he’s holding the Championship in his very two hands.

Sending sugar sticks flying in every direction, Shakur uses his lightning quick hands to gather as many blue and red ones he can. Swearing under his breath, the Commie Emo places them on his trey and holds his hand out for the Championship back.

Dawkins is just a little tentative about handing it back over. Shakur pops blue sweetness in his mouth and continues talking.

Devin Shakur: Now then, Chandler Tsonda, he’s been trying to mold you into somebody which he deems acceptable. Honestly, do you want to be seen as acceptable by somebody who is less reliable than a small town car salesmen with a 70s pornstache and smile straight out of a staple gun?

Dawkins goes to interrupt Shakur, but The Man in Black is just getting warmed up.

Devin Shakur: I mean for starters, let’s look at the variables. One, he doesn’t want you eating fruit because it freaks him the hell out, allegedly. I’ve heard he digs a particular yellow longitudinal variety of fruit which he can swallow whole, but that’s another story. Anyway, the first thing you gotta understand about PRIME, something they don’t teach you around here is...You gotta be yourself. Define your own image.

Dawkins gives an accepting nod, seemingly starting to believe in what Shakur is telling him.

Devin Shakur: Let me put it to you this way...It’s like we’ve gone WAY back in the day and you are entering the country. You have your life that you have brought with you and once you step foot onto Staten Island, people who don’t know the REAL you are changing essential parts of who you are. Do you want that?

Quickly, Dawkins shakes his head no. Inside, Shakur is smiling mischievously, but externally he’s keeping a concerned face so Dawkins will take him seriously.

Devin Shakur: The second thing you gotta know about this business is surround people who can allow for optimal growth. Tsonda has never given you an ounce of respect because, well, he believes he’s on an echelon you are about a year away from, and you don’t deserve any respect. You are the future of this business and that’s something which requires realization right the fuck now.

Dawkins begins to perspire just a tad, and it’s something that Shakur notices. He continues to pour pressure on the youngster.

Devin Shakur: Tsonda just wants you to hang around him so he can feel good about himself. Put you down like you just entered his boot camp every single time you two have a face to face. I’m telling you people like that are going to stab you in the back after giving you a courteous smile and a handshake. Why do you think dude lacks any legitimate homies?

Did Shakur just say homies?

Devin Shakur: Ever since Tsonda has been here, go and look at some of his A-List tapes, kid is out for numero uno and he’s still that way. You aren’t part of his long term plan and this is one mission you need to abort from right now, for your own sake. I was once in your shoes and it took me a while to find the right people, but once I did, I knew. Gambs isn’t going anywhere except in the overhead compartment to save money on the plane rides. Find that someone who you can call your legitimate right hand person and you’ll be on your way to the top.

Shakur stands up, now pocketing all the packs of Mentos and spare pixie sticks. Giving Dawkins a pat on the shoulder, Commie Emo starts to exit from the cafeteria and then runs smack dab into a hairstyle that would have been suave if the year were 1986.

"What the blue-haired fuck is going on here, Emosuck?"

Chandler Tsonda.

Devin Shakur: Why, whatever do you mean Tson?

Chandler Tsonda: Cut the bullshit, Shak. I come looking for Dawkins, since we're about to embark on a beautiful learning experience that would make Ms. Frizzle drool, and you're all up in his business like a sleazy telemarketer. Don't bother trying to sell him a Panic at the Disco! CD, he's gonna be across the ring from you later tonight.

Devin Shakur: Oh, I’m very aware of that fact Chan. I was just providing an honest opinion about you that nobody has bothered to tell that "apprentice" of yours.

With a sly smirk accompanying Shakur’s words, it becomes painfully apparent what he just did. Dawkins, meanwhile, continues to enjoy his tropical fruit and observes the confrontation between his mentor and newfound…friend?

Chandler Tsonda: You motherf-

Devin Shakur: Talk to your kids more Chan, and tell them you love them. It’ll help you out in the long run. Oh by the way, take one of these.

Shakur flicks out an orange Mentos and bypasses Tsonda, heading for the exit.

Tsonda listens to the bouncing of the Mentos off the floor and goes to sit down at Dawkins’ table, but the Flying Hawaiian is on the verge of leaving himself. He stands in front of his colleague and shows the most pride he can.

Bryan Dawkins: ...Bruh

Dawkins takes a huge bite of pineapple and follows in Shakur’s direction out of the cafeteria. Tsonda stands there dumbfounded but very perturbed.

At one end of the hallway "The Specialist" Tony Rolo comes walking awkwardly in street clothes. He seems to keep adjusting himself… almost as if pulling his sack away from his leg. Don’t you just hate it when they get stuck to your thigh?

At the other end of the corridor, Tony Gamble steps out of his locker room and immediately turns the opposite direction of the PRIME Hall of Famer and starts heading away from him oblivious that he isn’t alone at the moment backstage.

Rolo quickly plants himself against the wall, trying to go into stealth mode. Using ninja-like skills, he scales along the base of the wall, hiding behind trash cans, mop buckets, and plants as Tony Gamble continues on his way unknowing and the perp behind him. Rolo stays quiet as best he can until PRIME’s version of vanishes around a corner.

As Rolo gets to the door The Grin originally walked out of, he looks behind himself to check if anybody has spotted him. Realizing he’s still flying under the radar, he checks the doorknob and to his liking, finds Tony Gamble’s locker room has been left open. He slips inside and closes the door behind him.

It’s still quite quiet in the hallway, which is very convenient for burglars, criminals, and the like.

About 45 seconds after entering, The Specialist inches the door open and peeks outside. Not seeing anybody, he hurries himself out of Gamble’s locker room, gently closing the door behind him. He gives a look down both ends of the hallway, and begins briskly walking in the direction in which he originally came from.

Tony Rolo: Aaaahhhhhh… that feels much better.

The camera is now backstage after that thrilling Rolo/Gamble moment.

Unfortunately, it's with Mega Job.

Beef: Okay. Last week, I gotta admit, that was all pretty disasterous.

El Janito: Steve got into a fight with that Enemigo guy and he had a frickin' axe.

Beef: Look, that was no ordinary Enemigo, okay? He was a zombie. He was in the room. His axe was on fire. He killed Steve's parents.

Steve: BULLSHIT.

Beef: Okay, so he didn't kill Steve's parents. The point is, a throwndown had to have been brought, and Steve brought it. It's just a good thing that security... well, the other Enemigos... came in to break things up.

El Janito: They tried to attack Steve.

Beef: Yes, but they'd need a lot more Enemigos to bring down Steve.

Steve: (points to himself) HARDCORE.

Beef: Yes, yes, we know Steve. You know, you've been hanging out with Mr. Shakur a lot more lately. What happened to bowling on Friday? I mean, you totally ditched us to go hang out with Devin. What's up with that?

Steve doesn't even have to think about it.

Steve: (pointing at Beef) LOSERS.

There is a pause.

Beef: Fair enough. (beat) Alright, so... you guys know we have to interview this person, right? It makes no sense that we'd just interview everyone else except this one man who has redefined the rules in PRIME and bucked the trends and spouted off more pop culture references per second than even Jon Stewart. On crack. We have to interview Lindsay Troy.

El Janito: Isn't Lindsay Troy a woman?

Beef: Eh?

El Janito: You called Lindsay Troy a man.

Beef: You mean, Lindsay Troy... is a woman?

El Janito: Yes.

Beef: Seriously?

El Janito: What made you think she wasn't?

Beef: Well, "Lindsay" can be a guy's name and... well, Troy just seemed so... brutish and unwomanly.

El Janito: And she's taller than you.

Beef: Yes.

El Janito: You think any woman who's taller than you is a man.

Beef: Well, yes.

El Janito sighs.

A loud crunch is heard off-camera, followed by muffled chewing.

El Janito: OH GOD!

And suddenly El Janito is off-camera, hiding behind one of the production boxes.

Beef turns to the source of the noise.

Beef: Okay, how much of that did you actually hear?

Crunch. Chewchewchewchew. Pause.

Lindsay Troy: All of it.

There stands the Queen. In all her majesty. In all her regal glory. Eating an apple.

Lindsay Troy: Human beings don't learn from their past mistakes. I had hoped to maybe transcend my corporeal shell into something more divine. Alas, here I stand. With you three buffoons.

Beef: One buffoon.

Lindsay Troy: One?

Beef: Yes. Steve is no buffoon and you just sent El Janito scurrying away behind that box.

Yes, Beef basically admits that he is a buffoon.

Beef: Alright, so. All that you heard? That was, um... our dopplegangers. Yes. You were standing next to our dopplegangers. And then, when you were distracted for a second, we appeared in their place. That's exactly what happened.

Lindsay Troy: Has the poison kicked in yet?

She studies the apple, then sighs.

Lindsay Troy: Fairy tales are wrought with epic lies.

Beef: I don't know. Janito pricked his finger on a needle once and he fell into a deep sleep.

Steve: PRINCE.

Beef: Yes. And then a prince came and kissed him awake. Incidently, said prince was an anthromorphic frog.

Somehow, the look on Steve's face seems to indicate that this is not the case, but Beef goes with it anyway.

Beef: Seriously. You should have seen him. He was majestic and princely.

Lindsay Troy: And I'm sure he wore an outfit of spun gold and sparkles and rode upon a white steed. Look, can we please get on with this human trainwreck? I have much more fun causing them than being a part of one.

Beef: Well, okay then. Say, listen, I hope you know, we're kinda sorry about the whole "thinking that Cozen was you" business from a couple of months ago. How were we to know? We're Mega Job. We're not exactly smart or known for our abilities to discern friend from f--STEVESPRINGTHETRAPNOW!

He points frantically to Steve, who pulls a nearby rope.

A cage comes down from the ceiling. How did it get there? Well, it's placed in the same region of Arena Hammerspace that Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison Of PRIME's Old School Mic~! comes from. Anyway, the cage comes down and traps its victim inside its confines.

Except that it's not Lindsay Troy.

It's Steve.

Steve: (glares at Beef) DEATH.

Beef: (facepalms) I *knew* we should have carried the two when we were figuring out the temporal mechanics of bringing a cage out of hammerspace.

Lindsay Troy: You probably drew the diagram with a pink crayon.

Beef: Who do I look like, Tony Davis? (pause) You're totally pissed at us right now, aren't you?

Lindsay Troy: I am somewhere between mildly annoyed and kill-you-in-the-face. I suppose that's normal.

Beef: Well, that's why we had the cage. It was, uh... for our own protection, you see. Janito and I... well, we think you're a little unstable, could snap at any moment, and go into a raving lunatic mode where every other word you say is "LeBatard" and you start smashing the backstage like a raving lunatic... or Dusk on a normal day. We had to make a stand, and... well, you see the things we had to resort to. And if we had any sort of mastery of temporal mechanics or quantam physics, it'd be you in that cage instead of the only one among us who could take you on.

Pause.

Beef: Something about that didn't sound right.

Lindsay Troy: I'm unstable? I am unstable?

The Queen gives this high-pitched, fluttering laugh. Something about it, though, is less amusing and more disconcerting.

Lindsay Troy: How can that be? I don't feel any different. Nothing very out of the ordinary. I didn't eat the cookies in the Rabbit's house, or eat the carrot from the garden. Slipping into the Psycho Hosebeast's mind doesn't make me crazy. I'm still the Colossus Curse Breaker. Still prettier than Brooks. Still the D-R-E. Still defended the Universal title successfully on two separate runs. CoziePosey couldn't. Terrible champ. But I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha.

She looks over at Beef. A grin glides upon her lips.

Lindsay Troy: We're all a little mad, I suppose.

Beef: Listen, perhaps you need to relieve some stress. I know this karaoke bar here in Birmingham... well, okay, all they do in this bar is make you sing a lot of Lynyrd Skynyrd, so you might want to bring that cowboy along with you. Anyway, you should go there and just sing. Trust me, it works. Heck, we took Devin and Tony out there with us and we all butchered "Free Bird" so badly that they kicked us out, and we all had a good time. Well, as good a time as you can have with two midgets, an emo, and a woman. (glares at El Janito) And... (pause, sees the look on Lindsay's face) you're totally not gonna let us interview you now, are you?

Troy takes another bite of the apple and motions to Janito while she chews.

Lindsay Troy: He still go crazy when you say certain words?

Beef: We got him over the Nerva thing. I think it's some sort of psychological block where he pretends that Nerva never existed. Or it's for purely comedic reasons. We're not sure. (leans in and "whispers" to Lindsay) Psst. He still totally freaks at the word "apples".

El Janito screams like a little girl.

Lindsay Troy: Oh. What a wonderful coincidence that I'm eating this APPLE.

El Janito screams like a little girl.

Lindsay Troy: Did you know that apples (Janito screams) reduce the risk of lung cancer? Maybe Caes and Wade should start eating more apples (Janito screams) instead of smoking more cigs.

Beef: You know, it's funny, but he didn't always scream like a little girl upon the mention of the word APPLES.

El Janito screams like a little girl... in C minor.

Beef: But... well, let's just say it all happened in Pasadena and leave it at that. I don't think any of us want to talk about that.

Steve: WRONG.

Beef: Yes, Steve. What happened there was wrong. So very wrong.

Lindsay Troy: Yes, well, this was fun. But not really. So I'm just gonna go take my APPLE...

El Janito screams like a little girl... in C minor... whose older brother just yanked her pigtails.

Lindsay Troy: And go find something better to do. Like go make bunny ears behind Mills' head when he's doing an interview.

Beef: Who hasn't done that, though?

Steve: SERIOUSLY.

Beef: I mean, I think even WE'VE done it to him at least once. And we haven't even been interviewed by him! (pause) Steve, you think we could do "Behind Colossus: Repchaked Up" with Matt Mills?

Steve: FULL.

Beef: Ah, right. The schedule is full. Well, we can always reschedule. (looks towards Lindsay) What do you think?

The camera pans back to Lindsay, only to find that she's no longer standing there. Instantly, Beef knew EXACTLY what happened.

Beef: Oh my God! Steve! She's been abducted by aliens!

Steve takes a few steps back, putting his back against the cage.

Beef: Steve?

Steve: DEATH.

Steve charges at the cage wall, arm extended.

As the cage EXPLODES, the camera feed is suddenly lost.

Nick: Welcome back folks! Time for our second contest of the evening…

Richard: And this one’s got a little bit of heat, Richard!

Nick: Just a few short weeks ago we saw the obnoxious Champ Chamberlain "mistake" Tony Rolo for Tony Romo. In fact, he irritated "The Specialist" to the point where Rolo could no longer resist the urge to clock him one…

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a singles match 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.

(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

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

Richard: This kid’s got spunk, Nick!

Nick: Well uhh, that’s certainly one way of putting it! This kid’s sure turned a few heads since his arrival in PRIME, lets see how he fares against a hall-of-famer!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, in the ring… from New York City, New York, weighing in at 230lbs… he is "THE CENTER OF ATTENTION"… CHAAAAAAMMMPP CHHHHAAAAMMMMBBBBEEERRRRLLLLAAAIIINNNNNN!

An oh-so familiar drumbeat.

The slow build-up of guitar and bass.

The melodic yet gruff tones of Dave Grohl.

20,000 screaming fans.

You fucking love it.

Vince Howard: … aaaaaaand his opponent!

The reaction is almost defeaning as Tony Rolo strides confidently out onto the ramp. He gazes around at the fans, playing up to them as he begins his descent to the ring.

Nick: And here comes the veteran!

Richard: The gulf in experience here is quite remarkable… Champ Chamberlain’s had, what, three matches, and Tony Rolo’s been doing this since before colour TVs were invented!

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois… weighing in at 250lbs, he is PRIME’s Goldenboy and a Hall of Fame member… "THE SPECIALIST"… TOOONNNNNNNYYYYYYY RRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOO!"

Eventually Rolo makes it down to the ring and slides in underneath the bottom rope. He chuckles at the preening and posing "Center of Attention" as "My Hero" begins to fade from the speakers.

DING! DING! DING!

The circling of the ring begins as soon as the tiny little hammer connects with the bell. After a couple of seconds sizing each other up, Champ and Rolo lock horns in the centre of the ring. Both Rolo has a chance to work his magic, Champ breaks free and locks his esteemed opponent in a waistlock, but The Specialist soon elbows him in the temple and backs him into the corner, forcing Chamberlain to break the hold.

Nick: Chamberlain with the lock-up attempt here, broken up by Rolo!

Richard: You’re not going to get the veteran like that this early in the match… like I said, this guy’s been doing this since dinosaurs roamed the earth, he’s not going to fall prey that easily.

Nick: And now Tony Rolo, hammering away at the greenhorn.

After landing another shot on Champ’s jaw for good measure, Rolo whips his opponent across the ring, but Chamberlain reverses, whipping Tony towards the turnbuckle. However, Rolo dodges Champ’s running attack with ease. Champ telegraphs the spinning forearm attack that’s coming, however, and soon finds himself standing over the Hall of Famer.

Richard: Good awareness from Chamberlain there.

Nick: Absolutely, this kid may be a relative rookie here, but he certainly knows his way around the wrestling ring.

Richard: And what better way to prove yourself than by taking out a Hall of Famer?

Nick: Precisely.

Rolo sits upright as Champ charges at him; attempting a roll-up that Chamberlain rolls out of before the referee’s hand can meet the canvas. The Center of Attention is the first man to his feet and throws Rolo’s head between his thighs, looking for a high impact move, but Tony quickly squirms his way out and hooks Champ’s feet, tripping him up. Rolo grab’s Champ’s feet, probably looking for some kind of submission, but Chamberlain thrusts both boots forward, knocking Rolo from his feet.

Nick: Wow! This really is anyone’s game at the moment…

Richard: Tony Rom-, errr, Rolo just got a mouthful of Chamberlain’s boot there though!

Nick: Lets see if the rookie can build on this…

Despite having the perceived advantage, Champ cannot continue his momentum as Tony is the first to spring to life, nailing the torso of the newcomer with a couple of swift jabs before taking him down with an outside crescent kick! Tony Rolo makes the first cover of the match…

…1!

…2!

No! A straightforward kick out from The Center of Attention.

Nick: Easy kick out from Champ as Tony Rolo looks to take control.

Rolo rises to his feet and allows Chamberlain to get up on his own accord. He soon has the groggy rookie backed against the ropes, and he grabs hold of his arm looking for the Irish whip. Once again though Chamberlain reverses, sending Tony Rolo over the top rope with a forceful whip!

Richard: And Rolo hits the mat!

Nick: He’s landed on both feet though, Richard.

Richard: Impressive stuff from Chamberlain though, he really put a lot of power into that whip, and what’s this!?

Nick: Look out!

Tony Rolo is offered little chance to regain his composure as Chamberlain flies through the ropes, nailing his opponent to the floor with a suicide dive! Tony holds his head in pain as Chamberlain poses, pointing both index fingers to his torso as if to say "how good am I?!"

Nick: Chamberlain just went airbourne!

Richard: Flawless execution from the greenhorn, and now Rolo’s in a world of pain!

Chamberlain, after posing, grabs Rolo by the tights and throws him back into the ring before the referee has a chance to begin the count out. Knowing that his adversary is still in pain after the big move, Champ takes his time in getting into the ring, not wanting to waste any valuable energy. He soon walks over to the downed Rolo and helps him to his feet, only to knee him in the gut and drop him down again with a scoop slam! He soon begins posing again…

Nick: This kid is one cocky mothersucker, folks. Just look at him… he may be in control of the match, but that’s no way to treat a man of Tony Rolo’s talent!

Richard: Champ Chamberlain truly believes that he is the Center of Attention, Nick, and he’s certainly justifying that tag tonight!

Nick: Come on Tony! Wipe this smug punk’s smile right off his face!

The Centre of Attention grabs his opponent and pulls him up to a seated position. Before he can lock in the sleeper, however, Rolo elbows him in the gut and leaps back to his feet to a decent pop from the crowd. Rolo’s comeback looks to be short-lived as Champ throws off the arm wrench attempt, only for Rolo to almost take Champ’s head off with a sudden clothesline!

Richard: WHAM!

Nick: Where the hell did that come from?!

Richard: We’ve seen that snap clothesline from Rolo before, tremendous execution there!

Dazed but not out of it yet, Champ springs upwards following the clothesline and walks right into a back elbow shot from Rolo. He gets up to his feet a little bit slower this time, and leans against the ropes while he tries to catch his breath. There’s not a chance in hell of The Specialist allowing that though, and Rolo whips his opponent against the ropes – successfully this time – catching Chamberlain with a belly-to-belly suplex on the rebound! He makes the cover…

…1!

…2!

Shoulder up from Chamberlain!

Nick: Close one!

Richard: Yeah, and a nice suplex from Rolo. Even after all these years, he’s still as sharp as a knife inside that ring!

Nick: You just know that for every puerile comment that comes out of this guy’s mouth he’s got two or three suplexes and clotheslines up his sleeve! That, Nick, is why he’s a Hall of Famer!

Rolo pulls Champ up and hits him in the head a couple of times, but the Center of Attention suddenly springs to life! Catching Rolo off guard with a couple of shots to the head, Champ attempts a suplex, but Tony jabs him in the ribs before downing him with a suplex of his own! The Specialist makes another quick cover…

…1!

…2!

NO! Kick out from Chamberlain!

Nick: And another near-fall! Tony Rolo is on fire…

Rolo sits upright, catching his breath and recovering from the fatigue that is no doubt beginning to set in. As the crowd begin to chant his name Tony Rolo rises to his feet, and after a couple of snap jabs attempts another clothesline. Chamberlain ducks this attempt, and flips behind Rolo, grabbing a handful of tights into the roll-up!

…1!

…2!

No! Kick out from Rolo!

Nick: Roll-up attempt from Chamberlain, but what the HECK is that on Rolo’s underwear?!

As Rolo springs up he pulls his tights back up, but not before the cameras catch a glimpse of the words printed on the waistband of his underwear.

TONY GAMBLE.

Richard: Tony Gamble?! What the hell is that all about?!

Nick: Lord knows, Rich!

Champ Chamberlain charges at Rolo, only to walk right into a cutter from The Specialist!

Richard: Rude and Crude Drop!

Nick: This could be it, folks!

Naturally, Rolo covers.

…1!

…2!

…3?

Nah. Champ kicks out again!

Nick: Wow, how close was that!?!

Richard: Incredibly! We’ve seen Rolo put guys away with that move before, Nick. Nice work from Champ.

The Specialist takes a little bit longer to get up to his feet this time, but he’s soon back to a vertical base and he takes Chamberlain with him. He pushes Champ back to a corner, before sitting him up on the top rope. Rolo climbs up on the middle turnbuckle and throws his opponent’s head under his arm, but Champ nails him in the side a couple of times before Rolo can hit the Superplex! Rolo, dazed, steps down from the turnbuckle, but walks right into a missile dropkick from Champ! He hooks the leg…

…1!

…2!

No! Rolo throws his shoulder up!

Richard: Another bullet dodged by Chamberlain!

Nick: Rolo could have polished it off right there with the superplex, but fortunately Champ was able to counter, and what a beautiful dropkick!

Champ gets a handful of Rolo’s hair and pulls him up, but before he can get a shot in Rolo smacks him square in the jaw! The veteran looks to take advantage, and soon does, throwing Champ’s head under his arm and hooking the leg.

Nick: He’s going for the finish here…

ROLOPLEX!

Rolo hauls his opponent into the air before driving him down headfirst into the mat...

Richard: That’s it! Gooodnight Champ!

…1!

…2!

…3!!!

Nick: Normal service resumed for Tony Rolo!

The referee grabs The Specialist by the arm, raising it in victory as "My Hero" blares again.

Richard: Tony Rolo taking care of business once again, a nice victory.

Nick: Champ Chamberlain put in a good account of himself by all means, but the experience factor of Rolo just proved to be too much for him.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner… TOOOONNNNNNNYYYYYY RRRRROOOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO!

The scene opens up to a backstage PRIME corridor where our two zeroes heroes, Eli "So Sly" VanNess and Felix "Too Fly" Young are currently pacing, both looking quite distressed.

Eli: This PRIME shit is beat, man. All these serious blow-hards are killing my buzz.

Felix: Seriously, dude. I hear ya, I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down?

Eli: What?

Felix: Well I figure we’re on TV, we have a pretty decent chance of starting some sort of fad or something, so I’m trying out all these new phrases. Tonight is "I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down" which means that I’m understanding the ideas you are suggesting.

Eli: That is seriously the dumbest shit I have ever heard.

Felix: I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down with that.

Eli: *sigh* Let’s just get on with it. Where is C.P.’s office again?

Felix: I dun know. I do know that he will be super stoked to find out we’ve refreshed the air in his office.

Felix reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic baggie the size of his head, bulging with what can only be marijuana.

Felix: This ought to be enough.

Eli: Probably, at least it should be enough to get that gross new carpet, new leather smell out of there. Yuck. Lets go.

Felix: I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting do…

Just as the two round the hallway corner, none other than the frat boys of Delta Upsilon Iota comes striding in the other direction. Colby Korver is carrying yet another large bag of marijuana while Hank Cobb grins and pantomimes the action of smoking. Suddenly both groups are aware of the other’s presence and stop dead in their tracks.

Korver: Cobb, are you seeing this?

Eli: It’s like I’m looking in the mirror.

Felix: Whoa.

Cobb: So where you boys headed this fine evening?

Eli: Nowhere special, as long as they have comfortable seating and a good ventilation system.

Korver: Sounds pretty damn good right now. You boys interested in doubling your numbers.

Felix and Eli exchange glances, then turn both their gazes to the baggie in Korver’s hand.

Felix: As long as we’re also doubling our supply.

Cobb: Well we sure as hell ain’t tryin’ to pull one over on you boys, so it sounds like we got ourselves a deal.

Eli: Seems like it. So you guys have any thoughts on CP’s office?

Korver: Umm, just one. Awesome.

Felix: So should we get this show on the road?

Cobb: Lead the way, fellas, ol’ Cantrell’s fixin’ to throw himself one hell of a party.

Eli: Ashame he won’t be there to see it.

After last week, most people who regulary tune in to PRIME's ReVolution probably thought that Troy Douglas and his ability to think rationally were currently not on speaking terms with one another.

I mean, seriously, popping a balloon in front of someone's face? Not exactly garden-variety behavior for the man carrying the PRIME Intense Title.

Message boards had been going nuts over it. Had Kaiser Vashaun's machinations finally brought Troy to his breaking point? Had C.P. Cantrell's restraining order frustrated Douglas so much that he and his mind had become temporarily disassociated?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Considering the fact that as the Next in Line walks by him in the hallway, Troy surreptiously tapes a piece of white paper to his back, it's pretty obvious that the uncharacteristic behavior isn't done yet.

Vashaun notices neither Douglas or the sign, so 10 seconds later and a ways down the hall, when a member of PRIME's ring crew kicks Kaiser directly in the ass, suffice it to say that the number one contender to the Intense belt is both surprised and displeased.

Kaiser: What the FUCK did you do that for?

Ring Crew Guy: I ... uhh ... sign ...

Kaiser: Sign? What sign!?

Ring Crew Guy: Uhhh ... sign ... on back ... pleasedontkillmepleasedontkillme.

Vashaun, who at this point is ready to plant the nameless little man's head into one of the Birmingham-Jefferson Civic Center's concrete walls, reaches blindly at his back and finally grabs the attached piece of paper. Looking at it, he sees that it's emblazoned with two large words, normally not seen outside of elementary school highways.

KICK. ME.

Wheeling around, Kaiser spots Douglas, his feet kicked up on a folding chair. The Intense champ flashes a grin at Vashaun, who storms over to his rival.

Troy Douglas: Ah, you found my note. Wondered where I had left that.

Kaiser Vashaun: Kick me? KICK ME?! Have you reverted back to third grade? Are you 12 or something?

Douglas just smiles, looking down only to pat the Intense Title belt on his shoulder.

Troy Douglas: Nah, a 12-year-old would NEVER be ingenious enough to pull off that kind of trap. Besides, that gag is classic, and I won't stand for someone insulting the classics.

Kaiser Vashaun: Yep, you've completely lost it.

Troy Douglas: Have I now?

Kaiser Vashaun: Balloons, potato chips, fucking "KICK ME" signs? You think any of this is actually working?

Troy Douglas: Dunno. You tell me.

Kaiser Vashaun: This isn't gaining you any kind of advantage, Douglas. It's just giving me more and more reasons to beat the holy living shit out of you at Colossus, which I'm thinking means bad news for you.

Troy Douglas: Huh. Situation seems kinda familiar...

The Intense Champion rises, grasping at metaphorical straws for a moment before focusing his eyes directly on the Next In Line.

Troy Douglas: Seems to me, I'm just following your example, pal. Not fun having someone pull your strings all the time, is it?

Kaiser Vashaun: The fuck?

Troy Douglas: Cantrell said I couldn't touch you until Colossus V. Doesn't mean I can't push a few buttons of my own, does it? Figured you weren't the kind of guy who was going to take verbal assault all that seriously, so I had to get a little unconventional. Not much my style, but I've gotta admit that watching you squirm the last two weeks is really entertaining.

Vashaun's face is now completely beet red, and he looks like he's just about ready to destroy a locker room door of his own. Douglas, however, looks perfectly calm.

Troy Douglas: But, don't worry, at Colossus, you get your comeuppance. Kay?

Kaiser seems to search for words, but can't find any. Instead, he balls up the sign, tosses it directly in Troy's face and stomps off down the hallway. Troy picks up the paper, smiling slightly.

Troy Douglas: This may have worked a little TOO well.

First, there is darkness. You hear:

"What the bloody hell are you doing in there, Jeeves?" The familiar British voice question. "Where are my fubbin’ crumpets?"

The camera flickers into life and opens upon a Union Jack flag blue tacked to the far wall, with a picture of the queen hanging proudly next to it. The camera pulls backwards and we see the man himself, Union Jack, wearing his usual red, white and blue union jack sequined wrestling attire (complete with mask, of course). He’s sitting in front of a mirror, leaning back in within the comfortable embrace of his fine leather chair his feet resting upon what appears to be a small Filipino boy and a steaming pot of Earl Grey tea positioned just within reaching distance.

Jeeves: Here we are, sir.

With that Jeeves arrives into the shot, carrying a tray with his masters crumpets precariously placed atop. Union Jack shoots Jeeves a filthy glance and then gratefully accepts the tray.

Union Jack: What have you been doing in there, Jeeves? I’ve known more lively tortoises than you!

Jeeves develops a puzzled expression.

Jeeves: Is that why you’ve been banned from every aquarium in the North of England, sir?

But Union Jack ignores him, instead he inspects his food with a careful and nods to himself, smiling.

Union Jack: Ah! Crumpets with melted cheese and brown sauce! The nectar of the gods!

Jeeves raises both eyebrows speculatively.

Jeeves: If you say so, sir.

"IS HE IN HERE????" The voice booms, catching both Union Jack and Jeeves unawares. It is also a familiar voice.

Union Jack: What the bloody hell…

The locker room door flings open and "The Flyin’ Hawaiian" Bryan Dawkins bursts into the room, hurling aside Union Jack’s personal security as though he were a mere rag doll, where upon he points at Union Jack his eyes wide with rage.

Dawkins: There ya are!

Union Jack stands, kicking aside the small Filipino boy - who whelps like a wounded puppy - without even a glimmer of remorse.

Union Jack: How DARE you trespass into my domain! This is British Sovereignty, peasant! Your kind aren’t allowed here!

Dawkins: Uh, what’cha talkin’ ‘bout, bruh?

Union Jack sighs.

Union Jack: Bloody peasants! Jeeves, call the British embassy! I won’t stand for a slur like this!

Jeeves: Very good, sir.

Dawkins shakes his head and cracks a grin. Union Jack glares at him a little bemused.

Union Jack: You think this is funny, you bloody chav?"

Dawkins: ‘Matter of fact, bruh…I do. It’s pretty pathetic, actually.

Union Jack’s eyes widen with rage.

Union Jack: WHAT? Pathetic? I am your sovereign! You SHOULD be bowing down before me! You should respect--

Dawkins: --respect you? Was that what ya were gonna say? I hope not, bruh, ‘cuz that’s a joke.

Union Jack turns to Jeeves, who is manning a phone in the background.

Union Jack: How are you faring with the phone call, Jeeves?

Jeeves: I’m on hold. They’re playing "It’s not my name" by the Ting Tings - permission to end my life, sir.

Union Jack: After the phone call. Maybe.

Bryan Dawkins clicks his fingers mere inches away from Union Jack’s face. Union Jack quickly turns to face "The Flyin’ Hawaiian", clearly displeased.

Dawkins: Hey bruh, you there? (after catching Union Jack’s attention) There we go.

Union Jack: Of course I’m here! What do you think I am, a hologram? You think this is Star Trek?

Dawkins: Nah, bruh. I was askin’ why I’d have a reason to respect ya.

UJ nods.

Union Jack: Because your--

Dawkins [ignoring him]: Why would I respect anyone who won’t step in the ring to settle their business?

Union Jack develops a confused expression.

Union Jack: Wha--

Dawkins [continuing to ignore him]: And how can I respect somebody who fakes an injury and then sends his poor excuse for a butler to do his fightin’ for him?

Union Jack: Now wait a minute! I WAS injured, but my arm miraculously got better mid-match! The doctor said it could happen at any time! Besides, Jeeves BEGGED me to let him fight you! Isn’t that right Jeeves?

Jeeves glares at him, his face still attached to the phone, and sighs.

Jeeves: If you say so, sir…

Union Jack: See?

Dawkins shakes his head, obviously not willing to eat UJ’s bullshit.

Dawkins: And I’m supposed to respect a guy who uses a chair to cheap shot me when I’m not lookin’? Fat chance, bruh.

Union Jack: Ah, well I can explain that. I--

Dawkins grins and shakes his head.

Dawkins: Don’t worry about it, bruh. I’m done listenin’. I just stopped by to give ya a message.

UJ nods solemnly.

Union Jack: Very well. I grant you an audience--

Dawkins: (interrupting again) Tonight, there’s no way you’re hiding, bruh. There’s no way you’re gettin’ out of it.

Union Jack: What the bloody hell are you talking about?

Dawkins [developing a malicious grin]: Don’t ya know?

Union Jack: Know what, shithouse?

Dawkins turns to walk away, but stops just short of the locker room door.

Dawkins: You and Shakur teaming up against the Tsondawkins. Tonight.

Union Jack turns to Jeeves, bewildered. And yes, I just used the term TSONDAWKINS. PRIME just got a couple thousand phone calls asking for merchandise that hasn’t been conjured up yet. Anyway…

Union Jack: Are you aware of this, Jeeves? I have to face this peasant and some ex-model nufter tonight?

Jeeves nods.

Jeeves: They sent you a fax last week, sir.

Union Jack develops a confused expression.

Union Jack: WHAT? I didn’t read it!

Jeeves: No sir. You commanded me to "shove it up my arse", sir.

Union Jack: Did I?

Jeeves: Yes.

Union Jack: And did you?

Jeeves: No sir. I took it as a euphemism and threw it away.

Union Jack: Oh did you! Well Dawkins, I must admit I’m feeling slightly queasy . I may not be able to compete tonight, I--

Dawkins shakes his head and chuckles to himself.

Dawkins: You ain’t getting’ out of this one, bruh.

He exits, leaving Union Jack bitter and Jeeves holding the phone.

Dawkins: See you in the ring…

…bruh.

Nick: Well, we’ve got an interesting match up for you folks returning from our unannounced commercial break. A non-title matchup between our current tag team champions, Team VIAGRA, and the recently signed tandem of the Upstarts. Both teams are in the ring already Rich, what do you have to say about this contest?

Richard: Well, I’m pretty much shocked we still have a tag team division.

Nick: Isn’t everyone?

Richard: The introduction of the Princes and the Upstarts has caused some chaos for those lame duck champions. Team VIAGRA hasn’t even defended their titles once, NOR have they even won a match! I mean, they’re worse than Risk & Reward. Like, way worse. Like, if Risk & Reward were squirrel roadkill, Viagra would be moose roadkill.

Nick: Lots of experience in Roadkill?

Richard: Just while commentating for PRIME.

(*Ding, ding, ding*)

Nick: And we are UNDER way. Too Fly is going to start this match up against High Flyer.

Richard: Man, these two are just a bunch of insectualed pests.

(Collar and elbow tie up. Flyer gains the advantage with a head lock. Felix backs Flyer into the ropes and shoots him off the other side. Felix drops down to avoid an oncoming Lunatic, retreats, and then back body drops Flyer off the other side. Flyer is elevated pretty high and lands hard on his lower back. He rolls and stands to his feet, clutching his spine.

Collar and elbow. Felix gains the advantage with an arm bar, into a hammerlock. Flyer tries to reach behind him, but only grabs a handful of hair, and is immediately reprimanded for said action. The Lunatic swats behind him with an elbow strike, but Felix dodges. Another blow misses, and Felix lets go of the hammer lock to drive two stiff elbows into Flyer’s lower back. Flyer stumbles and falls forward onto his knees, as Felix drops an elbow to the back of his head, laying him out on the canvas.

1…

2…

Flyer gets a shoulder up.)

Nick: Felix has the advantage on the long term veteran. Jack’s going to have to do something quickly.

(Felix starts to lock Flyer into a camel clutch type maneuver, but Flyer twists and turns to fight out of it. He lunges forward, and grabs the bottom rope, forcing the official to call a break. Each man "recenters" himself, and they collar and elbow tie up in the center of the ring for the third time.

Flyer with an arm bar, Felix rolls forward and kicks up to a standing position, only to reverse the arm bar on the Lunatic. Flyer repeats the process, rolling forward and then kicking up, before grasping Felix’s hair and slamming him down to the canvas back first. Flyer gets yelled at, but doesn’t pay it attention as he drops a leg over the neck of Felix Young.

Young sits up, coughing and gagging, clutching his wind pipe. As he sits up, Flyer rushes off the other side and charges forward, catching him square in the face with a vicious knee. In the UPstarts corner, Eli VanNess reaches out for the tag.)

Richard: The UPstarts have their work cut out for them, regardless of the lackluster performances from VIAGRA in the past few weeks.

(Flyer lifts Felix to his feet and shoots him off the ropes. No, reversal. And blind tag by Tony Davis. Flyer returns off the other side and Felix lifts him for a tilt-a-whirl, but Flyer won’t fall for the slam, hooking his legs over Felix’s head as he’s spun around. Tony charges, and lays a shoulder to the gut of Felix, knocking Flyer in his shoulders and causing him for force Felix to flip through in what amounts to a headscissors. Felix stumbles to his feet, and is met quickly with a rising uppercut to his jaw. Felix falls back into a neutral corner as the official escorts the Lunatic out of the ring.

Tony lays in with a few right hands and then a few chops, before placing Felix precariously on that top turnbuckle. Tony hooks him for a suplex, but Felix fights off. Punch to the gut. Punches. Repeatedly desperately trying to work free. And suddenly, Tony Davis falls back, crashing to the mat below.

With Felix Young up top, it was time for him to show High Flyer who the true luchador was. He points to Flyer for a moment, and then flew.)

Nick: Get High! Felix Young, NO! Tony Davis moved! Tony moved and Felix hit nothing but canvas. SMACK, right in his face! Felix really must reach the corner to tag in his partner. Eli is desperate for the hot tag.

Richard: But Davis is stirring.

(Tony dives at the crawling Felix Young, and knocks him back to the canvas with a double ax-handle smash, cutting him off from his corner. Tony lifts Felix to his feet and sends him off the ropes. Returning, Felix spins with a beautiful leg lariot, knocking what looked to be one of Tony’s teeth’s flying from his mouth. Both men fall from the maneuver, but this time, Tony Davis lands completely outside of the ring.)

Nick: Tony Davis hit that barricade hard as he tumbled out of the ring. I don't know how well off he is.

Richard: But Felix is still down, his head may have collided with Tony Davis' knee on the rotation for that kick. He hasn't moved since the official began his count!

Nick: Is he counting Davis out on the outside or is he counting Felix out down in the ring?

Richard: Both?

Tony Davis begins to stir on the outside. He reaches behind his head and notices blood on his palm. Tony fights to his feet, as he notices Felix Young, still down in the ring. As the official reaches seven, Tony pulls himself in the ring, and begins to lightly taunt the immobile Felix Young. The official gets to ten, and the bell is rung, as EMT workers quickly come out to check on both Young and Davis. Davis shakes them off, as Young is quickly revived with smelling salts. Regardless of the accidental case, Viagra has won, and we will move on to more pressing matters.

Mega Job have been having a weird night. After an "interview" with Lindsay Troy where the interview really didn't even happen, but the word "apples" is said more than a few times, the trio now stand outside of a certain locker room. We don't really know whose locker room it is, though, because the view of Beef's head blocks the name on the door.

Beef: Okay. We all know this guy. He's big. He's kinda scary. He wears sunglasses indoors like he's Craig Miles. He could punch a hole through our skulls rather than into our skulls. And he does this because he is not an ordinary man. He has been altered by science in such a way that he is no longer human. He's become a cyborg, enhanced by modern technology to become a brutal killer bent on the brutal destruction of the human race. He feels no pity, no remorse, and cannot be stopped unless he is, himself, killed. Gentleman, we are faced with the toughest challenge we've ever had in our illustrious interview careers since that time we tried interviewing Lindsay Troy.

El Janito: Beef, that was only two matches and four segments ago.

Beef: What's a "segment"?

El Janito: Nevermind. Would you move out of the way so everybody watching this right now will know who you're talking about?

Beef: What? Oh yeah.

Beef takes a step backwards. Then the crowd goes nuts.

Because the name on the door reads "Killean Sirrajin".

Beef: Still, if anything that Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME said is true, this guy could pick you up and bite your head off. And I don't know about you, but after watching Steve clothesline his way out of a cage, I think I can do without any other traumatizing events tonight.

El Janito: I don't like the idea of being decapitated because of a bite.

Beef: No one does, Janito. No one.

Beef jumps back as a voice hollers out from inside the room.

Killean: Who the fuck is outside my room?

El Janito: (calling out) It's just Mega Jo--

Beef hurriedly grabs Janito by the mouth to silence him.

Beef: (abandoning all conceptions of the term "whispering") PSST. NO, YOU FOOL! DO YOU WANT HIM TO HEAR US?! I BET HE COULD EVEN *SMELL* US WITH THOSE CYBORG SENSES OF HIS!

The door bursts open revealing Beef covering Janito's mouth with his hand. They look into the red lenses of The Supreme Machine's sunglasses with nervous grins on their faces. Killean lets his trademark baseball bat fall from it's perch on his shoulder.

Killean: You couldn't knock? I was about ready to split your skulls with this thing.

Beef, knowing he's caught and might die, casually moves Janito in front of him as if saying "Here, kill him first". El Janito realizes that he's going to have to play "negotiator", and this isn't going to go over too well, probably.

El Janito: W-well... see, we were totally discussing the implications of an interview. With you, you see. And... well... Beef has some misconceptions... well, okay, a LOT of misconceptions about steroids and the like, sooo...

Sirrajin puts the bat down, leaning it against a wall. He then crosses his arms.

Killean: Using the "S" word doesn't exactly help your chances of losing a limb boyo. If this interview is gonna happen, you should drop the act of shitting your pants and do your job.

The PRIME Legend steps aside, inviting the wacky duo into his dressing room.

Uneased, the two larger members walk into the room. Steve, who's not said anything since this whole thing started, looks up at Killean.

Steve: GREETINGS.

Killean Sirrajin has never met a midget with a voice so deep and booming that you'd swear he's Barry White.

Killean: What the hell?

Steve: WORD.

And then Steve just walks into Killean's locker room.

Killean: I wasn't counting on this turning into a circus, regardless of the clowns conducting this gig.

The PRIME Choice walks to his locker and sits down, grabbing his equipment and setting it on his lap. His tape is the first item removed as he proceeds to fasten it around his right wrist. He then looks at all Two and a Half Men with some impatience.

Killean: Are you just gonna stand there?

Steve holds up a hand to Killean, as if telling him to wait. He then looks at Beef and El Janito, and points a finger at them.

Steve: PUSSIES.

Suddenly, they perk up, and Beef points at Killean like he thinks he's Hulk Hogan but he's really Beef the Slightly Annoyed from Mega Job: The Epic Tag Team.

Beef: Killean Sirrajin! We hereby challenge you to "Behind Colossus: Grand Theft Repchak IV"! Live and only on Revolution 167! Check your local listings for a station near you!

Killean looks at everyone with disblief and stands, causing them to take a step back. They have nothing to fear however as he cracks a smile, stretching his arm out to slip on one elbow pad and doing the same with the other.

Killean: Seeing the look on your faces, you'd swear it was you who paid off some lab tech to ruin my reputation. Calm yourselves and let's get down to business shall we?

Beef turns to El Janito.

Beef: Well, go interview the killer cyborg of death. I'll stand behind the blast shield. And by "blast shield", I mean Steve.

Beef turns and approaches Steve, but Steve stands there with his arms crossed and a look on his face that could kill a lesser man. Fortunately, Beef didn't see the look and Grundle McMiles isn't here tonight, either, after suffering an axe wound in the forehead last week. Don't worry, kids, he's fine. After all, hilarious axe wounds in the forehead can be recovered from in just a few short weeks!

Steve: DIE.

Beef: Are you STILL pissed about the cage incident?

Steve: INDEED.

Beef: But you clotheslined your way OUT of the cage, and the only thing that really saved me from actually exploding when you hit me was the fact that you lost most of your forward momentum after clotheslining the cage.

Steve: OVERBOARD.

Beef: Right. I'll stop putting my foot in my mouth for the next minute then.

Then El Janito nervously walks up to Killean and pokes a microphone at him.

El Janito: Killean Sirrajin! Tonight, you face Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison Of PRIME! One-on-one! No disqualifications! No mercy! No remorse! No selling! Your thoughts?

Sirrajin looks at Janito like he's losing it... not like he ever had it. The former Universal Champion leans over to whisper to Beef.

Killean: Has he jumped off the deep end? Isn't this a Colossus thing?

Beef: (not whispering) Psst. We kinda figured we'd ask since Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison Of PRIME, negotiated our wonderful waffle contracts.

El Janito: We might be a little bitter about that.

Beef: Just a little.

Killean: Oooookay then. Silver has basically signed his death warrant by sticking his nose in where it definitely didn't belong. I got Justice in a few weeks at Colossus but first I have the the biggest prick of all pricks tonight. Words can't describe what I feel about what he did, so I'll convey my emotions with my fist. If Silver walks out of this match, he should be considered the luckiest son of a bitch walking God's green earth.

El Janito: So, your strategy will be to fist him to death?

Beef: (to Janito) Dude. That's just not right.

El Janito: Well, whatever. (to Killean) After tonight, you will have Colossus to look forward to. It's, of course, the biggest show of the year even if SOME people think it's just a bigger-than-normal paycheck. Your thoughts on Colossus?

Sirrajin finishes wrapping the tape on his hands and arms and sits back in his locker.

Killean: Colossus is where you separate the real stars from the wannabees. It's where the real superstars in PRIME burst through the ceiling and work their way to becoming the next legend. Colossus is the Godfather of all wrestling events... often imitated and never duplicated and Colossus is where I won my first title in PRIME. Colossus I, I went through hell and back to win my first Intense Championship laying the foundation for arguably one of the most successful careers ever.

The Supreme Machine bends down to tie up his right boot, but he doesn't stop speaking.

Killean: I'm on a two match losing streak at the biggest PRIME event of the year and I certainly don't intend to make it three. So when I meet Captain Justice in the ring, whether he has Sonny by his side or not, I will be evening my all time Colossus record... by any means.

El Janito: So, you'd say that your chances of being abducted by aliens on Colossus are pretty slim?

Killean: Heh, I'd say that there's about as much chance of that as you and meathead over there having a couple of functional brains between the two of you.

Beef: Actually, the brains of our outfit is Steve over there.

Beef points at Steve. Killean turns to look at Steve, who is busy eating what appears to be a ham sandwich. Killean then turns back to Beef.

Beef: So, as you can see, we at least can retain our employment in this organization.

Killean: Miracles happen everyday around this place huh?

El Janito: Yes.

Beef nods before realizing what The PRIME Choice meant. Sirrajin just smiles and pushes the free strands of his dark hair out of his face.

Killean: Now if you'll excuse me gentlemen, I need to go get ready to make your meal ticket whine and cry like a child before I cripple the mother fucker.

Beef: Have a good time!

El Janito: Give him a punch in the mouth for us.

Beef: Yeah. And watch out for that dude wearing an American flag on his face. He doesn't like Steve and he's lucky that Steve doesn't clothesline his crotch off, which would thereby cause him to explode.

Killean makes his way to the door and opens it. He stops for a second, not bothering to look back at his guests.

Killean: I would strongly suggest that when I return with blood staining my hands, you not be here.

The Supreme Machine disappears into the hall, letting the door close behind him.

El Janito: Is that, like... Killean-speak for "stay as long as you want until I get back"?

Beef: I don't know.

Steve is already on his way out of the room, but he turns back to Beef and El Janito.

Steve: IDIOTS.

And then he's gone.

Beef: Well. There goes the safety net.

El Janito: Indeed.

Beef: Let's get out of here.

El Janito: Quickly.

And they're gone.

Tampa Bay nearly explodes as realisation begins to set-in… Ignatius Lisieux got his shoulder up again!

"IG-GY!!! IG-GY!!! IG-GY!!!"

With another massive sigh, Kari head drops forward, shaking uncontrollably. Reaching back, she grabs the ropes, pulling herself up, all the while just looking down at the body of Ignatius Lisieux. Empty eyes stare up into the night sky, while his chest barely rises with each short breath.

Nick: Folks----are we---

Richard: I can hear---I can hear you Nick…

Nick: We good? –How… how can he possibly!? …I cannot believe my eyes, I don’t believe this…

Despite his whole body being ravaged by pain, and his brain feeling as if it’s about to swell and burst out of his skull, the "Eternal Sunrise" owes it to himself, and to PRIME, to get up.

So he does.

Richard: No way…

Rolling onto his front, Iggy plants his palms onto the canvas, and tries to push himself up as a massive roar again engulfs the stadium, making Nick and Richard’s words from the announce booth completely inaudible…

"RRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Throughout the stadium, the PRIME fans chant and rhythmically stomp their feet, not for a victory, but simply for a man who can stand after taking a gigantic amount of physical punishment. As the battered, bruised and bloody Ignatius Lisieux reaches his knees, he looks up to see a blur of black and orange through his depressingly-tainted vision. Sucking in a deep breath, composing herself - and maybe even asking herself if she really wants to do it, Kari drops back into her kicking stance…

Nick: THIS IS UNREAL FOLKS… IN ALL MY YEARS I HAVE NEVER WITNESSED SUCH FORTITUDE… I HOPE YOU CAN HEAR US BACK HOME… THIS IS ELECTRIC! –OHHHHHHHHHHH!!! DOUBLE-STRIKE ROUNDHOUSE KICK FROM WOLFENDEN!!!

Karina follows through after the first violent impact to catch the "Eternal Sunrise" across the jaw with a second, blood flies out from his mouth and left-ear as he collapses in a broken heap once more… Florida is brought to silence at what it is seeing.

Richard: THIS TIME… THAT HAS GOT TO BE ENOUGH…

Not having enough left in her to stay standing, Wolfenden herself drops to the canvas, completely spent - luckily for her, she lands across Lisieux… A sweating and haggard Thomas Giles drops down for another count, praying to God that it will be his last of the night…

"ONE!!!!!!!!!!"








Nick: After almost forty minutes… neither competitor is standing and Karina Wolfenden is inadvertently covering Ignatius Lisieux…








"TWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"








Richard: I have to take my hat off here… I’ve never seen anything like this, I am amazed… completely amazed.








THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "

Nick: IT’S OVER… IT’S… FINALLY… OVER. WOLFENDEN WINS!

Exceptionally gratefully, the match official drags himself exhaustedly upwards to call for the bell, and then drops back down to his knees to check on the two wrestlers - who haven't moved a muscle since the "K-Wolf" first made the cover.

*DING* *DING* *DING*

WINNER: KARINA WOLFENDEN

Despite their mixed, vocal allegiances during the match, the fans remain deathly silent as Giles tries to get any signs of life out Wolfenden or Lisieux. Then, as Kari rolls off Iggy in laboured fashion, fists held up towards the sky, they slowly break into applause, swelling up the stadium, row by row. As Overseer's "Velocity Shift" blasts out, the Wolfenden contingents in the crowd celebrate not only her victory, but their own, over the "Eternal Sunrise" and his legions of followers.

Nick: Karina Wolfenden’s biggest singles victory in perhaps her entire career… she has defeated the valiant, heroic Ignatius Lisieux in Tampa Bay, Florida in what will surely go down in the history books as the greatest match ever seen in this company.

Vince Howard rises to his feet with an astonished expression, struggling to speak amidst the breathtaking scenes as the timekeeper hands the golden unofficial title belt to the referee…

Vince Howard: THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH, AND NNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWW PRIME "HALL OF FAME CHAMPION"...

As Wolfenden just manages to stand - fighting locked muscles - Thomas Giles offers a helping hand… and then raises her arm to the crowd…

Vince Howard: …KARRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAA WOLFENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDENNNNNNNNNN!!!!!

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Nick: Through it all, evil prevails… but this is not a reception fit for evil, Tampa Bay is treating this Wolfenden performance with the respect it deserves. Nobody else would have beaten Ignatius Lisieux here tonight: not Tchu, not Sirrajin… not even Rolo, this was Ignatius Lisieux at his very best and Karina Wolfenden has prevailed.

Dropping back down onto one knee, the exhausted Kari dry-heaves, having given everything her body had, and anything it would loan her, to put away the Hall of Famer. Beside her on the canvas, Iggy finally stirs, both hands immediately grabbing his pounding head, he has no idea where he is, the PRIMEates (all of them, this time) soon do their utmost to remind him…

Richard: …and still he moves… if this truly is Ignatius Lisieux’s last match with this company, then he has transformed me… he has turned me into a fan. I have never witnessed anything of the like of what my eyes have just seen…

"THANK YOU IG-GY!!! THANK YOU IG-GY!!!"

As Richard Parker dramatically rises to his feet to join in the applause and calls for Nick Stuart to do the same, Karina heaves in lungful after lungful of air to try and refuel her body. She looks down at Lisieux as he comes-to, but without the glare of spite that she'd shot towards him for months…

Ripping her gloves off, and unbuckling pads and bracers, the "K-Wolf" disarms herself, and then offers her hand to Lisieux!

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Nick: SURELY NOT!!

Not even realising who the hand belongs to, Lisieux reaches for it, but as his cloudy vision finally makes out Wolfenden, he checks his reach, leaving his hand hovering just a few inches from hers… Again the crowd fall silent, while his frustration and loathing towards the "K-Wolf" and her actions over recent months flood into Iggy's thoughts: Culture Shock, Hayley, ReVolution One-Hundred, and Chet Worth… tonight.

Richard: …HE HAS TO SHAKE IT… AFTER THAT, HE HAS TO SHAKE IT…

Nick: -He wouldn’t be any less of a man if he didn’t – not after what she’s put him through…

After around ten seconds or so, he accepts the "K-Wolf's" hand, and the pair of them rise to their feet together, despite neither looking anything close to sure in their footing, in one of the most iconic images ever broadcast by PRIME or any wrestling promotion anywhere…

Nick: OH YEAH!!! THAT IS HOW WE DO IT!!! WHAT A SIGHT, WHAT A PICTURE!! IGNATIUS LISIEUX AND KARINA WOLFENDEN EMBRACE!!

The Raymond James Stadium collectively rises to its feet with an astounding round of applause for undisputedly the two best superstars that PRIME Wrestling has ever seen. They’re too spent to chant anymore, and the main event is yet to come…

Nick: I want the night to end right here, I really do… the emotion is unbelievable… how can Killean and Tchu top this!?

As Thomas Giles then approaches with PRIME's unofficial Hall of Fame Championship, Lisieux breaks off from the "K-Wolf", stumbling into Giles' path… he places his weary arms around the match official and asks, words slurring as if he'd drank a dozen too many, for his belt.

Nick: It looks to me as though Lisieux wants to present Wolfenden with the title belt – what a true touch of class; it’s the mark of the man…

Not wanting to say "no" to either of the wrestlers he'd just seen go to war, Giles hands over the belt, and decides to make himself scarce with a few calculated sidesteps to his left, where he places his head in his hands to try and knock a sense of realism into his malfunctioning brain.

Nick: That man deserves major credit, too, Thomas Giles has officiated the hell out of this epic contest… what a performance from our man in the middle.

Richard: I also give kudos to the zebra… he did a hell of a job.

"Velocity Shift" dies down as Iggy, with belt in hand, turns back to the "K-Wolf"… He would be damned if his final act inside of a PRIME ring wasn’t going to be one truly fitting to his character during his third, and perhaps final, run with the company, even if it was Karina herself who had sealed his exit.

Nick: Silence descends over the Raymond James Stadium again, just look at the camera bulbs shooting off through the darkness…

Just as she had done to him, Lisieux extends his hand, the hatred both had built up in recent months seemingly having been completely vented during their brutal and defining encounter. Seemingly having earned a new-found respect for the PRIME "MVP", the "K-Wolf" obliges… slowly shaking Lisieux's hand as the brief cheers of the crowd blossom into another standing ovation. After a few words that the ringside microphones can't pick up, Lisieux hands Wolfenden the Hall of Fame belt, after giving it a last, fond look, tears streaming down his cheeks as he does so…

Nick: Lisieux shedding tears now, Karina Wolfenden might well have just ended his PRIME career, and I think it’s finally starting to hit home for the French-Canadian.

A this time non-live version of "Million Miles Away" pumps out of the stadium's speakers in tribute, as Ignatius Lisieux begins to embark on his final exit, shrugging off the officials at ringside as they offer to help him back up the aisle - he struggles valiantly with his various injuries and his emotions as he embarks on the huge walk back up towards the curtain.

Nick: No help required… if this is to be Ignatius Lisieux’s last exit from the grand stage, then he’s going to do it his way: alone. God bless you Ignatius Lisieux… God bless you and God speed… there stands one of the finest warriors this sport has ever seen.

While Nick and Richard salute Ignatius’ exit, Karina is left in the ring with the "Offspring" blaring all around her with the new title belt draped over her shoulder. With everyone’s attention focused elsewhere she simply drops down to her knees, head back and arms reaching up to the stars as her theme music restarts and camera flashes bring a faux-dawn to the Florida night, while the scene slowly fades to black…

Vince Howard: The following contest is a non-title, NO disqualification four man bout!

Richard: Is there any doubt that Xavier Kannon has this in the bag?

Nate: I'm sure there is, especially in the minds of the other three contestants!

Vince Howard: Introducing first... from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. RHEEEEEEEEEETT LOOOOOOOOCKE!!!!

"21st Century Pop Song" by Hymie's Basement cues up. Rhett Locke steps out immediately to a relatively warm pop for the seasoned PRIME newcomer. In his pale hands is a steel chair as he walks down the ramp. His eyes appear locked on the ring.

Nate: Rhett Locke appears to be in a sort of trance tonight.

Richard: Well I'd be focussed to if I was about to step in the ring with Kannon. No wonder he brought the chair!

Rhett slaps a few hands before throwing his chair over the top rope and sliding in to the ring himself.

Blaring air raid sirens, machine guns firing, and other sounds of war shake the very foundation of the arena. A carpet of purple smoke begins to roll out from behind the curtain, thick and dark, swallowing the entryway and crawling down the aisle toward the ring.

Vince Howard: And from Detroooooit Michigaaaan.... THE ZEN ASSASSIN, CRUUUUUUUUCIFIIIIIIIIXX!!!

The lights flicker while the sounds of conflict continue to rumble, suddenly changing to the opening riffs of "Indestructible" by Disturbed.

The remix cuts to the chorus -

## Indestructible
Determination that is incorruptible
From the other side
A terror to behold
Annihilation will be unavoidable
Every broken enemy will know
That their opponent had to be invincible
Take a last look around while you’re alive
I’m an indestructible master of war ##

The curtains slowly part, and the Zen Assassin known as Crucifix almost seems to glide through the opening. His face, a patchwork quilt of flesh, reddish pink scar lines and stitches, is framed by curtains of long, dark purple hair.

The Zen Assassin follows the rolling purple smoke down the aisle. He effortlessly hops up onto the ring apron, and then vaults over the top rope.

Nate: What an entrance for the Steel Serpent.

Richard: This dude is gonna lick Xavier Kannon's steel serp--

Nate: Children, Richard. Children.

Cheering and applause flows in through the speakers to drown out the jeering of the crowd, and the opening chords of Superstar by Lupe Fiasco jab through the darkness.

If you are what you say you are… a Superstar...

…then have no fear…

…the crowd is here…


A lone spotlight shines brightly onto the stage, illuminating a blizzard of flickering golden confetti that falls down onto its focus. Spinning amid the golden storm, arms outstretched, stands Xavier Kannon, hooded jacket shrouding him as soaks up the abuse.

…and the lights are on and they wanna show…

…oh, oh, oh, oh yeaaaah!

…yeah… yeah… yeah…


With Matthew Santos’ vocal echoing into the distance, the screeching intro to Rock is Dead by Marilyn Manson deafens those unlucky enough to be near a speaker.

As light floods back into the arena, Eleanor is shown standing in front of her man, leading him down the aisle as he tosses the hood of his jacket back. Striding with purpose down the aisle, Kannon gives as good as he gets to fans along the aisle, while a member of PRIME security either side of his wife fend off any gropes.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, to be accompanied by ELEANOR… from Merlin Bay, Barbados by way of Clearwater, Florida… weighing in at 226 pounds… HE IS THE KING OF WRESTLING… XAAAAAVIER KAAAAAAANNON!!!

Richard: My goodness, isn't he great?

Nate: You sound in love?

Richard: Ask me who the one person is I would take to a deserted island with me.

Nate: ...Eew.

Vince Howard: The final combatant, he is PRIME'S INTENSE CHAMPIOOOOOOOOOOOON....

The guitar riffs that signal the start of Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" blast throughout the arena, and Megatron himself steps out to

Vince Howard: He is ... TRROOOOOYY DOOOUGGGLAAAASSSS!!!

As the song hits the chorus, he slides into the ring and salutes the crowd in all four corners. As the chorus ends, the music fades and the lights return to normal.
...

Then Troy Douglas runs and gives a big kick into the chair Rhett Locke's holding. It slams into his face and he topples over the ring!

*DING DING DING*

Nate: The bell sounds and this match is underway after a hell of a kick from the Intense Champion!

Richard: Normally, I wouldn't be pleased. But it was Rhett Locke's ugly mug that move connected with.

Xavier Kannon and Crucifix are going at it. Right, left, right, left, right! Neither men seem to be ready to back down, however Xavier Kannon quickly gets the best of Crucifix by raking his eyes. Crucifix grabs at his face in pain, only to fall victim to a Russian Leg Sweep Reverse DDT! Troy Douglas runs from across the ring and sends a knee right into Xavier Kannon's face!

Richard: AAAAAAW! Why'd he have to go and ruin that? Xavier was on a roll! A ROLL!

Nate: You're insane. This match has just begun.

Richard: He's only delaying the inevitable, Nate.

Xavier Kannon stumbles backward from the impact. Sadly for him, directly into a roundhouse kick from Crucifix! The War Machine then turns and throws a kick at Troy Douglas! He catches it!

...

Typhoon Tail!

Nate: Good God! That nearly took Douglas' head off!

Before Crucifix can catch his breath Rhett climbs to the top rope with that chair and jumps, bringing it right over the Zen Assassin's skull!

Nate: Nothing fancy about that one!

Richard: Leave it to a man who can't even wrestle to introduce a chair to a perfectly fine wrestling match.

Nate: He can TOO wrestle!

Richard: Fine, leave it to a man who can't even wrestle well!

Crucifix fell down like a sack of bricks. Rhett starts to set up a spot with a chair, but the King of Wrestling has none of it and sends a boot into Rhett's gut. Fireman's carry gutbuster! Rhett's laid out as XK lifts up the chair and cracks it over Troy Douglas' back as he's about to stand. Three men are out in the ring and Wrestling's Only Scientologist is left standing.

Nate: Xavier has a sinister look in his eyes.

Richard: MIDAS IS COMING FOR YOOOU RHIIIIIINE!

Xavier sets up the chair in the center of the ring, unfolded. He lifts up Troy Douglas and drags him over to the chair. His evil plan is thwarted though by a punch to XK's mid-section. Another, another, another! XK plants Troy's head right into the chair, mainly out of self-defense! Crucifix, however, had somehow reached his feet in this time and his own plans were coming to fruition. The Steel Serpent springboards from the ropes! STORM HAMMER on Xavier Kannon!

Richard: NOOO! Crucifix what are you doing!?!

Crucifix goes for the cover!!! The referee drops!

1!
2!
Thr-- OH!

Rhett Locke reached his feet and hauled ass, jumping off the chair and performing a moonsault of his own onto Crucifix breaking up the pin just in time!

Richard: I don't know whether to praise Rhett for saving the match for XK, or gawk at how elaborate of a pin break up that was.

Nate: Whatever works, works!

Troy Douglas seizes the opportunity and grabs Rhett from behind as he starts to get up... German Release Suplex! Rhett flies across the ring, skidding to the opposite corner. He rolls out of the ring in pain. Crucifix reaches his feet as Troy does the move, leaving an opening for him to legsweep him and locke him into the Achilles Leglock! Douglas is howling in pain!

Nate: This match could be over soon! Douglas looks like he might tap out!

Richard: XK, DOOOO SOMETHIIIIING!!!

Almost on cue, Xavier reaches his feet. He grabs the painfully ignored chair and slams it over Crucifix's upper back! The hold is broken and immediately Kannon slams it over the already worked leg of the Intense Champion! He tilts it at an angle, and continues to jab it into the ankle of Douglas! Crucifix reaches his feet and dropkicks Midas in the chest. XK stumbles over the body of Douglas and falls! All four men appear to be at least near standing now and Rhett Locke takes the opportunity to run over to Troy...

Black Mist!

Nate: The Black Mist!

Richard: Noooo!!! Rhett can't win this w--

Before Richard can finish his sentence, Xavier rolls up Douglas in a schoolboy pin! Crucifix and Rhett are unknowing as Crucifix spun Rhett around and the two are exchanging blows!

1!
2!
3! Crucifix stomps the pin up but it's too late, and Xavier Kannon escapes with the victory!

Richard: YES! YES! I CALLED IT NATE!

Nate: Ugh. Xavier Kannon wins it folks in a brief and surprising fashion!

Richard: He destroyed everyone in his patttth!

Nate: No, he got the win in what was a very close bout!

Richard: That's what XAVIER KANNON wants you to think.

Crucifix and Rhett stand befuddled in the ring while Troy Douglas steams in the corner. Xavier Kannon's walking up the ramp, smiling and talking very loudly about how smart he is.

The trainer’s room never gets any love. Dr. Fihlguud’s staff is always making the beautiful people at PRIME well enough to go week-in and out, yet they get bypassed for catering, the parking lot, hell even a male strip club when it’s RoloVolution. So now, we’re giving back some love to the trainer’s room.

Enter Tyler Rayne. Accompanied by the catcalls and shrieks from female audience members that are, ya know, kinda his calling card. He’s getting bandaged up, after a not-so-nice encounter with Craig Maloof earlier in the night. A pretty young nurse is attending to the bandages and Rayne’s wearing that starry smile of his.

Tyler Rayne: So, Emily, you probably don’t much go for the brawny type, what with working around these big lugs all day, eh?

The only way to quantify her response in a line of text is to say that she coos back to the Underground Pimp.

Nurse Emily: I mean…occasionally, there’s somebody who just has a way about them.

Tyler Rayne: Ya don’t say? I’d like to meet the fella who can make a beautiful girl like you sweat.

Yes, he’s grinning. We know you know, but it doesn’t make the damn thing any less effective. All of a sudden, the nearby door swings open loudly. Rayne puts up his fists, ready to fend off an attack from the rabid Dusk.

Standing in the doorway is another familiar face, one that looks a hell of a lot better than Dusk.

Chandler Tsonda: You there, out. It’s time for Ty and Uncle Chan to have a manversation.

Rayne rolls his eyes at Tsonda, but gives Emily a wink that says "hey, why don’t you come finish up these bandages later IFYAKNOWHATIMEAN". She quietly ducks out, leaving the trainer’s room to Team Jewel Halo.

Tyler Rayne: So…’sup, Tink?

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t "sup Tink" me.

Tyler Rayne: Okay, how about a) you pull that scorpion or whatever out of your g-string and stop it from crawling up your ass and b) you apologize for breaking several Man Laws and interrupting my alone time with Nurse Emily.

Chandler Tsonda: How about you a) blow me and b) enjoy it?

Tyler Rayne: I’m sorry…are we shit-talking or was that a come-on?

Chandler Tsonda: Well, you and me are supposed to be friends…or whatever. So we came to the agreement that you wouldn’t stick your nose where it didn’t belong. i.e. the Universal Title feud. And then, lo and behold, Devin Shakur and Tyler Rayne having a gay ol’ time on ReV 165.

Tyler Rayne: Is this a long preface to you thanking me for not using my Golden Ticket and relinquishing you to "the other guy" in the Colossus Universal Title match?

Chandler Tsonda: Thanking you? Dude, you slept with the enemy. And, in a shocking turn of events, that didn’t actually involve you sleeping with anyone.

Tyler Rayne: Jesus, Tink. I never realized teasing you about being such a girl was actually going to turn you into one. We tagged together. That's it. Nothing more. Shocking as it may be to hear, not everything in this company revolves around you, oh magnificent El Contendre Numbro Uno.

Chandler Tsonda: Listen, I’m sorry about the Lindsay thing, but that doesn’t mean you have to be emo with Emo OR turn your back on me. The "rah rah, I’m the lone wolf" thing is so played out.

Tyler Rayne: Turn my back on you? Really? This coming from Mr. Queer Eye for the Hawaiian Guy over here. I'm not the one who's out adopting young padawans to train in the ways of the Force. You've been a bit preoccupied, Tink. Fuck off if you've got a problem with me finding amusements elsewhere.

Chandler Tsonda: Hey, newsflash, Katie Couric. It’s pretty awkward for me that you’re talking about how dominant you are and calling for everyone’s head while I’m the Number One Contender by one fucking hundred percent fair means. But I thought it was agreed that when the dust settled on me and Shakur, you’d still, I dunno, have my back or something crazy like that.

Tyler Rayne: It was agreed. And for at least half of us, it still is. Wasn't for me ending Ferg's career in the Halo, Tink, he would have ended yours. Which doesn't exactly bode well for number one contendership, now does it? At the very least, I'd think you owe me a bit of trust after that. So pull the dick out of your ass and take a step back. If I wanted to do something to jeopardize your Universal Title shot... there are much more direct ways of doing it than sneaking around with Emo.

Chandler Tsonda: Good. I don’t expect to see you in my corner come Colossus. Or to help me win my war against Shakur. But I goddamn well trust that you’ll have my back if I ask you for it. Whether against Shakur or Ferguson or Hin See come back from the dead. Because that trust…is the only thing that stops this place from falling back into the hands of some Fuck You or A-List knockoff.

Tyler Rayne: Glad we have an understanding. Now, if your panties are sufficiently unbunched, I have matters to attend to. Seriously, dude, try some decaf or something next week. Mother fuck.

The 5-Star Champion gives his "buddy" a nice pat on the arm as he walks out the door of the training room. He pauses, most likely to open his mouth yet again, but a familiar boot at the bottom of his chin pretty much brings that shit to an abrupt stop.

SUPERKICK!!!1!!!

Dusk sneers down at the unconscious form of Tyler Rayne, a vicious kick to the ribs for good measure before the Lost Soul disappears down the labyrinth halls.

"Seriously, he was practically knocking my junk around trying to get me to stab you in the back."

The cool guy with the crooked grin that has been giving the Mona Lisa a run for her money -- since she wanted to get all up in his grille and posted that shit on the internet about him not having the balls to compete with her -- is walking alongside the poster boy for ridiculously awesome ways to get yourself over as a badass while dressing in dark clothes like a 'G'.

Or, in other words, Tony Gamble and Devin Shakur are walking down the hall.

Devin Shakur: We're like Bert and Ernie, Stewie and Brian, dolphins and overspilled oil in the ocean. Nothing is ever going to break us apart, ever. That dude has no idea about all the tumultuous times we've been through in this hellhole.

Shakur isn't carrying the Universal Championship with him. That thing gets pretty damn heavy when you lug it around all the time.

Tony Gamble: Of course he doesn't. Right now he's looking at the fact that two of the baddest mofos without fros are chillin', rollin' around like two of PRIME's most wanted, real mother fuckin' Geez~! And he's rolling with a guy that just got off the damn Banana Boat, inhaling suntan lotion fumes out of a paper bag like a spray head in East Los Angeles.

Tony narrows his eyes and walks sort of crooked, like he is stumbling around from being wasted.

Devin Shakur: I would do that but, you know, I'm sick of the 2 Pac comparisons as is. Nobody has the kind of chemistry like we do. I'm not going to let somebody who is trying to draft dodge the pwn that is Shakur step in between us. I mean we've got richer history than Elliott and Troy, and they are like that awkward brother and sister couple. Hey, you remember that time we were pretending to hate one another so I threw a knife at your head and almost split you wide open? Ho man, we had a good laugh about that one.

Tony nods his head with a grin, because that is what the hell he does and no explanations should be necessary.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, but that is nothing compared to that one time you tried to drop an anvil on me from the cieling and it gave way. Man, I still remember you laid out on the ground coughing up blood.

They both pause, staring up and to the left as the flashbacks play in their heads.

Tony Gamble: Good times... Good times.

Shakur gives a chuckle and rubs a hand over his throat for reassurance that he's still alive. He'd check his wrists but going back on your past isn't in the 12 step plan to ditching emo.

Devin Shakur: Nah man, I got a better one than that. When you were all trying to get up in my business by rolling into a scene, and I'm like what the hell are you doing. You are like that's how I roll. I lit you on fire like a serial killer trying to get rid of the evidence. You were freaking out, screaming, I still dream about that often. I'm sure you do too.

Tony Gamble: It's how I got my hair to be so strong in the first place. Well, apart from eating all of those Wonka bars. I'm still pissed that little bastard Charlie won the factory... He cheated like everyone else. The Oompas were just too busy working on my new entrance music for Colossus to realize it.

Devin cocks an eyebrow, its peak nearly touching the edge of his hairline.

Devin Shakur: Do you even have a match?

Tony shakes his head in the negative.

Tony Gamble: I was trying to set one up. Remember a few weeks ago, I told you I was going to grab one of the new guys and carry him to the promised land, only to bitch slap him back to reality at CV so I can prove how truly awesome I am. Of course, Rossi realized the pwnful powers that radiate off me like radiation on a lab rat were just too much for his never ending pasta bowl of spazgetti, so he walked off after I kicked his ass in the eight man tag two weeks ago.

Devin Shakur: So, in other words, NO.

Tony Gamble: Well, we can't all have shiny gold belts to keep our egos from carrying us off into space. Some of us are just naturally gifted in that regard

Devin Shakur: Dude, seriously, don't even get me started on the egos and title belts. The last belt you made relevant was the Internet title and ever since then you repel belts like fat-

Mike Gundy, college coach who hates newspaper rants about his players, soundbyte on standby: FAT

Devin Shakur: -Star Wars nerds do sex. You've been trying to latch onto newbs for like the past year ever since Rayne, Munson Monsoon, and Sausage Boy were competiting over the five star belt.

Tony Gamble: One day you have to wear a Walczak mask so I can use that song again. It made a killing on iTunes.

Devin Shakur: Now you are hanging around pissed at some alleged legend who can't remember how to throw a punch anymore. You are like MC Hammer in the 90s, dude. It's like that time we were on the road to Culture Shock, I had to drive the second leg, and you were in the back trying to put a paper bag up to my ear and pop it so I'd fuck up and crash the car. That paper bag pinned you ten times when you got your head stuck in there. Still the best fight you've put up since CS 07.

Tony lifts his hand, the universal signal for stop, directly in front of Shakur's face.

Tony Gamble: Okay, hold up. First of all, that paper bag was freaking HUGE, and I'm only pissed at Rolo because he broke into my room, stole my lucky underwear, and is now avoiding me like charisma does to Dusk.

Devin Shakur: I thought that was like a win avoids Dusk. Anyway, dude, the bottom line is that, because I now am, I no longer have to STRIVE TO BE...BETTER THAN YOU!

Shakur rips an air guitar and leaves Gamble in shock.

Tony Gamble: Oh hell no, you did not just quote lyrics from my theme song. That's it Emo, we're throwing down right now.

Gamble shrugs his shoulders enough to get his bones to pop in random succession like a pack of Black Cats on New Years.

Tony Gamble: Come on you guyli--

KA-THOOM!!

The following interruption was written by neither Emo Chris nor John the Fruit, and for that, we sincerely apologize. Neither was it written by Mrs. Maloof's baby boy (*snicker*) though it is the former Intense Champion that just busted through the double doors like a cannonball.

Dusk, as usual, looks to be in a foul mood. One might wonder if it has something to do with the fat lip he's now sporting. We hear that'll be in fashion this fall. Seriously. Ask Tsonda.

Devin Shakur: IT'S THE ABOMINABLE MIDCARDER! EVERYBODY RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

The finger Dusk jabs at the Universal Champion's face is crusted with dried blood. There's even a little under the nails. Shakur's face contorts in disgust at the sight. Probably because he's used to seeing blood a little farther down the hand.

Dusk: I'm not. In the mood. For your bullshit. Just get the fuck out of my way, and you won't have to worry about your blood being on my hands next.

Tony Gamble: Hey there, Chuckles, you might wanna look behind you.

Too late. By the time Dusk has turned his eyes on the Grin, a pair of knees have already flown through the air to connect solidly between the shoulder blades. The impact drives Dusk forward with a vicious intensity. Shakur and Gamble part like the Red Sea, leaving Dusk nothing to fall into but the glass front of a vending machine. The Lost Soul slides down to the floor, bleeding and unconscious. As one falls, another shall rise. The owner of a bullet-like pair of knees, the current 5-Star Champion and pwner of all things pussy, Tyler Mother Fuckin' Rayne, dusts himself off as he stands to his feet.

Tyler Rayne: Emo.

Devin Shakur: Douchebag.

Rayne curls his right arm, wincing at a gash across his forearm. He shrugs, bending to linger over Dusk's body. A single finger wipes a crimson streak from the Lost Soul's cheek. The warmth of his enemy's blood brings a smile to the 5-Star Champion's face. He rises.

Tyler Rayne: Told you, Sunshine. I'd be back for your blood.

The Underground Pimp reaches through the now open front of the vending machine and snatches a Snickers. He looks to Devin, then Tony, gives each a nod and marches off down the hall as if nothing happened.

FEAST.

Gamble and Shakur meanwhile re-enter the scene, staring down at the fallen Dusk. Both of them begin to snicker uncontrollably before, conveniently, reaching into the vending machine and grabbing two Snickers bars. Dusk is helpless and in dire need of medical attention, but Gambs and Shak are going to have some fun first. Gamble clears his throat and musters up his best impression of Howard Cosell.

Gamble: Ttthat was a very exciting moment, fans! Dusk, in the primmmmme of his cahreer...As the Double A jahbber of PRIME...Goes down in glorious defeat!

Shakur clears his throat and proceeds to do his best Dick Vitale imitation.

Devin Shakur: IT'S LIKE ODB ROCKING THE LIMOUSINE TO GO UP TO THE WELFARE OFFICE AND GET THE CHECK, BABY!

Gamble stares over at Shakur and takes a bite out of his Snickers bar.

Tony Gamble: Whattt the hell...was that!?

Devin Shakur: DUSK AND TYLER RAYNE ARE BOTH PTP'ERS BABY! TYLER RAYNE IS A FIRST TEAM ALL PRIME PLAYER AT THIS STAGE OF HIS CAREER AND DUSK IS ALSO A PTP'ER- A PRIME TIME PUSSY BABY! OHHHHHHHHHHH!

Tony Gamble: Very well spokennnn, Mr. Vitale.

Devin Shakur drops his impression.

Devin Shakur: Was that Regis Philbin?

Gamble also stops his.

Tony Gamble: What de...That was Howard Cosell you dope.

Devin Shakur: Oh.

Shakur and Gamble both reach into the vending machine and get some popcorn. Popping open the bags, they leave the broken Dusk and continue down another corridor.

Devin Shakur: So what were we talking about anyway?

Tony Gamble: I think we were talking about how we're going to go on the Internet and jump a car and a pit of snakes like Kobe and sell it on...iTunes? That can't be right.

Devin Shakur: Hmm, yeah, I forgot what we were talking about too. Let's forget the whole thing ever happened.

Tony Gamble: Works for me.

Devin Shakur: Dusk getting pwned makes me giggle like seeing an old man getting hit in the nuts with a football.

Tony Gamble: We ought to find Silver and make that happen.

Devin Shakur: I'll get the football and you get the camera.

Tony Gamble: Sounds like a plan.... BREAK!

BIG TIME HIGH FIVE!

BOYZ 'N DA HOOD 4 LYF LIKE ALWAYS!

Jason Natas inhales a long, dread-filled breath as he stops dead in his tracks. With a heavy heart he gazes at the bronze plaque attached to the door in front of him and shakes his head, clearly not looking forward to the task at hand. Dressed as rough as ever in a white bandana, black Gorilla Biscuits band t-shirt and a matching tattered black denim jacket/jeans combo, The Anti-Superstar’s appearance is topped off by the ever-present cancer stick that dangles from his mouth.

Knock, knock, knock…

He gently taps the back of his hand against the door as gently as his stature will allow him to. Straightening his stance, Jason prepares for the inevitable response. Sure enough, the muffled tones of a certain douchebag filter through.

"This better be important…"

Without offering PRIME’s Executive Producer any kind of verbal response, Jason wastes little time as he pushes C.P. Cantrell’s office door open. Ceeps raises his head momentarily from the mountain of paperwork strewn haphazardly across his desk for a moment and glances at Natas from over the top of his glasses.

Cantrell: Uh-oh...guess you finally realized that shi wasn't the Kumite tournament…

Jason shrugs.

Natas: Thought you wanted to see me? So says one of yer little backstage bitches, anyway. But shit, if you’re too busy, I can always leave…

Jason takes a step backwards towards the door as he tries to find almost any excuse to avoid a potentially awkward encounter with his boss. Upon seeing the New Yorker’s attempt at freedom, Cantrell puts the papers down.

Cantrell: Sit down, Jase. By the way, there's no smoking in this building, much less in my office.

The brawler takes the cigarette out of his mouth and lets a smoke ring float toward the ceiling.

Natas: Ain't smokin' it, just holdin' it.

The rugged features of The Anti-Superstar show no emotion as his poor attempt at humour draws a discontented sigh from C.P.

Cantrell: Aw, that's almost as cute as your Q-rating in our latest round of market analysis. Did you know it was possible to score in the negatives? Anyway, I’d be putting that out right away if I were you, assuming you still want to be on the payroll as of next week. I fired that whore Rodriguez for smoking on the job...granted she was smoking cock, but the same principle applies.

With a shrug Jason takes one long, final heroic drag on the cigarette that he’s about to bid farewell to. Without as much as a second thought he flicks the butt from his mouth and stomps it into a tiny pile of ash and filter paper on the concrete floor.

Cantrell: You're lucky I'm getting the rug cleaned.

His cancer stick now well and truly abandoned, Jason finally accepts the invitation of the Executive Producer and sits down in the plush, leather desk chair before him. He’s soon digging around in his pockets, and eventually pulls out a small, brown lump that he stuffs into his gob and starts chowing down on. Cantrell rolls his eyes and waves off the New Yorker’s less-than-subtle attempts to keep the tobacco kick going.

Natas: So. What is it? What have I done that warrants a call from the boss?

Cantrell: Colossus is our biggest show of the year, in case you haven't heard. And we have the fabulous six-man tag match, … Delta Upsilon Iota and Jimmy Bonafide against you and Risk & Reward?

Jason scoffs at the mention of the Cobb/Korver/Bonafide alliance.

Cantrell: Well, it’s not happening. Not exactly, anyway.

Immediately Jason Natas was beginning to regret his decision to answer the call of the Executive Producer. He furrows his brows into a familiar scowl, thumping a balled fist down on Cantrell’s desk as he chews on his tobacco.

Natas: You gotta be fuckin’ shitting me!

Cantrell: Only way I'd be shitting you is after I ate you alive for raising your fucking voice in my office.

There's a silent glare between the two men before the Producer continues.

Cantrell: Chance and Andrews are done. Medical team says they both took a pounding earlier tonight. Something with fancy abbreviations, I wasn't listening. Point is they can't make Colossus, and I don't have to pay their medical bills thanks to some creative language in the minimum contracts they signed after their debut. Did you know they posed as local jobbers to beat the UPstarts? Small world...

Natas: So those two goofball fucks aren’t going to be able to make it? I don’t give a shit, Cantrell. You ain’t gonna pull this completely; I’ll take those three gumbos on alone if I have to.

Clearly unimpressed by the standard-issue Jason Natas macho toughguy routine, Cantrell barely manages to resist the urge to slap his forehead.

Cantrell: You're a week late for the gumbo, tough guy. And instead of sitting you down with the PowerPoint on "Why A Three On One Handicap Match At Your Biggest Show Of The Year Isn't A Smart Marketing Decision" let me cut to the chase and explain that I've fixed the problem.

Jason’s curious brows lift.

Natas: Hell are you talking about?

Cantrell: Risk & Reward need to be replaced, Jase, pronto. Rest assured, you will get the match at Colossus, but you won’t be doing it with Chance and Andrews, and you sure as hell won’t be doing it alone.

Natas: So what yer sayin’ is that I need to find myself some new partners? Hell, gimme a couple of hours, see what I can do.

Cantrell: Yeah, let me commission the guy without friends to find his own partners. There’s not a single guy on this roster that gives a flying fuck about Jason Natas; you go up to them and they’re more likely to laugh in your face than anything else. No, we needed to skip that awkwardness, so I’ve already done the hard work for you…

Slowly the door begins to creek open.

Then the door bursts open.

If you thought Jason Natas was having a bad day before, think again.

Beef: NOBODY EXPECTS THE MEGA JOB PARTNERSHIP!

The comment hangs over the room like a dead fish or perhaps the Sword of Damocles. Beef had simply stormed into the room, his arms raised into the air, and he's now looking around as if he's expecting some sort of applause. Or perhaps a dramatic piano chord. Then, El Janito and Steve both walk in to join him. They look at C.P. Cantrell, who is already holding his bottle of headache medicine, then they look at Jason Natas.

El Janito: Oh, hey. We meet again. Um... in a less, uh... cagey sort of affair.

The Anti-Superstar can only gaze gormlessly at the sight of Mega Job, truly lost for words. He snaps his head around towards Ceeps.

Natas: This is a joke, right?

The only response he gets is a slow shaking of the head.

Natas: … seriously?

Cantrell: Seriously.

A red heat envelopes Jason’s face as the weight of his breathing increases. He swivels around on the chair and suddenly stands up to his full height, before thrusting his finger in El Janito’s chest.

Natas: You…

Then Beef takes an almost exaggerated step forward and extends his finger at Jason Natas' direction.

Beef: YOU!

The string holding up that Sword of Damocles is looking mightily frayed at this juncture.

Jason snorts, almost as if Beef is the matador dangling the red cloth in front of the bull. His first instinct, unsurprisingly, is to clench his right fist, but a cold wave of realisation soon washes over him. Sure, he could take out Mega Job, but that would leave him without partners, and therefore, with a Colossus match.

Natas: I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you…

El Janito: Wow, you made him mad.

Beef: It's the power of Beefamania, brother. It runs through my veins.

Steve can only facepalm, he sighs and almost silently agrees with Jason Natas that some Mega Job ass should be kicked, if only because he thinks that Beef and El Janito are stupid idiots that he has to carry onto his small shoulders. But of course, he can only sum up all of these sentiments with one word.

Steve: IDIOTS.

Jason, meanwhile, has seen enough. He raises his hands to his head and grasps at his bandanna, pulling his hair through the head rag. With a mind full of unpleasantness he storms past the Mega Job tandem, stopping to throw his Dr. Marten into the wall outside C.P.’s office, ‘cause, ya know, he’s angry and stuff.

Natas: Screw this!

The New York native strides off down the hallway.

Beef: What's HIS deal?

El Janito: I know. You'd think he'd be kinder and more respectful to us veterans of the squared circle.

Beef: Even though we, you know, don't wrestle.

El Janito: Ever.

Let's just... let's just move on.

Nick: And now, folks, we’ve got a great match in store for you. A match that could main event ANYWHERE on this continent and we’ve got it for you right here, right now! Killean Sirrajin’s been wanting this match with Sonny Silver for a LONG time and now, he’s got revenge on his mind as he takes him on, No Disqualification!

Richard: Please! Sonny’s not powered by steroids, he’s powered by SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT! He’ll destroy Killean Sirrajin FIVE TIMES before he hits the ground!

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL AND WILL BE CONTESTED UNDER NO DISQUALIFICATION, NO COUNTOUT RULES!

Fade to black.

Silver spotlights? Check.

Gaudy laser show that would put the Impact Zone to shame? Check.

Annoyingly loud guitar intro. CHECK.

"No Chance In Hell" by Theory of a Deadman.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Walking out from the behind the curtain, Mr. Silver swaggers to the ring, decked out in attire more befitting of a street fight (that, being a pair of black jeans and a vintage Mister Silver, Chairman of PRIME : BREAKING NECKS AND SIGNING CHECKS" t-shirt. ) Sure, it’s been a while other than that match with Tony Rolo where he’s been in a match this big, but he MADE his career punking out guys that thought they were hot shit. Surely, this would be no different.

Vince Howard: MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING, FROM SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, WEIGHING IN AT 249 POUNDS… MR. SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIAISON TO PRIME!

The fans CHEER Mr. Silver as he approaches the rin-- wait, no. That's not right. Who cheers for Silver? Oh, wait... that's not for him...

That’s for Killean Sirrajin, who’s right behind him.

WITH A CHAIR!

THWACK!

Richard: HEY! CHEATER! NOT ONLY IS HE A DIRTY DRUG-ABUSER, BUT HE’S ALSO A SNEAK ATTACK ARTIST!

Nick: Can you BLAME him? Sonny’s forever tarnished the reputation of Killean Sirrajin!

Richard: No, Signature Pharmacy did!

After the initial assault to the back from an irate Sirrajin, the Supreme Machine doesn’t waste any time, grabbing Silver by the waist and RAMMING him hard into the guardrail! With the sounds of 10,000 Alabamans roaring in approval for the public execution of Mr. Silver, Killean doesn’t waste a single amount of time. He goes right to work, pummeling him in the back of the skull with several vicious Clubbing Forearms. Dragging him around a beast moving a fresh carcass back to the lion’s den for supper, Killean rolls the dazed and confused form of Mr. Silver underneath the ring ropes before sliding in.

Decked in his own version of combat attire (shirtless, black jeans), Killean Sirrajin clinches his knuckles and begs for Sonny to get back to his feet. Referee Max Newell rings the bell hurriedly, not wanting to earn himself the ire of an irate Canadian ready to bear pain down upon all those that cross him.

Richard: Look at him! All those taut muscles, glistening under the lights…

Nick: Are you coming out after all these years, Richard?

Richard: NO, NO, NO, YOU SICKO! His muscles are filled to the brim with HGH and he’s glistening from the sweat… the sweat of a GUILTY DRUG-ABUSER!

Silver uses the ropes to try and pull himself back on his feet, but a NASTY Clubbing shot to the head knocks him into the corner. Sirrajin, the consummate professional to fans and wrestlers alike, doesn’t even bother with soaking in any approval. Instead, he simply continues the aggravated assault, driving MANY Shoulder Thrusts directly into the ribcage of the former Universal Champion! After about six deadly shots of his shoulder, Killean goes to the outside and wastes no time littering the ring with weapons.

Chain.

Ladder.

Two steel chairs.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Kidding. But with a wrestling ring, who knows?

Deciding he isn’t done just yet with his shopping spree, Sirrajin lets loose with a light grunt before he effortlessly whips steel steps into the ring.

Richard: He can do THAT and you’re telling me he isn’t a roidhead?

Nick: He’s NOT! He took the tests from independent drug companies!

Richard: Some back-alley black-market quack doesn’t qualify as a druggie. Especially a CANADIAN ONE!

Wrapping the chain around his fist now as a grip, he uses the extended portion to wrap around Sonny’s throat like a makeshift noose! Silver gasps for air as Killean Sirrajin continues to rob him of his oxygen supply.

Richard: Don’t believe me that he’s on Roids? LOOK, HE’S HANGI…

Nick: DON’T go there!

He doesn’t, but Silver manages to find a saving grace in the form of a chair hurled into the ring by Killean himself. Whipping upward, Sonny LEVELS Killean with it twice, finally breaking his grip. Gasping for air on the mat while Sirrajin takes a reprieve against the ropes looking to shake off the skull shots, Silver finally makes it upwards again. The tide now in his favor, Sonny grabs Killean and lets out a blood-curdling roar as he BULLDOGS Killean face-first onto the steps brought into the ring!

Nick: Damn it! Call it what you will, but Sonny even when his back is against the wall, has GREAT ring presence! He isn’t considered one of the VERY best to step into a PRIME ring for nothing!

Richard: There you go! He’s not only taken advantage of Killean’s need for bloodlust, but also for those weapons Killean intended to hurt him with!

As a woozy Killean tries to figure out his surroundings, Sonny stands to his full height and lowers himself near the PRIME Choice, snagging a handful of dark locks.

Silver: YOU WANNA END ME? BETTER MEN THAN YOU HAVE TRIED!

A NASTY Soccer Kick lands directly into the face of Sirrajin, knocking him for a loop. Now seeing a fresh spot to assault the Supreme Machine, Sonny grabs Killean by the head and proceeds to take him to school. Stone Cold 101: Stomping Mudholes and Walking them Dry. A boot greets Killean’s throat, strangling the Supreme Machine in the same manner done to him previously.

Silver: DANNY FERGUSON COULDN’T DO IT!

Boot to the head.

Silver: LINDSAY TROY COULDN’T DO IT!

Second boot.

Silver: EVEN YOUR BEST FRIEND, TCHU, COULDN’T DO IT!

Guess.

A succession of boot scrapes run across Sirrajin’s cheek before Sonny bounces off the ropes and comes back, BLASTING him directly in the head with a sick Facewash kick! Dragging the fallen Killean out of the corner, Silver drapes atop his body, looking for the first (and hopefully, only) pinfall of the match.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick: CLOSE FALL RIGHT THERE! Son-

Richard: MISTER SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIAISON OF PRIME!

Nick: -ny Silver isn’t taking this fight laying down! He didn’t make himself one of PRIME’s greatest for not doing anything.

Slapping a fist into the canvas, Sonny wastes no time punishing the Canadian with a powerful succession of stomps to the neck and head of his opposition. Keeping him grounded for the moment, the King of Sports Entertainment makes use of the ladder left on the outside as he climbs to the second rope. Looking over his shoulder, a wicked smile etches across his face as he begins to climb.

Richard: He’s showing Killean just how this shit’s done! He’s climbing the ladder of success!

Nick: Have you been sitting on that one all match?

Richard: Oh, please, you can make terrible puns, but I can’t?

Lifting the ladder overhead, Sonny poises himself on the very top before FALLING backward, effectively SUPERPLEXING the ladder right off the top rope onto the prone Killean Sirrajin!

Nick: HOLY CRAP, WHAT A MOVE!

Richard: YES! WAY TO SUPERPLEX THAT GODDAMN LADDER! SHOW IT WHO’S BOSS!

The fans gasp in shock at the rather ingenious move of the Silver Lining as Sirrajin rolls over in pain. After Sonny shakes off the initial shock of the painful maneuver landed, he rolls over and buries a forearm into the face of Killean with a pinfall attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Beside himself, not believing that Killean has the fortitude to kick out, Sonny sits atop his chest and begins to bring down the right hands in order to keep the PRIME Choice down. Once he feels satisfied with the beating, Sonny places the folded chair in the center of the ring and drags the Hall of Famer to his feet. Looking out to the crowd, he musters up all the strength he can to lift Killean off the mat and DRIVE him down viciously back-first into the chair with a Back Suplex!

Richard: HAHA! Killean Sirrajin needs to pick somebody he CAN get revenge on! …That is, if Mr. Silver DID indeed do anything at all!

Nick: We ALL know he drugged that test! He’s just denying it to keep himself out of FURTHER trouble!

Richard: Uh-oh! Sonny Silver going for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Surprised the succession of high-impact moves hasn’t gotten the job done yet, Sonny pummels him a few more times with boots to the forehead, trying to open up a wound of some sort. Trying a new approach, Silver brandishes the other steel chair whipped into the ring by the PRIME Choice. Smiling proudly, he measures up his target as Killean uses the ropes to try and gain some stable ground.

Poised and ready to strike, the Silver Lining runs and makes a mad dash to take his head off…

SWING…

MISS!

A glimmer catches Sonny’s eye as he turns around.

HAYMAKER FROM KILLEAN WITH THE CHAIN!

Tens of thousands of rednecks… I’m sorry, Alabamans roar in approval of Killean Sirrajin starting his path on the comeback trail as Silver doubles over in pain from the nasty shot.

Richard: He’s a goddamn CHEATER! He just blasted him with that chain!

Nick: Anything goes, Richard! This is why it’s No DQ!

Throwing down the chain, Sirrajin wipes the sweat from his brow as he pummels Sonny over the head with several forearm shots. A HUGE Right Cross to the head knocks the former Universal Champion directly on his ass. As Silver tries to pop back up in a daze, Killean cuts him off at the pass by whipping him into the ropes and driving him down with a back body drop upon the return!

As Silver tries to pick himself back up, Killean drags him into another corner and makes with the Ric Flair Knife-Edge Chops.

WHOO!

WHOO!

WHOO!

WHOO!

WHOO!

Being struck across the chest fivefold, Silver’s chest burns fiercely, but can do nothing to evade Killean’s further assaults as a Body Avalanche mows him down in the corner! Off the rebound, the PRIME Choice catches him…

Nick: THE ARROW! Oh, my GOD, I haven’t seen Killean Sirrajin deliver his signature spinebuster with such force in my life!

Falling atop the chest of the Silver Lining out of sheer exhaustion, Killean hooks another leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

Just mere inches away from securing his revenge over the Silver Lining, Killean pounds the mat as his antagonist barely gets the shoulder up. Not wanting to give Sonny another opening to fight back, he grabs two handfuls of Sonny’s hair, but a thumb to the eye cuts him off at the pass just long enough to save his ass. Silver hooks him by the head looking for some sort of DDT, but Killean twists him around.

He hooks him by the head, looking for the Supreme Justice, but a flurry of elbows to the back of the head prevent Killean from landing his killing blow.

Fighting back with a series of right hands, Sonny then goes to work on the leg, trying to knot it up with several VICIOUS Kawada-style kicks to the hamstring. Sure that Killean cannot fight back any longer, he smiles as he bounces off the ropes, looking for something big… OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY!

Nick: Now that’s POWER! Killean just THREW Sonny with that suplex and sent him skittering to the floor right in front of us!

Richard: Power… or "Power?" Like DRUG power?

Clutching his back in pain from the sheer impact of the suplex and spinebuster taken in the last minute and a half, Sonny tries to scurry underneath the ring while Sirrajin gives chase. Hopping to the outside, he grabs the leg of Sonny and tries with all his might to pull him out from underneath the ring…

HHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Nick: WAIT, WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!

Richard: Mr. Silver strikes again! He grabbed a fire extinguisher underneath that ring and just made Killean eat a mouthful of it!

Whether out of self-preservation or sheer desperation, we may never know, but the bottom line is Killean’s momentum is stopped at least for the moment. After emptying the contents of the extinguisher, Sonny BLASTS him directly in the face, knocking the PRIME Choice down to one knee!

Nick: Sonny’s just using anything he can get his hands on in order to save his own weasley ass!

Richard: His finely-toned SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIAISON ass, you mean!

Nick: You’re REALLY pouring it out tonight, aren’t you?

Richard: No homo.

Taking Killean by the head, Sonny SMACKS his skull directly into the announce table, sending Nick and Richard jumping nearly out of their seat. While Sirrajin struggles to even stand on his own two feet, Sonny rolls him underneath the bottom rope and follows him in. The PRIME Choice appears to have had the wind taken out of his sails as Sonny grabs a steel chair and CRASHES it directly over the back of his opponent!

Three more shots greet the back of Killean before Sonny tosses the now-dented chair aside. Now with the ball in his court, Silver takes the ladder from earlier and props it against the corner. Patting it down to make sure it stays in place between the top and middle buckles, Sonny grabs Killean Sirrajin by the hand and goes for the whip…

REVERSED!

Impacting his lower back, Silver staggers forward…

SUPREME JUSTICE!

Nick: THERE IT IS!

With ten-thousand strong coming unglued and leaping out of their seat in endorsement of this ass-whooping, Killean Sirrajin promptly climbs to his knees after connecting with the move. He looks down at the lifeless form of Sonny Silver, struggling with his conscience to make the pinfall. But after gritting his teeth, he makes a snap decision to prolong Mr. Silver’s punishment.

The fans come unglued as Killean starts to grab Sonny by his legs. Trying to beg off one attack while also staving off unconsciousness, Silver begs for Killean not to do what he thinks he’s going to do.

Crowd: RUUUUUUUUUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!

Pleased with the reaction, he snaps Sonny up with a Catapault, DRIVING him skull-first into the ladder!

Nick: THAT was just gruesome impact! If Silver’s brains weren’t scrambled enough, they are now!

Richard: THIS IS A MUGGING! COME ON, REF, DO YOUR DAMN JOB AND STOP THIS!

Nick: He’s getting what he deserves!

And rightfully so. Bleeding profusely from his skull now, Sonny Silver remains stuck in the corner, barely leaning against the buckle. But Killean isn’t through just yet. He turns Sonny around and with the fans on his side…

T-BONE!

The impact of Killean’s variant on the T-Bone Suplex works to perfection, nearly drilling Sonny’s head through the ring and damn near to China! Falling atop the body of Silver, Killean hooks the leg tightly, decisively putting a forearm into the throat.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Richard: WHAT?! NO! RECOUNT!

Nick: Sonny Silver had everything going his way, but out of NOWHERE, Killean turned the tide, prolonged Sonny Silver’s punishment and got himself a measure of revenge!

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER… KILLEAN SIRRAJIN!

Richard: *sobbing* DAMN YOU, KILLEAN! YOU ROIDED BEAST! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO OUR BELOVED SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT KING?!

With blood now caked all over his face, Sonny lays motionless in the middle of the ring while Killean Sirrajin merely kneels over him, the sheer fatigue taking its toll upon the PRIME Hall of Famer. He’s secured a huge win heading into his Colossus match with Captain Justice, and can now look ahead…

DIRECTLY INTO THE BOOT OF CAPTAIN JUSTICE!

Nick: Damn it! Killean just won this match, but almost like clockwork, Captain Justice is out here now!

Richard: SAVE YOUR MASTER, CAPTAIN! DO IT FOR AMERICA! SMITE THAT STUPID CANADIAN!

Nick: What the hell? Justice with a cheap shot here after the bell has rung! Killean extracted some sort of revenge on Silver but now it's gonna cave in on him again!

Richard: Get him! Beat the hell out of him and knock him out of the Colossus match!

The Captain, seeming to listen to Richard's cries, picks a stunned PRIME Choice off the canvas and fires a couple destructive fists right into his temples. Now on rubber legs, Sirrajin stumbles into the ropes and off, where Captain Justice turns him end over end with a devastating Washington Monument spear.

Crowd: OHHHHHH!

Nick: My god!

Richard: Holy crap! Have you ever seen Sirrajin manhandled like this? It's wonderful!

Nick: Someone has to stop them.

Mr. Silver slides under the ropes and pulls up the ring apron to look under the ring. Justice meanwhile fires a few boots into the side of an nearly unconscious Supreme Machine. Silver pulls out a long steel chain with a padlock on the end of it and slides it under the ropes.

Nick: What in the hell does Silver think he's gonna do with that?

Richard: Hopefully something incredibly violent.

Captain Justice lifts the nearly 300 pound Sirrajin to his feet and tosses him back into the corner. The former Universal Champion slumps mostly to the canvas only holding himself up purely by reflexes. Mr. Silver brings the chain to the corner where Justice grabs it. He wraps the end around his hand and lets loose with a couple more well places punches to the forehead. A little bit of blood begins to trickle down his face as officials begin to storm the aisle. Silver runs to the ropes and kicks as the bottom cable, fending off the officials attempting to break up this impending destruction of The PRIME Choice.

Richard: Look at Justice! This is brilliant!

Nick: Jesus Christ, someone has to get in there!!!

With the panic in Nick's voice, everyone is noticing that The Americanimal is wrapping the chain around the neck of Sirrajin a couple times. He steadies Killean on his feet and uses the chain to pull him out of the corner. Silver finishes kicking at the bottom rope and signals to his protege.

Silver: DO IT! OVER THE TOP!

Nick and Richard: SAY WHAT?!?!

Justice whips Killean towards the corner. He uses his strength to literally toss Killean over the turnbuckle, where he slams back first against the post. In another tremendous show of strength, Cap J pulls on the chain, not letting Sirrajn's feet touch the ground. Mr. Silver runs over and helps fasten the chain to the turnbuckle with the padlock. Once the job is done, Killean is left hanging, back against the ring post and nothing to hang on to. The apron is out of his reach and realizing the severity of his own situation, he begins to kick and pull at the chain around his neck. This only speeds up the process of draining him of every last bit of oxygen.

The crowd gasps and boos the bloodied Sport Entertainment Liaison of PRIME and the Americanimal. Some fans in the front row scream, essentially witnessing a hanging in the middle of their arena.

Nick: Alright, someone needs to stop this now! THE MAN CAN'T BREATHE!

Richard: I ummm... don't know what to say.

The fight is draining out of the Supreme Machine and Captain Justice jumps through the ropes, blocking the officials path to helping Killean down from his noose. His face is turning a darker shade with every passing second and the fight is almost gone, his arms beginning to go limp and his eyes rolling back into his head as his feet dangle almost lifelessly now.

Nick: CHRIST! Can't someone help here! That's a human being!

Richard: He's not moving Nick.

Both announcers drop their headsets on the table and run over to where Killean is dangling, void of all signs of life. They pull at the chain without any luck. Silver goes to pull them away but the fans light up with a bit of a cheer.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas runs down the ramp along with a gaggle of Enemigos. Dam has a pair of bolt cutters that he probably ripped from the hands of some poor crewman backstage, or that he somehow managed to carry in his sport coat pocket. As soon as they see who the calvary is, Justice and Silver flee around the opposite side of the ring and up the ramp. The officials make way for Dam and the cutters and within seconds, he has the chain cut. The Enemigos struggle to hold Sirrajin so he doesn't collapse to the ground and then gently lies him down. He isn't moving at all. After they remove the chain from his neck, marks are shown in his neck and the old scar on his neckline has been broken open a slight bit with some blood running down the sides. EMT's fly down the ramp with a stretcher and equipment and everyone backs away from their seemlingly lifeless co-worker.

Nick: This wasn't supposed to happen.

The crowd is deathly silent as crews work to secure the neck of Sirrajin. After checking his pulse, they break out the shock paddles and confirm that Killean is not breathing at all. After a quick prep, the administering EMT yells out.

EMT: CLEAR!

And the shock goes through the body of Killean. The other EMT checking his pulse shakes her head no and the first EMT gets ready for another go.

EMT: CLEAR!

Killean's body jumps again. People are covering their eyes in the front row as every single person further back has their eyes glued to the big screen. Nick and Richard stand with shocked expressions on their faces and even Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas has a look of legitimate concern shining in his eyes. The EMT shakes her head again and the administering EMT readies one more shock, stronger than the first two.

EMT: CLEAR!

Killean's body jumps, almost slapping on the protective ringside mats. The second EMT nods after a couple seconds, feeling a pulse returning. Killean's chest rises and falls for the first time in a couple minutes, winning a sigh of relief from all looking on.

Mr. Silver and Captain Justice look on from the stage while Silver himself is carried out with help from his charge. Sonny merely sneers while anger crosses the face of the Captain. A little worry could even be seen in his eyes, but he quickly shakes it off. They disappear behind the curtain immediately.

Killean, now secured to a backboard is loaded on to the stretcher that was brought out. The fans give a round of applause as they see a hint of life in the eyes of their hero. The cameras move away from the scene and the television feed is cut shortly thereafter. Nick and Richard return back to their announce table while Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas and the Enemigos accompany the EMT's and Killean towards the ramp.

Richard: We're off the air I think.

Nick: Just as well, I'm kind of hoping the feed was cut before he stopped breathing. Otherwise we just videotaped a near disaster.

"WHAT’S THE MATTER, KANNON? MOMMY WON’T LET YOU OUT TO PLAY?"

With a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his forehead, and still wearing his sweaty ring attire, Xavier Kannon is being herded out of the arena encased within a full-on legion of PRIME security staff. Knowing there’s a impenetrable wall of muscleheads protecting him, the King of Wrestling still departs with a swagger despite his body aching from the 4-corners weapons scramble.

"YOU WEREN‘T THIS SHY AT TEMPTATION! YOU WEREN‘T THIS SHY WHEN YOU COST ME MY DAMN BELT, WERE YOU?"

While most people in the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Centre Arena would gladly see the back of the Gold Patron Meritorious, there’s one man who isn’t so eager to let him make his escape.

That would be Jonathan Rhine.

Rhine: IS THIS HOW THE KING OF WRESTLING ACTS, HUH? HIDING BEHIND SECURITY? IF SO, THEN I’M PROUD TO BE A PEON!

Now, if you’ve already committed enough ‘questionable’ acts to warrant being smuggled into an arena through the sewers and out of it within a cocoon of security, you might be expected to keep your head down and let the flames you’ve ignited die down.

Or, if you’re Xavier Kannon, well, you’ll toss a sweaty ‘Eyecatching’ t-shirt over your security detail and onto the face of your heckler.

Kannon: See if you can reach through their legs to shine my boots, Patch.

Rhine had been happy to hound Kannon like a shark circling a diver’s cage, but now he was ready to chomp on some bars.

Tossing the musty-smelling shirt into the face of the security guard who’s on point, Rhine rushes the huddle and tries to leap over and onto Kannon.

Kannon: HEY! Hey! Get that peon away from me!

Just one man against twenty security, Rhine is wrestled down and pushed away. With two security holding each of his arms, Rhine is dragged down the corridor, scowling face forced to watch as Kannon raises a solitary finger like a periscope above the sea of muscled security.

Rhine: THEY WON’T BE THERE AT COLOSSUS, KANNON!

Letting out a defeated sigh, the New Life goes limp, shaking his head as if to admit defeat. Feeling the guards’ grip loosen in sympathy, Rhine slithers free and rushes Kannon’s guards, only to be met with the front trio wielding cans of pepper spray.

Frustration boiling his blood, flushing his skin with a furious crimson, Rhine gives them a disappointed shake of the head.

Rhine: This puts you on his level, and you don’t want that.

From inside his protective enclosure, Kannon can’t help but stir things.

Kannon: I’m sure they appreciate the compliment, Left-Ey-…

"STAND THE FUCK DOWN!"

Kannon: -e… huh? What? Who’s there? Who was that?!

He’s right to sound very, very worried.

Looking disgusted with the scene being played out before him, Tony Rolo marches down the corridor, eyes glaring at the PRIME security detail.

Rolo: This ain’t some Hollywood premiere for a fucking Hannah Montana movie, this is PRIME. If someone’s got a beating coming to them, they take it like a man... Oh, and don’t get excited, Kannon. I said like a man, not take it from a man. Now, I believe I also said, STAND THE FUCK DOWN!

Despite the globalisation of the wrestling business, the spiralling production budgets and the emphasis on the word ‘entertainment’ alongside the phasing out of the word ‘wrestling’, the words of a man like Tony Rolo - a crude, trash-talking Hall-of-Famer - still carry more weight than Kirstie Alley.

That’s a lot of weight.

Forced to choose between the a legendary founding father of PRIME and, well, a snivelling piece of shit, there was only ever going to be outcome.

Kannon: Where are you going? Cantrell told you to stay with me! Why in Hubbard’s name are you listening to that troglodyte? GET BACK HERE!

And there he stands, exposed, defenceless… naked.

Kannon: Hey, Jono, you’re a smart man, right? Colossus is where the money will be made… do anything stupid now, and you’re risking the biggest payday of your LIFE.

Rolo: Have fun.

While Rhine gets two simple parting words, Kannon simply gets the finger, and a few seconds head start.

Kannon: Oh shit.

Despite his head still throbbing and his muscles mapping an ‘Ache Matrix’ throughout his body, Kannon turns and makes a dash for it. Eyes bursting wide with panic, he swats everything his passes back into his trail.

After cracking his knuckles with relish, Rhine gives chase, hurdling the debris Kannon leaves in his wake.

Kannon: A FREE DIANETICS PROGRAM TO ANYONE WHO GETS IN HIS WAY! IF YOU STAND BY AND DO NOTHING AN ENGRAM WILL BLIGHT YOUR SPIRITUAL PROGRESSION! OR… YOU KNOW… JUST STOP HIM!

Rhine pursues the Scientologist through the bowels of the arena, not a single person they pass lifting a finger to help Kannon.

Kannon: OUT OF MY WAY! OPEN THAT FUCKING DOOR!

Passing a weedy runner, Kannon grabs him by the collar and hurls him back into Rhine’s path, followed by a chair, followed by a fruit bowl, followed by a flip-chart.

Kannon: STICK A FOOT OUT BEHIND ME AND I‘LL GIVE YOU FIVE THOUSAND!!!

Despite upping his offers, the only reactions Kannon triggers are cheers for Rhine to finally get his hands on him.

Making a hard left, Kannon sprints out into one of the arena’s loading bays. Navigating the hazardous industrial obstacle course that has been left for him, the Gold Patron Meritorious makes a dash for the outside, looking back over his shoulder to see Rhine spring like a Gazelle over a row of crates.

He could probably have done with keeping eyes front.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

An ear-splitting screech shreds the still night as a car has to slam its brakes on, veering to the left to avoid ploughing into Kannon’s legs and flipping him through the air like a rag doll.

With the smoky sweetness of scorched rubber hanging in the air, a startled Kannon stands frozen to the spot, skin drained of the tan he’d built up since relocating to Barbados.

He finally expels the lungful of air that had been shut within him.

That was luck-

BLAM!

Having caught Kannon up, Rhine grabs a handful of red hair and leaps across the hood of the car, smashing the King of Wrestling’s face into it with a sickening Bulldog.

Sliding off the opposite side, Rhine again grabs the hair of the pancaked Scientologist, slamming it down again and again onto the dented hood, leaving smears of blood on the white paintwork.

Ignoring the pleas of the vehicle’s driver, Rhine lifts Kannon’s head up high, then flings it down one final time, bouncing both it and the body attached to it off onto the asphalt.

Rhine: It’s Last Man Standing at Colossus, X.

A flailing, groggy Kannon tries to stand and, unfortunately for him, Rhine offers a helping hand with a quarter-nelson, only to then throw a quintet of knees up into the King of Wrestling’s side, then Hiptoss him over onto the concrete.

Rhine: I can put you down here, I can throw you off the arena roof… I could drown you in the nearest lake and let the ref count to ten with your lifeless body on the bank.

With blood pouring into his eyes, blinding him, Kannon staggers up onto weak, new-born legs. A jab from Rhine snaps his head back, then another, and another, the New Life toying with a blinded Gold Patron Meritorious.

After taking in the sight of Kannon wiping the blood from squinting eyes, Rhine recoils his body and bursts out a leaping roundhouse kick that swats Kannon’s limp head brutally to the side, sending a glob of blood and spit flying from his mouth.

Toppling, Kannon’s lower back cracks against the trunk of the car, leaving him strewn across it.

Rhine: But that’s only if I don’t keep pulling you up on nine.

Rushing the prone Kannon, Rhine flings himself knee-first at the Scientologist, making a sickening connection with his face, and shutting the lights off from behind XK’s usually gleaming eyes.

Rhine: And, assuming you make it there.

With the weeks of torment at the hands of the King of Wrestling having awakened a darker beast within Rhine, he grabs another handful of Kannon’s hair and drags him across the parking lot.

Letting Kannon drop to his knees, Rhine leans down, face to bloody face with his Colossus opponent.

Rhine: You took my eye, then you took my belt, so at Colossus, I’m taking your name. I’m taking your aura. I’m taking your myth. I’m taking your legend. I’m taking everything you ever were, so that come the morning after, all you’ve sacrificed to be where you are will have been for nothing. I’m resetting you, Kannon. Won’t be anywhere near as many open backs to stab yourself to the top this time.

Pulling Kannon back up, Rhine takes a handful of hair and a handful of tights, swinging Kannon towards the nearest dumpster and watching him tumble over and slither in amongst the torn refuse sacks.

Rhine: Better get used to sleeping in these.

Dusting his hands off, Rhine backs away, keeping an eye of Kannon’s hand as it claws at the side of the dumpster, before dropping limp and sliding down amidst the garbage.

The gorilla position can be awkward when you’re not teamed with the right partner. If it’s someone who you don’t know too well, you can find yourself in petty small talk that actually takes your mind off of winning the match. If it’s someone who’s just out for number one, you have to endure the awkward silence after they tell you "I don’t wanna talk." And if it’s someone you just plain don’t like, you might actually entertain the idea of throwing the match just so the jackass will have to take a big fat L.

This doesn’t fall into one of those categories.

Chandler Tsonda: C’mon, kid, just say something to me.

On the other side of the gorilla position, ignoring the Number One Contender, is Bryan Dawkins. He’s teaming with Tsonda for the night, but Devin Shakur’s earlier revelations have their relationship in doubt.

Chandler Tsonda: Did you think there weren’t skeletons in my closet? Fuck, I was gonna show you all those tapes myself soon enough. I just had to show you the good before I could dump the truckloads of bad onto you.

Dawkins’s arms are crossed. The expression on his face isn’t angry, but it’s not exactly pleased, either. The Flyin’ Hawaiian seems to be deep in thought.

Chandler Tsonda: Listen, after this match, you can check out all the dirt you want. All the tapes of everything I’ve ever done, they’re yours. Some of that shit…

The Model Citizen shakes his head.

Chandler Tsonda: …I don’t wanna remember, anyway. But listen, I just wanna be redeemed…or something. And I don’t wanna make the same mistakes I’ve made before. So will you still let me show ya a couple things?

Dawkins shoots Tsonda a glance that gives no answer.

Chandler Tsonda: How ‘bout this? If I can’t start getting you some wins, you can tell me to go fuck myself and I won’t hold it against you. Dig?

The Flyin’ Hawaiian unfolds his arms and looks over at the man who’s supposed to be his mentor.

Bryan Dawkins: Shakur made some good points, especially about how I don’t know a damn thing about what your intentions are here, bruh. I dunno if I can just shrug that off.

Chandler Tsonda: Kid, I just–

Bryan Dawkins: The name’s Dawkins, bruh. Not "kid."

Chandler Tsonda: Okay, well, I’m a nickname type of guy. Is there some happy medium we can find here? I’ll call you Maui and you can all me Papa Smokestacks? I just…(lowers his head) don’t have too many people around here to rely on. And you seem like a pretty noble dude, not somebody who takes trust lightly. So I’m not asking you to hand me your ATM card, just to let me help you.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian takes a deep breath. For a guy who seems so happy-go-lucky, there’s a pretty deep, thoughtful side to him.

"Oooooh, this is like the episode of Fresh Prince where Will’s dad actually convinces him that he loves him and then, at the end, he totally leaves him to go be a douchebag trucker."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Who else but Devin Shakur?

Devin Shakur: Except I think you’d have to make Dawkins cry for that whole analogy to work. And since Dawkins already knows that you’re a self-centered prissy bitch, I think we might’ve missed the boat on that one.

The look that Tsonda shoots Shakur can only be described as fiery. Not just angry, but those brown eyes are literally lit up, shaking with the energy of hatred.

Chandler Tsonda: Hey douchebag, we’re having a conversation here. Go jerk yourself off with a razorblade.

Devin Shakur: Touchy, aren’t we, now that the Crusader in Black revealed all your dirty little secrets?

Chandler Tsonda: Eat my fucking asshole, Shakur. Me and the ki…Dawkins are planning our autograph session after we throw you from post to post.

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh, let’s just everybody go their separate ways and–

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t think so. There’s an important lesson here. And that is to never let some undeserving fuck interrupt you with breaking his nose as a reminder that–

Devin Shakur: You, break my nose? Good one, Tinkerbell. If I thought you were a threat, I wouldn’t have toyed with you for so long. The only thing threatening about you is that you might derail a fine young talent like Bryan Dawkins.

Chandler Tsonda: (takes a step forward) I swear on anything you call holy that if you insist on this bullshit about messing with the kid, then I’m going to break your fucking face.

The voice that comes out of Tsonda is something that hasn’t been heard in a long time. It’s unfamiliar; for most of Chandler’s career, he’s been the one playing games, incensing opponents. But now Shakur is the puppet master and Tsonda’s unable to do anything but dance.

Bryan Dawkins: C’mon, this ain’t the time or place. I’ll take off and you two can go back to calling each other gay or whatever.

Devin Shakur: Dawkins, I’d hate for you to miss out on the part where Chan Chan blows his lid because I’ve pulled up the curtains on his little charade.

Chandler Tsonda: This isn’t about me or anything I’ve done or Dawkins or anything else. I know that it’s about you keeping that Universal Title at all costs by getting inside my head. I know it because I’ve done it.

Bryan Dawkins: This isn’t about me, bruh?

Chandler Tsonda: That’s not what I meant. He’s doing this because–

Bryan Dawkins: Because nobody else would take on a charity case like me. No, I gotcha.

Devin Shakur: See? He plays this whole redemption bit, but he’s cruel and calculating. Everything Tsondie does is just about him getting the Universal Title. That’s why he thinks that the only reason I’d tell you you’ve got a future is to get at him. He thinks everything he tells you is grade-A, organically produced, horseshit.

The Viet Viper swings wildly, but Shakur is too far out of range. The Champion pats the Universal Title and gives him a wink.

Devin Shakur: Hey, at least you’ll get your fair shot at Colossus. And that’s all you ever wanted, isn’t it? Sure, Dawkins sees you for the snake you really are, but you’ll get your chance in the ring to make this whole "karmic payback" thing worth it. You’ll fail, but you’ll get to tell your kids that you made up for all those terrible things you did back in the day with the A-List because you tried your very best. Problem is, you just happened to run into the very best. "Sorry kids, ol’ Devin was just too good for my tired ass."

Chandler Tsonda: Dawkins, you can’t listen to him. He’s a goddamn house of cards. He’s a motherfucking mosaic of lies and you have to believe me on that.

Bryan Dawkins: Can’t say I know who or what to believe, bruh.

Devin Shakur: (snaps his fingers) Almost forgot I had a match next. Good luck Dawkins. You too, Chan Chan.

With that, the nefarious Champion is out, on his way to the ring.

Chandler Tsonda: I’ll fix this next week, Dawkins. Let’s just go out there and whip some ass.

Bryan Dawkins: (shakes his head) Can’t do it, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: What?

Bryan Dawkins: I’m not walking out there at your side. I’ll fight with ya because, like ya told me all those weeks ago, I’m a wrestler and it’s my job. But I’m not walking out there on your hip.

The Model Citizen shakes his head, but realizes they’re at an impasse. He takes one look back at Dawkins, and he too, passes through the curtain. Bryan Dawkins sighs and watches as the curtain swings in Tsonda’s wake.

"Black Hole Sun" hits the sound system, eliciting a colossal chorus of boos from the crowd. All around the arena, anti-Shakur signs go flying up, and even a couple anti-Union Jack signs can be seen.

Richard: Now here’s a set of real men. Not those prissy flying machines on the other team.

Nick: Yes, this team just sparkles with compassion and etiquette.

Richard: You think Jack doesn’t have etiquette? He’s British; they INVENTED etiquette!

The Universal Champion and Your Sovereign appear to be pretty cohesive as a team, especially for two massive egos such as these ones. But maybe that’s because Shakur is the Universal Champion and even a megalomaniac like U-Jack can respect a top dog. So the two of them step out at roughly the same time. First, Jack comes out, arms raised, with Jeeves at his side. And right behind them, Universal Belt wrapped around his shoulder, is Devin Shakur.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Listen to that ovation!

Richard: Now that these Luddites know Shakur’s gonna be DA CHAMP going into Colossus, he’s reached a whole new level of heeldom.

Nick: Right you are. Chandler Tsonda’s just gotta hope that the Colossus Curse makes a comeback.

The tag team partners take their sweet time to the ring, letting "Black Hole Sun" chisel out a place in the minds of the fans so that they’ll be humming it. All. Night. Long.

Vince Howard: Our first team…weighing in at a combined 439 pounds…Your Sovereign and The Man In Black, The Universal Champion…UNION JACK & DEVIN SHAKUUUUUR!

Shakur doesn’t immediately hang over the belt to the ref, but poses on one of the turnbuckles, strapping the belt around his waist. The boos continue to shower in, with U-Jack leaning against the ropes, arms folded. He seems to take some small joy in watching the fans so vehemently against Shakur.

Record scratch.

"I said 'kiss me, you're beautiful'
These are truly the last days'"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The acoustic guitar section isn’t the most gnarly part of the song, but these affable Southern folks love them some unplugged shit. And for all their perceived biases, they dig a fancy yellow fella by the name of Chandler Tsonda, in large part because he’s NOT Devin Shakur.

Nick: The opposite side of the coin applies to Tsonda, apparently. They’re giving him a heroic ovation!

Richard: "Either you die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the-

Nick: If you start doing Dark Knight quotes, this match is gonna go long and Will is gonna ruin the movie for some unhappy sap.

But it’s not all hunky dory just because CoCa’s "Welcome Home" has entered the shredding guitar part. At the top of the ramp, Chandler Tsonda has emerged. But he’s not posing for the fans or flexing for the hundreds of ladies who came to see him tonight, he’s just jaw-jacking at the Universal Champion. And there’s no sign of Bryan Dawkins. But Vince Howard likes that paycheck, so he rolls with the punches.

Vince Howard: Uhhh…and our second team, weighing in at a combined 403 pounds…The Flyin’ Hawaiian and The Model Citizen…BRYAN DAWKINS & CHANDLER TSOOOOONDA!

Richard: Where’s the stupid rook?

Nick: It seems that Dawkins has been…*ahem* influenced by Devin Shakur.

Richard: Nothing better than learning from the best wrestler in the game.

Nick: There was very little fact imparted during that conversation. Just a lot of posturing by Shakur so that he doesn’t seem like the bad guy!

Richard: You mean, like someone who sold out Danny Ferguson, effectively retired Johnny Noble, and spent years proud of being a scourge to the roster? That sound like a bad guy to you?

It’s only once Tsonda is halfway down the ramp, having shouted at Shakur the entire time, that Dawkins finally emerges. And he comes out with even less pomp than Tsonda just did. His face is somber as he jogs down the ramp, and the usual slaps for the fans don’t come.

Richard: That’s one sad panda.

In the ring, Tsonda takes up the mantle as the legal man, seeing as Dawkins isn’t even to the squared circle yet. Before the other team can get to deciding, Union Jack gives Shakur a pat on the shoulder and steps into the ring. Shakur gives a "okay, your funeral" type shrug, and steps into his corner.

Nick: So it’s gonna be Chandler Tsonda and Union Jack to start.

Richard: Good of Dawkins to show up.

Indeed, Bryan Dawkins is finally to his corner, but his gaze is fixed squarely on Union Jack. He hasn’t uttered so much as a word of encouragement the way of his "partner."

DING DING DING!

Union Jack and Tsonda lock up in the center of the ring. Jack pulls Tsonda to the left, but the veteran slides underneath Jack’s hands and puts him on the mat with a quick side slam. And as Jack rolls back to his feet, Tsonda bounces off the ropes and clobbers UJ as he climbs up with a jumping knee strike right to the side of the head. With Jack seeing stars for a moment, the Model Citizen bounces off the adjacent ropes this time and brings UJ to the mat with a picture-perfect facecrusher.

Nick: Tsonda is on fire to start this match!

Richard: That kamikaze pilot is dead meat as soon as Jack gets his senses back.

Tsonda waits a couple seconds for Jack to regain his feet, then unleashes a high roundhouse kick that UJ just barely ducks. But for the second that Tsonda’s back is to him, Jack takes advantage. He grabs the Sultan of Style around the waist and slams him (and his oft-injured back) to the mat with a German suplex. He doesn’t keep the hold for a bridge, but the look on Tsonda’s face as he stands says that Jack’s on the right path.

Richard: No way this schlub wins the Uni Title at Colossus. Everyone and their mom knows to go after his back.

Nick: Tsonda’s a fighter, Richard. His match against Lindsay Troy at Culture Shock was one of the finest I’ve ever witnessed.

Jack charges, but with that much warning, the Model Citizen can react effectively. He goes for a stiff mid kick, but Union Jack catches that leg. Tsonda looks helpless, and Jack taunts him with a finger in his face, but then that sly grin slides across CT’s face. And with the quickness of a snake’s strike (do you get the Viper nickname now? Do ya? Do ya?), he sends an enziguiri to Jack’s ear drum, the sound of which can be heard throughout the arena.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: His array of kicks is lethal, Richard.

Richard: Then Shakur’s are Ebola virus.

Tsonda climbs on top of Union Jack for a pinfall.

One…

Two...

Richard: Ouch!

A double knee drop right into Tsonda’s back from Shakur immediately breaks up the attempt. In his corner, Dawkins looks torn. He nervously fiddles with the ring rope as Shakur is pushed back into his corner by Wesley James.

Nick: Dawkins doesn’t know whether he should be helping Tsonda or heeding Shakur’s advice.

Richard: Who’s the guy smart enough to be wearing the Universal Title? Listen to that guy.

Nick: That would be turning on his closest ally and taking a loss, to boot.

Richard: A man’s gotta have principles, Nick. Like when I told my fourth wife that getting up get the remote control would violate Locke’s conclusion about-

Nick: Please not this again.

Both men are up, Tsonda more gingerly now that he’s taken two serious shots to the back. He locks up with Jack again, but this time the Sovereign is too quick. He lowers his hands and grabs Tsonda around the waist. The Number One Contender counters once with a leg between Jack’s, refusing to be lifted. But Jack uses the slight height advantage to reach over the top of Tsonda and bring a single fist into his back. Tsonda arches his back in pain and Jack’s got his opening: he hoists the Sultan of Style, rotates, and then releases, sending him across the ring towards his own turnbuckle. On the outside, Jeeves claps politely, restraining his emotion as only the British can.

Richard: The Royal Revolution! The execution on that spinning overhead belly-to-belly was simply daft, you old wanker!

Jack snarls at Tsonda, then tags the outstretched hand of Shakur, making the Universal Champion legal.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Tsonda looks up at Dawkins, hoping for a tag after landing on his back. But Dawkins shakes his head and folds his arms, meaning that Tsonda’s back will get no rest. The Model Citizen takes a deep breath and kicks to his feet. He stares a hole through Shakur, but the Universal Champion is wearing a devilish grin. He knows that he’s the more rested (and less-injured) of the two.

Nick: Here’s your Colossus main event! Right here on ReV 167, these two are facing one another in the ring for the first time since the match was made!

Richard: I’m gonna need like four pairs of pants for how bad Shakur’s gonna put away this Viet Vag.

Tsonda runs at Shakur, and when he sees the Man in Black cocking back for one of his trademark strikes, he executes a nifty baseball slide under the Champ’s legs. He pops up behind Shakur, but DS is ready for him. Tsonda tries a forearm smash, but Shakur puts out his elbow to block at the last second. Shakur tries a shin kick, but the Model Citizen shows impressive vertical, hopping over Shakur’s leg as it sweeps across where his own shins would’ve just been.

Nick: These two are tailor-made to set that Colossus ring on fire.

Richard: Setting the ring on fire actually wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Buyrate, here we come!

The Number One Contender hopping around left him open for another attack, though. As Tsonda comes down, Shakur grabs him in a high front facelock and starts sending vicious right knee strikes into Tsonda’s face and chest. One after another, the champ’s knees pound into Tsonda’s exposed areas. After five times, the count gets lost in the sea of boos for the champion.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Shakur’s unfamiliarity with the ring used to be his downfall. Now, one might argue that his unorthodox style in the ring has made him champion.

Richard: Last two champs? Great effing strikers. Also, one of them made my dong stand at attention.

To put an exclamation point on that flurry, Shakur slams down on Tsonda’s back with a sit-out driving elbow, falling on top of the Model Citizen with his elbow lodged in the former’s back. He hooks the leg for a cover. In his corner, Dawkins doesn’t even flinch.

One…

Two…

ThreeNO!

Nick: Hard kickout from Tsonda!

Devin Shakur rolls his eyes, as if Tsonda kicking out is only delaying the inevitable. He rises to his feet, but not before stomping a bit of a mudhole in his Colossus challenger. With Union Jack clamoring for a tag in the corner, Shakur slaps his hand, sending the Brit in with a purpose.

Richard: Efficiency, precision, charisma. This team’s got it all.

Nick: Please spare me.

UJ comes in and lifts up Tsonda by his delightfully attended-to hair. Your Sovereign unleashes several well-placed right hands into Tsonda’s face, but apparently he’s never heard the old adage about the well. Because on his final attempt, Tsonda catches his arm. The Model Citizen swings his left arm over UJ’s head and, with the aforementioned lightning quicks, smashes U-Jack into the mat with his stalling lift implant DDT.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Golgotha Drop! Tsonda out of nowhere with the Golgotha Drop!

In the opposite corner, Shakur is fuming that his "understudy" (his words, not ours) would dare lose control of a match he had so firmly in his grasp. Tsonda looks to his corner, where every Alabamian’s eye is on Bryan Dawkins. The Flyin’ Hawaiian looks to the left, looks to the right, and then stretches out that sumbitch for a tag.

Nick: Dawkins is seeing the light!

Richard: You idiot!

Tsonda lunges at Dawkins hand and it’s fair to say that the clapping of those two hands together brings forth the biggest ovation Dawkins has ever gotten (save, maybe his impressive victory over Jason Natas at UltraViolence…maybe).

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Dawkins hits the ring like some sorta ass-kicking robot that eats pineapples. Jack looks up just in time to see a clothesline that puts him on his, as the Brits would say, fanny.

Nick: Dawkins has wanted a piece of Union Jack for a long time. And now he’s gonna get some.

Richard: Do we need the Champ to step back in there and restore some damn order?

It’s just the same thing again when Jack reaches his feet. From across the ring, Dawkins comes rushing and puts him on the mat with a swinging DDT.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: This Birmingham crowd is going bananas for Dawkins! In a matchup that features your Colossus main event, there’s an unlikely show-stealer.

Richard: Pfffft. He’s just a pawn in Shakur’s endgame and nothing more.

As Jack tries to shake off the cobwebs, the youngster gets himself situated on the middle rope. He tests his footing and waits for his opportunity. On the other side of the ring, Shakur looks like he might murder someone. Tsonda, on the other hand, is raising his arms. He knows that Dawkins feeds off the crowd like none other and their cheers are raising the Flyin’ Hawaiian to new heights. Dawkins takes this moment to flip Jeeves the middle finger, then comes flying off with a bea-yoo-tiful hurricanrana that sends Jack, a crumpled mess, to the mat.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Hurricanrana! It could be over!

One…

Two…

Three!

But there’s no bell-ringing because nobody except the Birmingham faithful was counting. Wesley James was taking care of Devin Shakur, who saw fit to try and interject himself the in the match.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Dawkins looks up just in time to see Chandler Tsonda come flying across the ring and pull Shakur over the top rope, into the fray. Wesley James tries to step in between them, but Tsonda and Shakur continue to go at it, trading lefts and rights to the crowd’s delight.

Nick: They can’t wait until Colossus!

Dawkins is up on his feet, but can only watch the situation. He still harbors doubts about whom to trust and since Jack can’t be pinned, there’s nothing to do but watch. Dawkins realizes something he can do, though, and with a nod to Wesley James, he comes up behind Tsonda and grabs him. Tsonda is seething at first, but Dawkins tells him, calmly, to return to their corner.

Richard: The young buck is the one talking sense. Ha!

There appears to be a serious discussion between the two, as Wesley James escorts Shakur back to his corner. Union Jack starts crawling to that corner as Dawkins and Tsonda continue to chat. The gist of the conversation seems to be that Tsonda was about to take Shakur out of the match and if Dawkins doesn’t like that (and winning), he can take it and stick it in a dark cavity somewhere south of his belt.

Nick: After that great flurry, now these two are gonna get into it? No, no, no.

Richard: Cohesive, they ain’t.

Neither man is in the corner yet, but it doesn’t quite matter. Tsonda is calmed down, about to climb back into his corner. But he sees Union Jack make a diving tag to Shakur and points to their corner. Dawkins turns around, but just sees Shakur coming out of the corner again, with Jack reaching his feet. Both men charge respective Colossus opponents. Dawkins floors Union Jack with a spear, but Shakur makes a late, nifty sidestep, and shoves Tsonda out of the ring between the second and third ropes.

Richard: I don’t think that idiot realizes that a legal tag was made in the other corner! Hahaha.

Indeed, Dawkins is covering Union Jack, but Wesley James shakes his head, explaining the situation. Dawkins leaps to his feet, but Shakur’s been lying in wait for precious seconds. Just ask Cozen, Danny Ferguson, and Easton Hall how well it works to give Devin Shakur a couple seconds.

The impact is loud and certainly painful as the high roundhouse kick crunches against the side of Dawkins’s head. Shakur falls onto his opponent and Wesley James slides in for a count.

One…

Two…

Three!

Tsonda is just sliding into the ring as the bell tolls, ending his hope of getting a leg up on Devin Shakur for their Colossus encounter. But that’s not his biggest concern right now: beating the living hell out of Shakur is.

Nick: This isn’t over, apparently!

Tsonda grabs Shakur’s arm and whips him at the ropes. The Universal Champion is taken somewhat by surprise and the Viet Viper catches him, then brings him slamming into the mat with a spinebuster.
Richard: That pussy doesn’t use spinebusters.

Nick: He does when he’s hopping mad that Shakur would try to turn Dawkins against him! Anything goes!

Even though the match is lost, the crowd raucously cheers Tsonda’s offense against Shakur. He urges Shakur up again and when the champion reaches his feet, Tsonda’s right there to put him down with a hell of a leg lariat.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

In the corner of the ring, Bryan Dawkins is woozily regaining his feet. He rubs his eyes, trying to figure out the situation in front of him. What he sees is Shakur slowly getting to his feet, with a red-hot Tsonda staring him down, waiting. And then he watches as Tsonda runs and takes off. Next, he sees nothing.

Nick: NO!

Richard: Not today, Chan Chan!

Tsonda went for a missile dropkick that Shakur ducked and the still groggy Dawkins caught right in the chest. The Model Citizen immediately recoils in horror as he watches Dawkins crash, back-first, against the turnbuckle, and slump into the corner. Even the crowd goes quiet.

Nick: Damn Shakur!

Richard: WHAT?! That was all Tsonda, what are you smoking?

Tsonda tries to wake Dawkins, shaking him by the shoulder. But he just took the full-force of a dropkick and went into the turnbuckle as hard as you can. Tsonda looks up at the entrance and beckons for EMT’s. Dawkins is out cold.

Nick: This is a damn shame of way to end things.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

And Tsonda joins the "out cold" party as Devin Shakur, the erstwhile schemer, SLAMS the Universal Title into the back of his head. It goes without saying that Shakur snuck out of the ring during this time, grabbed his belt, and got back in while Tsonda was otherwise distracted.

Richard: Yes! Sweet baby Jesus, yes!

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

Yes, he’s an asshole. But he’s the asshole. He’s the Universal Champion. And he stands tall above Chandler Tsonda, a terrifying smile on his face, like he took a page out of Tony Gamble’s book. He underscores his attack with several stomps into Tsonda’s back, right before he spits on the downed form of the Model Citizen.

Nick: Absolutely deplorable behavior. How this damn coward could fight so valiantly one week, then pull this the next will never make sense to me.

Richard: That’s why you aren’t a Natural Born Winna like Shakur.

With the crowd still booing their Southern hearts out, and EMT’s making their way down for Dawkins (and probably Tsonda, now), the final shot is of Devin Shakur. He slings the Universal Title over his shoulder, gives a half-nod to the now-risen Union Jack, and turns his back on the carnage he just created.

Hey, kids! It's High Flyer!

(Applause sign!)

Walking down the hallway by his lonesome, the white-haired half of the PRIME Tag Team Champions is minding his own business. For some reason, he has a large ice cream sundae and he can't seem to finish it. So he's likely looking for either Mary-Lynn Mayweather or Dusk to help him finish it.

Imagine Dusk trying to eat ice cream without him trying to superkick the bowl so that the ice cream flies up in the air and he can eat it all in one big gulp, because I promise you that you cannot.

Anyway, Flyer smiles and waves at some of the Enemigos, even if he knows deep down inside that they just wanted some of his sundae and he just wouldn't allow them to have it. Partially because he doesn't know whether they're friends or enemies and mostly because he finds it creepy how they just keep multiplying like frickin' bunnies.

Perhaps because he's so busy waving at masked men, Flyer doesn't notice the gust of air behind him until it's too late.

SMACK!

That is the sound of steel hitting skull. Unfortunately for High Flyer, it's his skull getting the steel chair.

Flyer tumbles forward and lands on his stomach, clutching the back of his head in pain. The Enemigos, minus their 36th bretheren this week, look up in horror at the man holding the steel chair. Although he is dressed in his street clothes, he is easily identified by his Kevin Garnett Celtics jersey and his long blonde hair.

Simon Knox: (calmly) Don't think of this as an attack, Flyer.

Simon Knox, the arrogant, dismissive half of the Princes of New England, looks down on High Flyer with his usual poker face. What goes on behind that face is anyone's guess, but it's clear his intentions are written in pain.

Simon Knox: This... is a receipt.

High Flyer, getting up onto his hands and knees, confusedly gets up to his feet and attempts to throw a punch at one of the six Simon Knox blurs standing in front of him, but he misses by about 1.341981 miles and collapses on the ground. Simon looks down at Flyer after this attempt at a punch, and simply holds his index finger and thumb slightly apart from each other.

Simon Knox: (dryly) You missed.

Flyer gets back up onto his knees, just in time to see steel chair again.

*SMACK!*

Flyer crumples onto his back like a turtle. Simon stands over Flyer, steel chair still in his hand. He still maintains the same detached look on his face, but it's clear from his eyes that he's looking down at Flyer with callous disdain.

Simon Knox: That's for what you did to Miranda.

Simon tosses the chair to his feet with a clatter. Flyer stirs, but is very loopy. Simon leans in and grabs Flyer by his Mohawk, lifting his head high to his own. He looks like he's going to verbally tear him a new one...

*BANG!*

Not the sound a gunshot, but Simon mistook it for one. Dusk came crashing through a nearby merchandise stand, sending unbought bubble heads of Devin Shakur and Lindsay Troy to smash on the concrete.

Tyler Rayne stomps through, and lifts Dusk up by his hair. Rayne starts striking Dusk with stiff punches. One after the other, until Dusk blocks one and monkeyflips Rayne off.

Dusk recovers to his feet, and charges forward, leaping into Rayne’s midsection and forcing them to crash through an oddly placed sheet of window glass. Both men continued brawling down the hallway.

Simon Knox turns to the Lunatic, and they each share a quite puzzled look. This look lasts long enough for Simon to blast the Lunatic with one final chair shot. "Oh, and that one’s from Connor too."

Simon Knox adjusts his Celtics jersey, and confidently storms off.

Moments later, Mary-Lynn Mayweather and Tony Davis appear in the hallway. Mary-Lynn Mayweather rushes over to Flyer, and clutches him as he bleeds from his forehead. Tony drops his DS in horror, and falls to his knees as he sees the now destroyed ice cream sundae.

"THOSE MANIACS!" Tony Davis shouts as he begins to openly weep. "DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!"

Richard: PIN HIM! PIN HIM! HE'S BEAT! HE'S BEAT! PIN HIM!

But Youngblood is not diving for the pin. He's standing up, the fans cheering both men on. At some point, the lines between heel and face became blurred.

Nick: HE SLASHES THE THROAT! PULLING THE STRAPS TO THAT SINGLET DOWN!

Richard: IT'S GRIDLOCK TIME!

Youngblood stomps his feet into the canvas, his hands on his knees. He does it again, looking down at Nova, who is trying with everything he has to get to his feet.

Nick: Nova is standing up...his eyes glazed...he might not even know who he is YOUNGBLOOD SHOOTS IN! HE BRINGS HIM DOWN TO THE CANVAS! GRIDLOCK! GRIDLOCK! GRIDLOCK! HE GOT HIM!

Richard: UNBELIEVABLE! HE'S GOT HIM NICK! HE! HAS! GOT HIM!

Nova screams in pain as Youngblood pulls back. Melissa is jumping up and down. The fans are on their feet, in anticipation. These fans had seen much on this July evening in Detroit, but they had never seen something like this.

Nick: YOUNGBLOOD! YOUNGBLOOD! YOUNGBLOOD HAS BEEN HOLDING ON TO THAT HOLD FOR FIFTEEN SECONDS! NOVA TRYING TO GUT IT OUT!

Richard: HE'S GOT TO GIVE IT UP IT'S OVER!

Nick: YOUNGBLOOD HOLDING ON! NOVA IS CLOSE TO THE ROPES BUT I DON'T THINK HE KNOWS THAT!

Richard: BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD IS THE NEW! PRIME! FIVE! STAR! CHAMPION!

Nick: NOVA'S ENTIRE BODY HAS TO BE SCREAMING IN PAIN! NOVA...TRYING TO HOLD ON!

Forty five seconds...the Gridlock has been in for almost a full minute.

Richard: HE GAVE UP! HE GAVE UP!

Nick: NO...NO NOT YET! NO!

Richard: HE GAVE UP!

Wesley James is right there, asking and asking. Nova is still fighting. And after a full minute and fifteen seconds in one of the most devestating submission holds in professional wrestling, Nova is still fighting for what he believes in.

Nick: HE'S TRYING! THAT FOOT! I DON'T THINK HE KNOWS THE ROPE IS THERE!

Richard: BRANDON PULLS BACK WITH EVERYTHING HE HAS!

Without knowing, Nova's body just falls apart, the leg dropping across the rope.

Nick: FOOT ON THE ROPES! FOOT ON THE ROPES! NOVA SURVIVED! BUT MY GOD...THE DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE!

Youngblood does not hold on even for a one count. Wesley James tells him to break, and he does, dropping to his face.

Richard: WHAT A MATCH!

And the fans are up, clapping. The match has crossed over past the hour, and we are still down to two men with their wills being tested.

Nick: THIS IS THIS GREATEST MATCH I'VE EVER SEEN! EVER SEEN! THIS IS PURE GREATNESS HERE! FOR OVER SIXTY MINUTES, NOVA AND BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD GAVE THEIR HEARTS...THEIR SOULS...THEY LET IT ALL OUT AND BY GOD...BY GOD...BY GOD...THIS...

Richard: You're going to have a stroke!

Youngblood is grabbing at the ropes, pulling himself up. He looks at Nova, who is now on his hands and knees, crawling. He's done. Everything he has is spent.

Nick: And Youngblood coming in (SFX: TH-WACK!) he nails him in the back with a forearm to the back, and now Nova grabbing at the ropes (SFX: BAM!) Youngblood with a knee right to the back! (SFX: BAM!) (SFX: BAM!) And he continues to drive that knee into that back is devestating!

Richard: He can't believe he's not won this match yet! I think he's gonna have to pin Nova I don't think he'll give up to the Gridlock.

Nick: Youngblood grabbing the hair, lifting him up and dropping his with a pendulum backbreaker! Nova scrapping! Clawing! He needs to get out of the ring if he wants to survive! Youngblood showing him no quarter as he lifts him up...irish whip (SFX: THUD!) BACK BODY DROP!

Richard: DAMN!

Nick: I'm feeling that Nova is going to stay in this too long...he won't give up...

Richard: I don't think so either...I mean...these two are beyond giving up at this point!

Nick: Youngblood, lifting Nova up...irish whip to the corner and WAIT! HE PUT ON THE BREAKS! YOUNGBLOOD (SFX: TH-WAAAAAAAAACK! Crowd EXPLODES!) AXE BOMBER! NOVA HIT HIM WITH A CLOTHESLINE TO THE FACE, AND THEIR BOTH DOWN NOW!

Richard: OH MAN! THAT SENDS SHIVERS DOWN MY SPINE!

Nick: Nova and Youngblood...both men down...I am thinking this is it...this has to be it! These men...my god this is one of the longest matches in the history of professional wrestling...and right now I think it's the longest singles match in the history of PRIME! Both men...getting up...

Richard: They both look physically spent!

Nick: Youngblood with a vicious boot to the midsection of Nova, he goes for the irish whip NOVA REVERSES BRANDON REVERSES HE CATCHES HIM (SFX: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM~!) SPINEBUSTER! SPINEBUSTER! RESPONDING SPINEBUSTER! THAT...THAT HAS TO DO IT!

Richard: My god...that spinebuster was resounding!

Brandon dove on top of Nova and hooked the leg.

Nick: AND HERE IT IS! ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NO! NO! NO! NOVA IS STILL ALIVE!

Richard: HOW?!

Melissa is calm. Brandon is calm. Nova, however, has just lost too much. And now, Brandon stands up and waits, his hands on his knees.

Richard: GRIDLOCK TIME! AGAIN! BRANDON KNOWS THIS! I DON'T KNOW IF IT WILL GET HIM THE WIN AT THIS POINT...BUT IT WOULD BE CRIPPLING!

Nick: Nova getting up...he's on his last legs...those legs about to give way...Nova trying to stand tall and Youngblood shoots in HALF NELSON AND HE TURNS IT! GRIDLOCK! GRIDLOCK! GRIDLOCK! RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!

The fans are in the background, trying to will Nova on even though right now, it looks very bleak for the 5-Star Champion.

"LETS GO NOVA!"

CLAPCLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!

"LETS GO NOVA!"

CLAPCLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!

"LETS GO NOVA!"

CLAPCLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!

Richard: NOVA IS TRYING!

Nick: THIS KID...HE'S SHOWN US EVERYTHING HE HAS TONIGHT! YOUNGBLOOD PULLING BACK!

Brandon Youngblood: TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

Nick: WESLEY JAMES ASKING! NOVA IS JUST IN PAIN! HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING! HE'S JUST TRYING TO LAST THIS OUT!

Richard: IT'S OVER! IT HAS TO BE! NOVA'S FOUGHT THROUGH EVERYTHING BUT THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ANY MAN!

Nick: KID! YOU CAN FIGHT THIS MAN ANOTHER DAY! DON'T RUIN YOUR CAREER HERE OVER PRIDE!

Thirty seconds in the Gridlock, Nova understood.

He'd been the greatest 5-Star Champion of all time. He'd done things in PRIME already that many can only dream to achieve. He was a big player. An almost definate future Universal Champion.

And he'd just fought the match of his life.

It was over.

TAP!

TAP!

TAP!





WINNER: Brandon Youngblood







Nick: NOVA TAPS! HE TAPS OUT! WE HAVE A NEW 5-STAR CHAMPION! Instantly, Brandon lets go of the hold and rolls over, his head against the mat. Wait by Earshot begins to blare over the speakers as Wesley James leaves the ring to get the 5-Star Championship belt. And the fans were all standing.

Clapping.

Richard: What a match...Nick...I think that just set the bar.

Nick: I've never seen anything like that...I've never felt so proud to call a wrestling match in my career. Folks...what you just witnessed was special.

Melissa entered the ring as Nova just laid there, grabbing at the ropes trying to rationalize what had happened, his body in complete and utter pain.

Nick: And Melissa Youngblood in the ring, she's on her knees by her husband who has his head against the canvas.

Richard: As a wrestling fan...I have to say that while Brandon won...Nova refused to die. He kept fighting...kept trying to work his way through it...it's just that he didn't have enough.

Nick: This match...it was a war of attrition. A war of stamina. And my god...I swear to god...we will see these two in the ring again. Their both young studs...like them or hate them...with what they just did, you have to say damn.

Richard: This is how wrestling should be...it truly is.

Nick: Caesar...Brandon...you made everyone proud.

Youngblood brought his head off the canvas, tears streaming down his sweat covered face. Melissa draws him in, the fans continuing to clap. Wesley James comes into the ring presenting the 5-Star Championship to the new champion. Brandon stood up, crying as he took the belt into his hands. Wesley James then rose the arm of Brandon victory as Wait looped on through again. Brandon rested his back into the corner, looking at the fans, hugging the PRIME 5-Star Championship against his chest.

Nick: And Nova is up...he's covered in sweat...he's trying to suck in as much air as he can and he's drawing closer towards Brandon.

Richard: I don't like this.

Nova looks right into the eyes of his opponent.

And he extended his hand.

Youngblood took it, and they shook.

Nick: It was an amazing match...with two amazing athletes...in a night that I know in my heart...I will never forget...as long as I live!

And the cameras went elsewhere, but still in the Pontiac Silverdome, stood Brandon Youngblood, Nova, and Melissa Youngblood. Brandon and Caesar Vega hugged in that corner, Vega lifting the arm of his in character rival.

Melissa came into the picture, raising Vega's other arm.

And the fans clapped and gave the loudest round of cheers of the night.

Brandon Youngblood and Nova went into Colossus II mortals.

And they are now leaving as gods.

Nick: And now it's time for the fourth of the first-round matches in the Elite Championship Tournament! Earlier this week, PRIME went 1-1, as our own Wade Elliott defeated SCCW's Gateway Champion, Mayhem, but Devin Shakur came up a hair short against free agent Andy Murray!

Richard: He is not a free agent, he's in... that one place I can never remember the name of.

Nick: Plus, Captain Justice and Simon Knox's brother, NFW's Steve Knox, defeated EPW Champion Jesse Jamester. Now, we'll see the first Ringside Wrestling Commonwealth champion take on the man who, earlier this week, upset Jonathan Rhine to become the new SCCW champion.

Richard: Wait, it's two guys not in PRIME? Whose headshots will they -- I mean, why do we bother?

Nick: Let's go down to Vince Howard for the introductions here on ReVolution 167!

Vince Howard would like us to remind the ladies in the audience that he has a really big penis.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty-minute time limit, and is a first-round match in the Elite Championship tournament!

Like, a REALLY big one.

Vince Howard: Introducing first!

The house lights fade and multi-colored strobe lights begin to flicker. A thick grey fog pours from the backstage area and the crowd gets riled up in anticipation, some booing heavily -- it's easy to find rW on YouTube.

Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?

Vince Howard: He fights out of Everett, Massachusetts and weighed in tonight at two hundred and three pounds!

I woke up in a Soho doorway
A policeman knew my name
He said "You can go sleep at home tonight
If you can get up and walk away"

Vince Howard: STEVEN! HOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!

Holt glares around ringside as the music dies.

Nick: Steven Holt has had quite an impressive run in Ringside Wrestling -- he was the federation's first Commonwealth champion and his membership in W.H.A.T. --

Richard: WHAT?

Nick; ...is especially noteworthy.

The lights dim and the sound of an old movie projector starting up can clearly be heard over the arena's PA system. As the projector whirs into life, video begins to flicker on the SinScreen. It blurs out of a focus for a moment before resolving into clarity. The footage has been cleaned up as best as possible but it still shows its age. It is the opening for The Incredible Hulk and it begins like so:

Voiceover: Dr. David Banner -- physician, scientist. Searching for a way to tap into the hidden strengths that all humans have. Then an accidental overdose of gamma radiation alters his body chemistry.

The music playing behind the video begins to pick up speed slightly as our narrator continues.

Voiceover: And now when David Banner grows angry or outraged, a startling metamorphosis occurs.

Onscreen, David's eyes turn a sudden, violent shade of green. His body locks rigid and begins to expand, erupting with muscle while turning a deep shade of green. The scene cuts and the creature now stands at the top of a hill, growling at the universe. The narrator continues.

Voiceover: The creature is driven by rage...

The video begins to shake and stutter, the same sequence repeating several times. Finally, the film appears to burn out leaving the screen black. The audio, however, is still coming through. We hear once again

Voiceover: The creature is driven by rage...

Quickly followed by...

Voiceover: Mister McGee, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

The cheer is loud, because you can see SCCW on the tee-vee.

The driving guitars of Muse's "Supermassive Black Hole" blast out over the PA system as the Marshalls make their presence known at the top of the aisle.

Oh baby don't you know I suffer?
Oh baby can't you hear me moan?
You caught me under false pretenses
How long before you let me go?

Lance prowls his way down the aisle, each step being made with deliberate precision. Even in a sport known for impressively developed individuals, Lance Marshall can still manage to give an audience pause. He is heavily muscled and incredibly defined, to the point where he’d make your average comic book powerhouse look small... and the sense of power radiating from him leaves no doubt that the muscles are not just for show. Clad in a pair of black wrestling trunks with a gold lion's head emblem imprinted on them and a pair of black wrestling boots with the same lion's head emblem on each, he makes his way down the aisle with a grace one would not expect from a man of his size.

Oooh...You set my soul alight
Oooh...You set my soul alight

(oooh...You set my soul alight)
Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive

Vince Howard: And his opponent! Accompanied to the ringside area by his wife, Alanna! He hails from New York, New York and weighs in at three hundred and twenty pounds!

Lance slaps at the hands at the hands lining the aisle, his gaze never straying from his opponent inside the ring. His eyes seem to almost burn with energy. As he approaches the ring, a smile slowly starts to creep along his mouth.

I thought I was a fool for no-one
Oh baby I'm a fool for you
You're the queen of the superficial
And how long before you tell the truth

By his side, as always, is Alanna. She steps forward with a height and strength that almost screams "Amazon", an impression only heightened by her impressively athletic build. Long black hair tumbles lazily down her back, spilling down the back of the black tank top she has on. Jeans that look almost spray painted on do everything to heighten the fact that Alanna's legs are both incredibly well developed and almost absurdly long. The smile on her face is bewitching, full of joy and life, ruby red lips and dazzling teeth standing out against her olive complexion.

Oooh...You set my soul alight
Oooh...You set my soul alight

(oooh...You set my soul alight)
Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive

Vince Howard: The NEW! Sin City Championship Wrestling Universal Champion! "THE LION!" LAAAAAAAAAANCE! MAAAAAAAAARRRRRSHALLLLLL!!

As she makes her way down the aisle, Alanna stops to slap some hands and, making someone's year, gives one college age male fan a quick kiss on the cheek.

Supermassive black hole
Supermassive black hole
Supermassive black hole
Supermassive black hole

Alanna smiles at her man as she parts the ropes, allowing him entrance into the ring. In return, he gives her a kiss before returning his attention to his opponent.

Nick: The SCCW champion and the first rW champion about to go at it and --

[SFX: DING-DING-DING!]

Nick: Here we go! Steven Holt is hideously outsized by Lance Marshall, and that shows immediately as the Ringside superstar wants nothing to do with a collar-and-elbow tie-up from the SCCW champion!

Richard: Really, who wants to tie up with a sweaty guy in wrestling trunks?

Nick: I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.

Marshall lunges for Holt, who ducks underneath the big man and comes up with a snapping knife-edge chop. The crowd goes "WOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Nick: Holt drives Marshall back a stride with a SNAPPING chop!

"WOOOOOOOOOO!" they say.

Nick: And another! Steven Holt with an early flurry of offense, knocking the SCCW's Lion into the ropes!

Holt grabs Marshall by one arm, whipping him across the ring.

Or, at least that's the plan.

Nick: Marshall! Marshall has hold of the top rope and he's not going anywhere!

Holt pulls, once, twice, and then drops another punch in to try to loosen the grip. It doesn't work so well.

Nick: Marshall blocks the Irish whip! Reversed by Lance! Holt is fired across the ring and -- BANG! Clothesline! Clothesline and down goes Holt! Marshall yanks him back to his feet --

Richard: What's the point of knocking a guy down if you keep pulling him up? I mean, really.

Nick: Belly-to-belly overhead suplex--NO! Holt sneaks a headbutt in! Marshall's eyes water --

Richard: There's no crying in wrestling!

Nick: And Holt gets his arms free! Hard knee lift into the Lion's midsection and snaps off a DDT! DDT by Steven Holt! Early cover!




ONE!!



Marshall powers out, launching Holt so high, he nearly reaches the middle rope.

Nick: Lance Marshall may just be the strongest man in this arena tonight -- and after what we saw with Killean Sirrajin and Captain Justice earlier, that's saying something!

Richard: Kiss-ass.

Nick: Marshall gets up to a knee and -- Holt is relentless! Steven Holt may be somewhat inexperienced in the ring, but he has to know how much of a size difference there is. Running forearm to the head and -- Marshall! Marshall buries a fist in the stomach of Steven Holt and nearly launches him off the mat!

Marshall pushes himself to his feet, driving a forearm upwards with him, sending Holt reeling. The Lion follows by stepping in and -- yep, this time he hits the spinning belly-to-belly.

Nick: What air! What impressive air from Lance Marshall! This is my first time seeing Lance Marshall, but it was no fluke that he beat Jonathan Rhine -- Xavier Kannon's assistance notwithstanding.

Richard: If you love the guy so much, why don't you marry him?

Nick: Lance pulls Holt back to his feet, whips across the ring, clothesl--no! Holt holds onto the ropes! Holt holds onto the ropes and Marshall charges forward! Marshall charges forward and Steven! Steven Holt with a back body drop! He was just barely able to put the SCCW Universal Champion to the floor!

Richard: Which means the camera is going to swoop down on the lovely Alanna Marshall. Come to me, my lovely.

Nick: You know she'd break you like a twig, right?

Richard: You say this like it'd be a bad thing.

Nick: Marshall up on the floor and -- aww, she just gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Richard: "Aww"? "Aww"? There's no "aww" in professional wrestling!

Nick: They're cute.

Richard: There is no cute, either!

Nick: Marshall climbs back up onto the apron and -- HOLT! Holt with a running start -- high knee! Marshall dodges to the side and grabs the Ringside superstar and -- guillotine! Guillotine from Lance Marshall! Marshall under the bottom rope and back into the ring and -- stiff kick to the face of Steven Holt!

Richard: So much for being the nice guy.

Nick: It's not about being the nice guy, it's about the Elite Championship!

Richard: But you said he was cute!

Nick: Marshall picks up Holt and whips him across the ring --

Richard: NOT reversed! Amazing!

Nick: Steven Holt goes into the corner back first and -- MARSHALL! Marshall goes airborne with a splash into the corner! That's three hundred and twenty pounds sandwiching Steven Holt into the corner!

Richard: You know, ow and all.

Nick: Marshall steps to the side and -- Holt flops down to the mat face-first! Lance swoops in and -- he shoots the full nelson!

Richard: What'd Nelson ever do to him?

Nick: Elvis Nixon into position!




ONE!!!









TW--


Nick: No! Holt slips the shoulder out! Lance up and the SCCW Champion waits for Steven Holt! He waits for Steven and -- clothesline -- DUCKED! Holt snags the head and hits a flying neckbreaker! Marshall is down and a guy on his back is just what Steven Holt likes!

Richard: ...

Nick: Not everything is a double entendre!

Richard: That's what she said.

Nick: That doesn't even make sense!

Richard: That's what she said.

Nick: Holt now -- stiff kick to the side of the knee!

Richard: Work the knee~!

Nick: You know they can't hear the tilde.

Richard: Tilde?

Nick: Holt machine-gunning those piston-like kicks to the side of the leg of Lance Marshall!

Richard: Dude, you're mixing your metaphors.

Nick: That's one way! That's one way to bring a big man down to your side! Everyone's the same size on their backs!

Richard: That is categorically untrue.

Nick: Steven Holt muscling up Lance Marshall -- knee breaker! Knee breaker from Holt! He's trying to soften up the Lion's leg --

Richard: Shouldn't that be the Lion's paw?

Nick: No. He's going for it! For the Massachusetts Cloverleaf!

Richard: Ye gods, he'd better not be from Kansas and calling it that.

Nick: Steven Holt trying to grapevine those tree trunks Lance Marshall has the audacity to call legs! But that's too much leg and --

Normally, PRIME fans are... we're not going to call them stoic, but it takes a lot for someone who's not a PRIMEate. But Lance Marshall is just so gosh-darn likeable.

"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Plus, he's really strong.

Nick: Marshall! Marshall kicks Steven Christopher Holt right off! Impressive leg strength!

Richard: But Holt keeps getting up!

Nick: Holt right back to his feet! Double footed dropkick -- swatted aside by Marshall! Marshall up to his feet and begging Holt on! Both of these men have such competitive fire!

Richard: Yeah, yeah, the Elite Tournament is good and all, but can you believe Devin lost? I blame SCCW.

Nick: Why?

Richard: Because it's fun.

Nick: Holt off the ropes -- shoulder block by the Lion! Steven Holt's not going to get anywhere with that, Richard!

Richard: I don't think he intends to.

Nick: Holt off the ropes again -- Marshall with a clothesline and Holt! Holt hooks on a backslide! Steven Christopher Holt trying to sneak out a win!




ONE!!










TWO!!


Nick: Just two! Just a two-count! Holt back up to his feet! He charges right back in for the legs but -- BAM! Lunging clothesline! Lunging clothesline by Marshall and Steven Holt is down!

Richard: Our fans have eyes, Nick. They can see that.

Marshall pulls himself up to his feet, shaking out that left leg that's been the focus of Steven Holt's most recent bout of offense as he stalks across the ring and snatches up Holt.

Nick: The new Sin City Champion snatches up Steven Holt and hooks a front facelock! Lance Marshall with a front facelock and -- he lifts Holt vertical! Marshall holds Holt vertically! He holds Steven Holt straight up!

Richard: Jeez, you're acting like you've never seen a suplex before.

Nick: Marshall now -- Orange Crush! Delayed Orange Crush from the SCCW Champion! Marshall holds for the pin count!





ONE!!










TWO!!








THRE--

Nick: No! Kickout! Steven Holt just barely got the shoulder up! Just barely got the shoulder up!

Richard: Lance Marshall is strong -- we get it.

Richard Parker and Eugene Ware should compare notes sometime.

Nick: Lance back to his feet, pulls Holt up again and -- jawbreaker! Just when Lance Marshall gets rolling, Steven Holt sneaks in another offensive move to turn the tide back in his favor.

Richard: Come on! You could land a 747 on Marshall's chin!

Nick: Holt sneaks a boot in and -- the DDT! The double-arm DDT! Lance Marshall is down on his stomach and -- Holt's not going to play around with the Cloverleaf right now! He pulls up Marshall's legs and -- yes! He's got it hooked in! Boston's Own Boston Crab! Boston's Own Boston Crab!

Richard: How is Holt even standing?

The Boston's Own Boston Crab differs from a standard Boston Crab as Steven Holt is nearly horizontal with the pull.

Nick: Elvis Nixon checking Marshall! In my research of Lance Marshall, I could not find the last match that Lance submitted in, but Steven Holt has made the best in rW tap out!

It takes a tremendous center of gravity to do what Steven Holt is doing right now.

It takes impressive power for Lance Marshall to do what he does.

Nick: Marshall! Marshall pushing up! Marshall pushing up with just his hands! Lance Marshall, nearly carrying the weight of Steven Christopher Holt across his back, pushes up and uses that leg strength again to straighten Holt up!

The sudden shift of Marshall's position causes Steven Holt to break the hold. Marshall rolls up to a knee.

Nick: Holt waits for Marshall! Running start! Shining Wizard -- he missed! Marshall back up to his feet, Holt continues to the other side and -- he's going for the Black Swan Theory, I think! Marshall turns, Holt wraps the Lion's neck up and --



[Dramatic pause.]



Nick: No! Marshall slips his head free! Holt misses with the high knee! Marshall spins Holt around! He lifts the former rW Commonwealth Champion up -- TORTURE RACK!

Marshall's torture rack comes from nowhere. The spin and the drop -- they go somewhere. It's called the Code Red.

Nick: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! CODE RED! CODE RED!

The spine-jarring impact sends Steven Holt briefly airborne.

Nick: Marshall turns and snatches the leg!






ONE!!













TWO!!













THREE!!

[SFX: DING-DANG-DONE.]

Vince Howard: The winner of this bout and advancing to face Steve Knox in the Elite Tournament semifinals! "THE LION!" LAAAAAAAAAAANCE! MAAAAAAAARSHALL!!

Nick: Lance Marshall hits the Code Red out of nowhere and we've got the fourth member of our final four for the Elite Championship!

Richard: Can we go back to PRIME now?

Nick: SCCW has a hell of a new champion -- a man who might very well become the Elite Champion, here at Colossus V!

Richard: YOU ARE NOT READY.

ENTER: The bustling PRIME backstage, the source of 95% (approx. eight hours) of the wrestling monolith’s weekly content, and yet somehow also oft-overlooked for the sheer volume of employees running around with clipboards, squinting into video monitors, pushing equipment trucks around. If the roster is the heart of it all, they are the brain…

…and the Admin Star shows them serious love.

Nova: (Slapping "drive-by" high fives) Benny, my man! You get my e-mail? That gonna work for you? Lunch, next week, I’m buying! Oh-ho-ho, I’ve SEEN you at a buffet, sir, and I’ll just say there were a couple of times I reached for a Crab Rangoon and thought you were gonna take my fuckin’ hand off! (Pointing) Cheryl! Talk to me! My God, is it your husband’s birthday or something, that blouse is STUNNING! Get at me later!

He stops several feet before the door with a placard reading "Executive Cabinet" and spins around, proceeding to close the distance with a moonwalk before spinning around, gripping the knob, and flinging the door open dramatically.

Nova: WHAT UP, BUREAUCRATIC BITCHEEEEEEEEEEES!!

The scene inside the boardroom is somber, cold. On one side of the shiny oak table sit Head of Security Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas and Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison to PRIME, and on the other, a stone-faced Executive Producer C.P. Cantrell. Silver, bandaged head from his earlier hellacious match with Killean Sirrajin, is drawing his hand across his throat quickly in a "Dude, cut it out, he’s pissed" kind of way, but Nova either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

We’ll take "doesn’t care" for 500, Alex.

Nova: What is this, an audience or an oil painting? Why the long face, Chuck? You finally realize I bet Sonny twenty-five bucks he couldn’t sneak into your apartment and take a shit in your toilet’s water tank?

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: DUDE.

Cantrell no-sells the admission of crudity, his mouth curling into a snarl as he holds up a piece of paper.

C.P. Cantrell: What. The FUCK. Is this?

The mirth drains out of Nova’s face as if someone pulled a "comedy bathtub plug" in the bottom of his shoe. He walks up to the desk past Dam and Silver, puts his hands down, and leans into Cantrell’s face.

Nova: What’s the matter, Chucky, can’t read? That’s the only conclusion *I* could draw after your little signing spree last week. That, right there, in your hands? That’s a binding contract. So EAT. MY. FUCKING. SHORTS.

Cantrell springs out of his chair, red-faced and un-intimidated.

C.P. Cantrell: Is this some kind of game to you?! Sneaking wrestling contracts into a stack of paperwork? What the fuck else was in there? After I gave you a JOB…

Nova: OHHHHHH, GO FUCK YOURSELF NINE TIMES, YOU PRETENTIOUS BASTARD! "Gave me a job?" You FIRED me, Cantrell! YOU, the new guy who knew approximately JACK SHIT about how PRIME works, sided with some prickish n00b reporter over ME, who gave this place everything I had, personally, professionally…you fucked me, and then your consolation prize to back yourself out of legal trouble was a BULLSHIT job meant to shoebox me away into some dark and dusty corner, out of which I emerged through a combination of my own *gasp* intelligence, and the help of these guys! (Gestures to Silver and Dam) So fuck your notions of charity, because I’d MUCH rather be out there in the ring in my shin-guards and elbow pads than in here listening to your garbage every week!

C.P. Cantrell: WELL HALF OF THAT CAN BE REMEDIED!

Sonny turns to Dam, and an enormous anime tear dangles at the corner of his eye.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: I hate it when they fight.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: (Patting Silver’s shoulder) S’not yo’ fault, boss. They don’ mean it.

C.P. Cantrell: You just keep PUSHING and PUSHING! What, you’re above the rules - MY rules - because you DID YOUR FUCKING JOB for a few years? They put you in the Hall of Fame! I’ve NEVER seen someone get so fellated around here, and yet you’re not satisfied! You want booking privileges? I'm the new guy, so I have to bow to your every desire just because you're the hot-shit graduate who came back to kick around the halls of his alma mater? Excuse me for making a move that has some fucking business sense, for cutting off a potential FCC nuisance at the knees and forcing him to GROW UP. I don't care WHAT you did for PRIME back in the day, you have no right to dictate how it is run!

Nova: No. No, it’s not about PRIME at all, it’s about YOU. I want to mess with YOUR shit, because I think you’re another installment of the same fucking nonsense that has RIDDLED the foundation of this company! You look around paranoid like everyone’s just trying to siphon your Power away, like anybody would WANT your fucking job, getting your office door kicked in every week while you listen to pro wrestlers bitch about how taxing their dream job is! Give me a fucking break! But still you tighten your asshole up like you’re walkin’ the Yard or something, reigning power in and making random, arbitrary "examples" out of people to show that YOU’RE the guy in charge. Well, FUCK THAT. I'm not talking about what I've DONE in PRIME...I'm talking about what I've SEEN. Motoki, Nelson, Worth…right now you're just the next douche with a name on your door and a thumb up your ass.

C.P. Cantrell: What, you pick up some Che Guevara literature at Bonnaroo? Spare me the noble purposes of the ReVolution revolution, Nov...you're just a malcontent.

Nova: And you're just an asshole.

C.P. Cantrell: I AM AN ASSHOLE. Maybe you can't tell from the backseat, but you can't DO what I do without being an asshole. Regardless of the purity of the sport of wrestling or whatever bullshit you want to spew, this is a television show, and when the red light flicks on behind the lens, nice guys get torn to pieces. I wasn't brought in to boost morale or improve the catering. I'm not a general-fucking-manager. I was brought in to executive produce the shows and to boost ratings. And whether you like the my methods, this asshole is boosting ratings. So FU-

Nova: FUCK YOU, right? (laughs) This is your problem, Chuck. As long as there's a PRIME logo in the bottom right corner of the screen, "Fuck You" means so much more than you even know. But you don't care about history, or where this company's been. You keep thinking that you can look forward and brush anyone who says otherwise behind you. You think you're being fresh and new, but if you even bothered to LEARN about the company you're pathetically trying to run, you'd realize that you're just repeating the same old shit. Maybe I’ll save this company six months and toss your ass out a window if I think it’ll stop this place being run into the red zone by another obsessive TYRANT!

C.P. Cantrell: ARE YOU THREATENING ME?!! (Turning to Silver and Dam) Is he threatening me?!!

"Excuse me!"

All four heads turn to the board room doorway, where none other than the "Pulitzer Prize of Pro Wrestling" Torres Wilson stands, an angry look on his face and one of Nova’s printed Colossus contracts gripped in his hand.

Nova: Oh, you have GOT to be fucking KIDDING me.

Torres Wilson: Ummm, Mr. Cantrell? Have you SEEN this?

For a moment a tic threatens to overcome the Executive Producer as he twitches and blinks several times, his face morphing from a shade of violet to more of a startling indigo. He shoves past Nova and stomps over to Wilson, whose face has changed from "Oh, how uproariously pissed I am" to "Is this guy about to have an aneurysm and collapse, because that would be gross if he shit himself." Cantrell snatches the paper out of Wilson’s hand.

C.P. Cantrell: Have…I seen it? I FUCKING SIGNED IT.

Torres Wilson: I…but you…it says on there…he calls you…

C.P. Cantrell: I KNOW WHAT IT SAYS!!!

Torres Wilson: Well…well…WELL WHAT THE HELL DO YOU PLAN ON DOING ABOUT IT?!!

The Executive Producer leans in closer to Torres, his eyes narrowing.

C.P. Cantrell: Mr. Wilson…I plan on getting drunk and watching my buy-rates shoot through the roof while my Business Utilities Liaison & Securities Head Treasurer drags you all over that cage.

Torres Wilson: You…you sonuvabitch!!

Torres lunges forward, and his head is immediately whipped around as Nova steps in front of C.P. and connects with a fist across Wilson’s face. Torres goes reeling backward and knocks over a ficus plant. Cursing, he climbs to his feet, dusting dirt off his coat and balling up his fists. He takes a step forward and then freezes as Sonny and Dam appear instantly on either side of the Admin Star. The trademark Silver Sneer curls Sonny’s lip as the OLD SKOOL MIC~! lowers from the ceiling. He grabs it and begins thumping it nonchalantly against his palm. Dam cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders. Torres’ eyes dart back and forth between the three men, but his hands relax. Cantrell steps through the protective barrier, glowering at Wilson and pointing a finger at the door.

C.P. Cantrell: I don’t give a shit if you’re the CEO of FX himself…if you EVER want to set foot in this company again, you’ll get the fuck out of my office right now.

Wilson walks to the door and opens it. As he walks out, he turns back and points at Nova.

Torres Wilson: This isn’t over.

Nova: (Lighting a cigarette) No shit. We haven’t gotten to the fun part yet.

With that, the "Ultimate Insider" turns and storms out of the board room. Dam and Sonny both turn to Nova and C.P.. Nova darts a glance at Cantrell, then stares down at the carpet, scratching the back of his neck.

Nova: So, uh…

C.P. Cantrell: There's no smok...Fuck this. We need drinks.

Nova, Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas, & Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: HELL. YES.

Nova, realizing Sonny's head is completely bandaged, glares his way.

Nova: Wait, should you even be drinking? Blood loss and all that?

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: I kinda had Killean hung by my pupil... he did deserve it, though.

Cantrell retreats behind his desk, but casts one more eye up at Nova before picking up the phone.

C.P. Cantrell: And a DVD of Colossus III.

The Admin Star offers a half-smile as he blows a smoke ring toward the ceiling. Dam and Silver exchange an impressed look, but the latter's tune quickly changes as he sinks in.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: Um, could we do IV? I wasn't in the main event of III.

Nova: Yeah, but did you lose a title to a guy who exploded immediately afterwards? No? Then you're not the worst one off here.

C.P. Cantrell: Wait, what? A guy exploded? How the...?

Nova: Oh, Chuck, Chuck, Chuck. Wait 'til the drinks get here. I've got some stories for you...

Stepping outside in the warm summer evening's air, Mary-Lynn Mayweather wiped the sweat from her brow. She thought today was supposed to be an easy evening. But having spent the majority of the evening on her trusty cell phone, dealing with a litigation case over the brand name Viagra, Mary-Lynn was spent.

And she had more phone calls to even make.

Before she could even breath, her phone rang, and quickly she answers it.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: No sir. I was just about to call you. I stepped outside just to do so. What do you mean? I'm not at my office, you know this. You know I don't have an office. I don't even have a car. Listen, my clients aren't the type to, I know. But if you'd just let me get in a word edgew-Listen. Listen to me! Will you stop talking OVER ME?! Law isn't who talks the loudest!

Now, while law might not be about who talks the loudest, if Mary-Lynn has any intention of the person on the other end of the line hearing her, she might need to talk a little louder? Why? Well, because, people are fighting right behind her. Where'd they come from? The arena. Yep, behind her are Dusk and Tyler Rayne as they stumble out of the arena with Dusk slamming his fist as hard as possible into Rayne's face. You can see the blood stained on both men as they've been going at each other all night. Dusk had arrived in a fresh new suit and had lost the suit jacket, tie, dress shirt, and his shoes along the way. Rayne was in no better shape, but neither man showed no sign of slowing down.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Now, sir, as you would well know, statuate--

Yet, she doesn't get to finish it as Rayne stumbles into Mary-Lynn and causes her to trip over her feet so that she's a couple of inches away, but her cell phone down on the ground. She glares at Rayne and Dusk as Dusk gets on top of Rayne and starts laying into Rayne with as much strength as he has!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I was on the phone! You two-- STOP FIGHTING!

However, Dusk and Rayne have no intentions of stopping as Rayne rolls Dusk over and starts slamming his fist into Dusk's face before throwing a trio of elbows to his face! Mary-Lynn sighs as she picks up the cell phone and starts walking away, hoping to get back into her conversation.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Sorry about the intrustion. Now---Nothing, it's of no concern-- but I was saying-- well, if you would-- I have no reason to be talked to as a wall.

Mary-Lynn angirly snaps her phone shut. As she walks away though, Rayne has pulled Dusk and has nailed the Lost Soul with a kick to the midsection that sends Dusk in Mary-Lynn's direction and Rayne runs at him before tackling him to the ground.

Tyler Rayne: I told you I'd bleed you dry, bitch.

Dusk slams his head into Rayne's head to give himself some space! With the head-splitting shot, Mary-Lynn looks back at Dusk and Rayne before sighing again and dropping her phone to her side.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: CHILDREN, the BOTH of you! While I'm not exactly a fan of violence, I understand it. But what I don't understand is why you have to do it HERE!

Yet, Dusk gets up to his feet, slowly, and slams his foot into Rayne's chest, causing the 5-Star Champion to groan in pain.

Dusk: You shouldn't have fucked with me tonight, Tyler! You want to bleed me dry?! Just try it!

Dusk then begins to pull Rayne up off the concrete and nails him with an uppercut! This just upsets Mary-Lynn even more.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You remember what SOCIETY is like, RIGHT?! Save it. NOW!

The yelling doesn't help as Mary-Lynn looks around and finds a few security guards that look like they could help her out. She rushes over to them and taps them on the shoulder before pointing to Dusk and Rayne! The four security guards rush over to the scene before pulling Rayne and Dusk apart.

Dusk: Let go of me!

Tyler Rayne: Not...finished...with him..yet...

Yet, the security guards start pulling them apart, and before Dusk is aware of it, there are handcuffs on his wrists.

Security Guard #1: You two are under arrest.

Dusk: What the--

Little did Mary-Lynn know though that the security guards were actually police officers. Within seconds, Rayne is put in handcuffs as well while Mary-Lynn can only look on in shock.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oh, no no no! Why are you taking these men away? There's no victim to press charges, these two men simply interrupted my phone call. Seperate them. Don't arrest them.

Security Guard #2: Sorry ma'am.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: (underbreath) You'll fucking RUE this day.

They then begin leading them to seperate cop cars as Mary-Lynn just stands there, flabbergasted. Both athletes keeping looking back at one another, wanting to break free, and rip each other's lungs out. Yet, there's no use as they're both being taken to jail.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I'll get you both out! I PROMISE!

So, after a good, long while on the road, the Southern Boy's finally come back home. And how does the crowd react when they see Wade Elliott stomping down the hall toward the Gorilla Position, en route to Face Punching the Crazy?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Yeah, you know how they do.

Wade's Drifter hat is pulled low over his eyes, and there's no mistaking that snarl and the curling smoke from the lit cigarette in his mouth. His boots sound like thunder against the tile and so unwavering is his focus that he doesn't notice a slender figure sidling up to fall into stride with him, her boots making no sound at all.

It's not until Lindsay Troy cracks her neck that Wade takes a noticing to her.

Wade Elliott (looking from the corner of his eye): An whaddya think yer doin'?

Lindsay Troy: Walking. Duh.

Wade offers an amused grunt.

Wade Elliott: Think yer gon' help me knock the crazy out've Cozen 'r somethin'?

Lindsay Troy: Thinking takes too long. All the processing and making sense of the things flying into my brain at a million miles a second. I'm just going to do instead.

Wade Elliott: Well, might git me a DQ then. Good thing I don't give a flyin' fuck.

Lindsay Troy: I figured you wouldn't about the result.

She plucks the cigarette from his lips and takes a drag.

Lindsay Troy (exhaling): Figured you'd be putting up more of a stink about me walking with you, though. A pleasant surprise.

Wade Elliott: Oh, I gave up on tellin' you whats what a long time ago, Lindsay. Figure it's better just to save my breath.

Another drag from the cigarette preludes the making of her smirk upon her lips.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, the headaches I've caused that could have been avoided had men just realized that one, simple thing.

She places the cancer stick back between his lips and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Lindsay Troy: Besides, you'll need all the breath you can get when fighting the Crazy.

Wade grins slightly, breathing in the rest of his cigarette before flicking it to the floor.

Wade Elliott: Well, if there's anythin' Ol' Wade needs more've, it's breath.

If you have not been paying attention to everything other than these two awesomely funtastic superstars racing around the arena, well then you wouldn't know that they have been running around the arena. What you would know right now, is that Tony Rolo is running down the hall with some guy we've never seen on PRIME before. Rolo, dressed in black jeans and a brown leather vest, looks over to his running mate, who is nearly out of breath when he shakes his head.

That dude: I can't run anymore.

Tony Rolo: No? Good, because I'm tired of running from these bastards.

Rolo glances over his shoulder, then slows down and turns to face the direction he was coming from. It only takes a matter of seconds before Tony Gamble, dressed in a white baseball uniform with black pinstripes comes onto the screen slowing to a halt. Gamble's face is painted white with a black star over one eye, and he has a baseball bat in his left hand. It only takes a moment to realize that he has a squadron of little people dressed in the same uniform with the same face paint on... Oh, and they all have miniature bats too.

Gamble shoots a smirk in Rolo's direction, then starts to do fancy little tricks with the bat – twirling it around in his hand, flipping it behind his back, and putting his forehead on the blunt side and spinning around in a circle – before pointing it at Rolo.

Tony Rolo: I'm gonna stick that bat up your ass and make you a popsicle.

The two rush each other, ready to butt heads and throw down like a couple of... Oh wait, this isn't The Warriors. I'm sorry, got caught up watching a movie.

CAN. YOU. DIG. IT?

Anyway, seeing as how there is no more time left between now and the main event, our random running around the arena and showing up in random segs like a flip through of a Where's Waldo book have to come to a conclusion.

Now, there are no famous movie scenes being portrayed, or some real good explanation as to where we are. It's a hallway, the walls are white, and there is a chained up door at the end. The two Tony's try to think tough, trouble tickling their toes.

Say that last line three times really fast.

Tony Gamble: Why.

Choke!

Tony Gamble: Didn't.

Spit!

Tony Gamble: You.

Gasp!

Tony Gamble: Stop.

Wheeze!

Tony Gamble: Earlier?

Collapse!

Tony Rolo: Sorry, man. I really didn't know it was you.

Rolo places his hands on his ribs, leaning back to suck in a bit of air.

Tony Rolo: You look like this midget chick Joey used to play helicopter with...

Rolo does the shifty eyed nervous look to scan the area, then returned his gaze to Gamble.

Tony Rolo: Awkward.

Gamble dismisses the comment with a wave of his hand.

Tony Gamble: I don't care about that crap. What I've been trying to ask you for the last -- I don't know, twenty... Thirty? minutes... Is what the heel got into your mind when you decided to steal my lucky underwear?

Rolo's lips twist awkwardly, making him look reminiscent of that time JR had his stroke and he talked out of the side of his mouth. Oh, he still does that? Right.

Tony Rolo: Did you just say, heel?

Tony Gamble: Yeah.

Gamble nods his head, actually starting to breathe better and speak clearer.

Tony Gamble: Wearing another man's nut net is very heel.

Rolo shrugs his shoulders and nods in agreement.

Tony Rolo: I guess you have a point. But it was either this, go commando and risk chafing, or wear one of Sonny 'I'm still relevant, dammit!' Silver's thongs. And just so you know, I'm not a big fan of flossing my crack.

Tony Gamble: Sonny wears... Wait a minute, don't try to change the subject! I want my underwear back, now!

Tony Rolo: Well, you can't have 'em right now.

Tony Gamble: You mean you're still wearing them?! NOOOOOoooooooo!!!

Rolo shifts his tights a bit.

Tony Rolo: They're pretty comfy.

Tony Gamble: I... I can't believe you. You've ruined them.

Gamble puts his face in his palms, the silent sobs still apparent as his shoulders heave with every one.

Tony Rolo: Oh come on, I'll toss them in with Joey Troy's the next time he does laundry and they'll come out clean enough to eat off of.

Tony Gamble: That's it... My career is officially over. I can never step into another wrestling ring again. Thanks, man... Thanks. A. Lot.

Gamble turns to walk away, but Rolo's hand on his shoulder keeps him from walking too far.

Tony Rolo: Fine. I'll just give them back to you right now. My balls didn't sweat that much anyway.

Gamble's head turns slowly, his gaze on the hand still resting on his shoulder.

Tony Gamble: You find this funny?

Tony Rolo: Of course I do! Man, how sick do you think I am mini me? I totally slipped a sock on to keep from catching your cooties.

Gamble shakes his head slowly.

Tony Gamble: You have no respect for your superiors...

Tony Rolo: Superiors?

Tony Gamble: Next week, I expect to have my briefs washed and starched and wrapped up with a pretty little bow. Or else.

Tony Rolo: Or else?

Gamble turns and starts to walk away, but Rolo isn't done talking.

Tony Rolo: Or else what, you're going to beat me up? I got your lucky underwear, you can't beat me!

Tony Gamble: I'm just saying is all. Next week. Wrapped with a bow.

Rolo stands there, scratching his head. Hey, socks are pretty damn hot. Think about that as you watch the main event!

"Coming Undone" by Korn.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The PRIME*View turns dark, revealing swirling faces, laughing and crying.

"Keep holding on when my brain's tickin' like a bomb,
guess the black thoughts have come again to get meeee.
Sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard,
sing along, mockingbird, you don't affect meeee."

The screen flashes into white, while alternating red and black letters spell out C-O-Z-E-N.

Nick: Welcome back to ReVolution folks, and that tune from Korn marks the arrival of one of the most dellusional creatures to ever step into a PRIME ring.

That's riiiiight!
Deliver it to my heart!
Please striiiike!
Be deliberate!"

Ding Ding Ding!

Vince Howard: Good evening, and welcome to tonight's main event! First, coming down to the ring, accompanied by Andreas and Siena van der Wal, The Faceless Fighter....COOOOO-ZEEEEENNNN!

The boos continue as Cozen steps onto the ramp, Andreas and Siena flanking her. That slash of a mouth grins awkwardly as she takes almost confused steps down the ring.

Waaaaaiiiit! I'm coming undone!
Iraaaaaaaate! I'm coming undone!
Too laaaaaaate! I'm coming undone!
What looks so strong so delicate!

She slips gracefully into the ring, taking her corner, head cocked to the side as usual, while Andreas and Siena take their places at ringside.

Waaaaaaaait! I'm starting to suffocaaaate!
And so I anticipaaaaaate!
I'm coming undone!
What loooooks so strong, so delicate!

Nick: There is no doubt that Cozen is an incredible force in that ring, but I find it difficult to respect an...animal, like her.

Richard: I can, but I certainly won't be inviting her out to dinner.

The power chords of Korn fade away, leaving only the chorus of boos from the Birmingham crowd. Cozen pays no attention, but Andreas and Siena frown.

And then, the banjo.

RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!

Nick: And that sounds like a Bad Dog to me!

The noise made by the people of Alabama is unlike anything most have ever heard, rivaled only by the earlier LIVE performance of Lynyrd Skynyrd themselves. Out steps The Blue Collar Brawler, drifter's hat on, Confederate Flag waving proudly on his chest. Lindsay Troy steps out next to him, her trademark smirk combating Cozen's slash. The audience sings along to every word of Wade's entrance music, the lyrics of Lynyrd Skynyrd shouting from their mouths in unison.

"Where I come from it's grits an' gravy, not champagne n' caviar!!
Got pickup trucks, ain't no Mercedes, that's who we are!
Oooooh!
Yeah, wouldn't change a thing!"

Wade and Troy start taking long strides down the ring. Wade does not match the smile Lindsay has, his blue eyes locked to the Cipher that is Cozen.

Vince Howard: And her opponent! Standing at six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two-hunred and fifty-four pounds...hailing from Pine Ridge, ALABAMA...your VERY OWN...The Bad Dog...WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLIOOOOOOOTTTT!

PA & Crowd: "I ain't no saint, sometimes a sinner, an' I can't tell ya why!
But I get up every mornin' an' thank The Man above!
Oooooh!
My life is good!"

Wade clambers into the ring, Troy taking her own spot at the side as the Blue Collar Brawler stands on the other side of Cozen rather than moving to a turnbuckle. The two share a staredown, Cozen's head tipping to the other side of her head.

"Like my women hot an' my beer ice cold!
A real fast car an' my whiskey old!
Like a slow drive down an' old dirt road!

That's How I like it!"

They continue to stare each other down, if you can call it that. Wade squints, unsure of what to make of The Faceless Fighter.

"Like to turn my music way up loud!
Ain't nothin' better than the sound of a crowd!
American flag, it makes me proud!

That's how I like it!"

The southern tunes of Skynyrd fade away. The Elliott faithful bellow within the arena, an ocean of noise drowning out thoughts.

Nick (trying to yell above the crowd): LISTEN TO THIS CROWD!

Richard (also yelling): PLEASE TELL THEM TO KEEP IT DOWN!

Wade suddenly takes his eyes off of Cozen, looking around at the arena as if only just now noticing the cheering fans, which only lifts the noise level. Cozen's face suddenly snaps into a contorted scowl. Wade looks around a bit more, then looks back to Cozen with an uncharacteristic grin, shrugging his shoulders with his arms out to the sides, as if to say "hey, whaddya know?"

She strikes, running in with a sidekick followed by a few quick flat palm jabs to his chest.

Nick: Cozen moving in first! This match is underway!

Wade takes the hits well, but quickly steps around Cozen, holding his palms up in defense position. He holds up a finger in a "hold on, hold on," kind of manner. She cocks her head, her face showing some genuine confusion as The Bad Dog carefully pulls his drifter's hat off his head, walks to the edge of the ring, and politely hands it to Lindsay Troy.

Nick: Ha! A little debauchery from the The 'Bama Bruiser!

Elliott turns back to Cozen, looking upward as he swings his arms back and forth, stretching himself out. He cracks his neck to the left, then the right, he rolls it around a bit, then claps his hands together, puts up his dukes, and taunts her by curling his fingers back rapidly.

"Ruaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Richard: Get on with it!

Cozen snaps forward like a viper, catching Wade in his right leg with a left boot and connecting twice more to his abdomen with stiff punches. She lays one more in his left shoulder, putting him crooked, but he rolls with the punch and catches her with a big right hand, rattling her dome and sending her back. The crowd roars as the Southern Sparkplug moves in, swing fists left and right and pushing the Faceless Fighter into the corner.

Nick: Here comes the hometown hero!

Cozen throws her forearms up to block the attacks. Wade relents, then takes the opportunity to grab her arm and whip her across the ring, slamming her into the turnbuckle. He charges forward, hammering The Crazy with a big body slam. Andreas and Siena gasp at the sidelines as Wade throws a couple elbows into Cozen's head. He pulls her back once more, whipping her to the opposite turnbuckle with a thud, and repeats the previous maneuver, smothering the smaller fighter with his big frame.

Nick: Cozen is one nasty opponent, but can she beat a fired-up Wade in his own home town?

Richard: We've only just started, Nick.

Wade delivers more hard hands to Cozen, big fists hitting her downward. Troy pumps up the crowd as Wade continues his spree, grabbing Cozen by the hair and dragging her into the middle of the ring. He throws a big chop to her back, then attempts to whip her. She counters, planting her feet and whipping Elliott instead. Wade bounds off the ropes as Cozen goes for an arcing roundhouse. The 'Bama Bruiser ducks the attack, bouncing off the opposite ropes and lumber back toward the middle, where Cozen finds his midsection with a snappy knee, flipping him over onto his arse.

Richard: Outta nowhere with those legs!

Cozen quickly moves behind Elliott and rifles off a kick in between the shoulder blades that sends a shot of pain up the entire back of The ‘Bama Bruiser. Cozen furthers her assault by planting her feet and attempting a kick consisting of 100 percent shin straight to Wade’s forehead.

Nick: HE DUCKED!

Unfortunately for The Faceless Fighter, Elliott has other ideas in mind, grabbing a hold of Cozen’s plant left leg and bringing her down to the canvas. Transitioning like the fat kid if he were to ever make the wrestling team, Elliott finds himself on Cozen’s back and places his big bulking frame on her kidney area. Locking her arms onto his knees, Elliott grabs a hold of Cozen’s face and wrenches back unusually hard.

Nick: Elliott has the Camel Clutch locked in, center of the ring. We rarely see him bust out a submission hold.

Richard: Hold looks uglier than his face.

"TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!"

Cozen struggles vehemently in the powerful grasp of Elliott. Even she knows that this hold will suffocate her within a matter of seconds should she fail to be resourceful. Elliott doesn’t exactly have the greatest finesse when it comes to applying submissions. Using her head, or two heads rather, the van der Wals provide assistance, fighting to get Cozen’s left foot available for movement. Elliott wrenches back on the hold even harder, oblivious to the gruesome twosome’s antics.

Nick: Cozen’s head might come clean off her body here. I’m amazed she’s still in this contest.

Finally, the van der Wals have their way and get Cozen’s left foot on the ropes. They frantically begin to scream toward the referee, who notices said quagmire and tells Elliott to release the hold. Elliott gives a kind "go fuck yerself" to Elvis Nixon, who almost wants to revert back to his days in the White House and have Elliott killed. After five seconds, Wade reluctantly releases the hold and places a boot in the damaged back of Cozen.

Nick: Not many people have been able to damage Cozen like that and Elliott pulled it off all within about twenty five seconds.

Richard: Give that crazy looking bitch time, Nick. She’ll bounce back.

Elliott grabs a hold of Cozen, lifting her off the mat with ease, and shoves her back into the nearby corner. One boot finds her midsection, sending her descending down into the lower turnbuckles. Another one. Another. Yet one more. And finally Elliott just goes all out, stomping Cozen repeatedly in the sternum wildly to the delight of the crowd.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: Elliott is a house of fire here tonight Richard!

Richard: Of course he is, dude has all of his relatives and past girlfriends in attendance…And by both of those I mean the pigs in row 6.

Elliott lumbers hard off the ropes. He’s looking for what could be the kill shot of the century should he connect. Troy is smiling, encouraging him forward while The Bad Dog gains momentum. When he’s about three feet away from colliding with the face of Cozen, the van der Wals shift Cozen out of the way at the last possible second, leaving Elliott to collide with turnbuckle and pain.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: The van der Wals keep giving Cozen new life here.

Richard: Them’s the breaks and all that garbage.

Cozen, still woozy, rises up to her feet and takes advantage of Elliott’s damaged wheel, throwing a kick to the back of the knee to soften The Bad Dog up. Leaning into a reverse Thai Clinch, Cozen moves around to the side and pushes Elliott’s head down across the ropes. Putting her boot against the back of his kneecap, Cozen lifts herself off the ground and has Elliott scrambling to escape while Elvis Nixon rushes in and pleads with Cozen to break the count.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: Crowd is definitely not happy about this situation.

Surprisingly, Cozen breaks the hold on 4 and the van der Wals didn’t assist in any capacity. The Faceless Fighter advances forward, sending her shin crashing into the inside of Elliott’s right leg, causing him to hop around like a one legged kangaroo. Moving forward again, Cozen tries another shot, but receives a stiff right from Elliott. Cozen stumbles back a couple steps, but regains her composure and throws a violent dropkick right above the kneecap, dropping Elliott down to the mat. Rushing back up to her feet, Cozen bounces hard off the ropes and rushes in with a full head of steam. Descending gracefully, Cozen gets her shin to connect with the side of Elliott’s head, putting him into la-la land.

Nick: Shining Wizard! This could be the opening Cozen has needed. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: Elliott lives to fight on.

Richard: Might have to bring that boy out back and [drops into Southern drawl] hang em up high while errbody else gets some French fries potaters mmmmhmmm.

Nick: …Was that your impression of Sling Blade?

Richard: Mmmmhmmm.

Nick: Weak

Cozen continues to wreak havoc, now swiftly mounting Elliott. She cocks her right arm back and unloads with a shot straight to the forehead, stunning the Bad Dog since he has no room to move his head. Another shot finds his forehead again, and a third one finds his jaw before the crowd starts raining in the support.

"ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT!"

Still dazed and highly confused, Elliott throws up his giant paws to block some of the blows. However, like a championship boxer, Cozen manages to find her way through the crevices and continues beating on The Bad Dog who is growing more helpless by the second.

"ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT!"

Nick: He might be moments away from going down in defeat here in his own hometown.

Richard: That would be the kind of humiliation only fit for a douchebag. I like it.

"ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT!"

The Bad Dog starts to move around underneath Cozen, trying to get his legs fully functional so that enough power is left to buck Cozen off and try to regain some offensive momentum. Cozen continues to drop the uncontested bombs, now moving to Elliott’s jaw in an attempt to break the body part.

"ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT! ELLIOTT!"

Finally, Elliott’s second wind jumps to life and sends Cozen flying off into the middle of the ring. Lumbering up to his feet, Elliott is met by a nasty Muay Thai knee straight to the head, but this is his hometown and The Bad Dog isn’t going down without a fight. He manages to shove Cozen away, who eagerly charges back one more time.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Only to be met by a nasty big boot courtesy of The ‘Bama Bruiser, which knocks her loopy.

Nick: The tide could be turning here Richard!

Richard: I wish the tide would come and drown me.

Elliott brings Cozen up to a standing position and wails on her sternum with a shot to the midsection. Throwing her off the ropes, Elliott stands rigid in the middle of the ring, waiting on his opponent to come back into his arms. With momentum carrying her forward, Cozen attempts a forearm shot, only to be jolted high into the air and slammed down into the canvas with a spinebuster.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Nick: Elliott is feeling it here folks!

Elliott brings Cozen back up one more time and delivers a forearm, bringing her back into the corner. The Bad Dog whips Cozen toward the opposite turnbuckle, but on the way finds herself colliding with the ref. He hits the mat hard, lights out for the time being.

Nick: Ref down! Cozen is dazed!

Cozen rolls into the ropes, stars spinning around her head. Wade moves to pursue, but finds himself falling flat on his face as Siena van der Wal grabs him by the ankles, catapulting him to the mat. Troy quickly sprints around to the other side of the ring to give chase. Cozen has regained balanced and takes the opportunity in the ring to run up with a nasty baseball slide to Wade's face.

Richard: Things aren't looking good for Ol' Wade!

Cozen brings Wade to his feet and quickly strikes him under the jaw with a tooth-clacking hit, nearly crossing his eyes.

Nick: Oh, nasty hit from Cozen!

Cozen leaves the stunned Wade standing. She bolts against the ropes and sprints back toward Wade, gaining speed for The Beautiful Lie, only for the Bad Dog to snap back into it, quickly grab the running Cozen, heave her over his shoulders and hammer her into the mat with a thunderous Oklahoma Slam.

"RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Nick: THERE IT IS! REBEL YELL ON COZEN!

Both opponents lie exhausted in the ring. Outside, Lindsay Troy approaches Siena, who has backed herself into a corner.

*WHACK*

"OOOOOOOH!"

Troy's back suddenly arches as a steel chair from Andreas van der Wal strikes her between the shoulders. She slowly turns around to face the now frightened Andreas, eyes burning red while Siena takes the opportunity to flee to the other side of the ring.

Nick: That guy has a death wish! Troy is NOT happy about that!

Richard: And neither is Wade!

"RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Wade, seeing the attack, is re-fueled. He quickly stands, teeth grit. The Bad Dog reaches over the ropes, grabbing Andreas by the scruff of the neck and hurling him into the ring. He maintains the hold and hurls him into the corner, slamming him into the turnbuckle and putting him on his ass. Wade immediately goes to town, grabbing the ropes and stomping a hole in Andreas' stomach with his boots.

Nick: That's ONE way to piss off the Bad Dog!

Troy dives in. Wade moves out of the way as The Queen of the Ring mounts the poor van der Wal and begins to rearrange his face with her fists. It isn't long before his nose is busted and blood starts to stain her white wrist tape.

Nick: It is getting BRUTAL in there! Troy is on a frenzy!

Richard: Wait, what the hell is Siena doing?

On the other side of the ring, Siena stands next to Cozen, who has started to shake out the cobwebs. Siena produces a set of brass knuckles from her pocket and slides them onto the mat.

Nick: Siena just gave Cozen some brass knuckles! Look out, Wade!

Richard: Now what the hell is Cozen doing?

Rather than put the knuckles on her hand, Cozen proceeds to slip off her left boot and drop the knuckles inside. The crowd immediately starts booing as Cozen slips her boot back on. The ref sits up, holding his head, and slowly pushes himself to his feet. The referee stands, noticing Troy going to town on Andreas. He runs over, yelling at The Queen to leave the ring. The Queen gives him a devilish grin as the ref forces her out of the ring.

Richard: Did she just put brass knuckles inside her boot?

Nick: And the ref and Troy missed it! Wade! Turn around!

Cozen runs at Wade, immediately jumping into the series of movements for a Butterfly kick.

Nick: WADE! LOOK OUT!

Wade turns around, ready to finish off The Faceless Fighter, only to be immediately met by the sweeping arc of her left boot, swatting him hard across the jaw.

Nick: JESUS CHRIST! BEATUFIUL LIE WITH THE LOADED BOOT!

Richard: HOLY GOD!

Wade falls to his back like a freshly cut pine. Cozen dives on top of Wade, hooking the leg. The ref drops for the count.

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

"Coming Undone," by Korn

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Vince Howard: Here is your winner...COOOOOOOOOOZEEEEEN!

Nick: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

Richard: Wade is OUT!

Troy is already in the ring, trying to wake the stirring Wade up. Cozen has already left the ring, and Siena has already swiftly pulled Andreas to safety. The nefarious three escape up the ring.

Nick: Cozen just snagged a cheap win from the hometown Bad Dog! This place is ready to riot!

The trio of Cozen and the van der Wals back up the ramp, Cozen with her trademark slash-grin. Troy matches her stare with an awful death glare grin, her eyes burning red to match the blood on her knuckles. The look confuses Cozen, until The Faceless Fighter looks to the bloodied Andreas hanging on Siena's shoulder. Cozen's face contorts, almost melting downward as tears roll down her cheeks. Troy's glare does not relent as Wade manages to sit up, holding his head. Cozen's head shakes left and right violently, suddenly turning to furious rage to match that of Troy's.

Richard: We're out of time!

Nick: Things are only heating up for Colossus! Trust me, folks, there is much more blood to come! For PRIME ReVolution, I'm Nick Stuart...

Richard: ...and I'm Richard Parker! See you next week in Atlanta!

Nick: Only on FX!

The camera zooms in on Troy's wolfish rage/grin, the hammering tunes of Korn still rocking the arena, the crowd booing heavily before fading to black and flashing the PRIME logo on the bottom left.