Clack Clack. Clack Clack. Clack Clack.

It's a warm, balmy night in Atlanta as we open on the parking lot of the Phillips Arena. Angelica Brooks rushes across the pavement as quickly as her three inch heels will allow. The camera jostles on the shoulders of a man trying to keep up. The shocked and startled screaming of people, presumably fans, can be heard ahead. The red-haired wonder quickens her pace yet again, a frantic step that threatens to tear through the skin tight fabric of her mini. It may or may not be coincidence that the camera seems to be more focused on Angelica's finely crafted ass in that tight skirt than on the curious scene unfolding ahead.

"This is how we should start every ReVolution."

The fiery vixen pushes a finger to her ear, adjusting the little electronic bud within.

Angelica Brooks: I heard that, Parker.

Richard Parker: Doesn't make it any less true.

Nick Stuart: Angie, can you tell us what's going on out there?

Angelica Brooks: No idea, Nick. I overheard a call to Security asking for help with an incident in the parking lot. Fortunately, the Enemigos were celebrating... well, I don't really know what they were celebrating, but they were eating a ton of burritos. Like, a million of 'em. So I figured I'd run out here and get the scoop before they had the chance to come out and break it up.

Nick Stuart: Good thinking, Angie.

Richard Parker: Good thinking, Camera Guy.

Nick Stuart: Seriously.

Richard Parker: What?

CRASH!

The frightened screams of the fans become a little more clear now. They also begin to mix with some masculine cheers and obscenities. The subject at which all these orations are targeted? That would be none other than your 5-Star Champion, Tyler Rayne, wearing nothing but a pair of ripped jeans and his combat boots. He's also wielding a lead pipe, which seems to be perpetually finding itself smashing through the windows of a black sedan.

SHATTER!!

Angelica Brooks: Tyler! Ty! Jesus! What the hell are you doing?

The 5-Star Champion pauses, turning that infamous smile on both Brooks and the camera behind her.

Tyler Rayne: Smashing up a car. What's it look like?

GLASS BREAKING SOUND!!!

Angelica Brooks: Well I can see that, dipshit!

Nick Stuart: Angie!

Angelica Brooks: Sorry, Nick.

Tyler Rayne: Watch yourself, kid.

She does as instructed, hopping out of the way just as the lead pipe smashes down on the windshield. Little bits of shattered glass explode into the air. Brooks shields herself from the fragments cascading down from above. That smile still stretched wide across his unshaven face, the Underground Pimp tosses the pipe aside and sidles up to his once-upon-a-time drinking buddy.

Tyler Rayne: You meant to ask why I'm smashing up this car, correct?

Angelica Brooks: Um... duh.

Tyler Rayne: Some schmuck told me this was Dusk's rental. Now I didn't bother to stick around and check the dude's credentials, I just took him at his word and figured I'd come on out and bust some shit up. Cause, I mean, even if it's not Dusk's car, though I kinda hope it is... bashing shit up can be pretty fuckin' fun sometimes.

He wraps an arm around Angelica's shoulders. She smiles in spite of herself, momentarily forgetting she's supposed to be an unbiased professional here. It happens to the best of us.

Tyler Rayne: Now, what's really cookin' your noodle is why I'm out here bustin' shit up when I could be inside, doin' all kinds of Irish jigs on Sunshine's spine like I was last week. And see that... that's the kicker. That, darling, is the hundred million dollar question. So go ahead. Ask. Go on...

Angelica Brooks: Oookay. So why are you out here beating up cars when you could be inside dancing an Irish jig on Dusk's spine?

Tyler Rayne: Because C.P. Cantrell is a raging cock fiend. Seriously. I heard he likes the penis. Not that I've got anything at all against that. I hear that Champ Chamberlain fella enjoys a night out at sea with ol' One-Eyed Willy... and I'm not here to judge that. Hell, it might've escaped some people's notice, but my best friend is a giant, carpet munching dyke. Uh... what was I talking about again?

Sigh.

Angelica Brooks: You're out here. Not in there.

Tyler Rayne: Right, right. See, I show up at the arena today, very excited about the thought of stringing Sunshine's intestines from one ring post to the other, and my boy Dam stops me at the door there. Waitin' on me, I guess. And he says to me, he says... "Boss don' want'cha fightin' in here. Said there's ta be no fightin' 'tween you and Dusk in the arena tonight." Now you know me, B. I'm a man who tries to play by the rules.

Scoff.

Tyler Rayne: C'mon now, B. I'm not that bad.

Angelica Brooks: You hit Wade Elliott with a car, Ty.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, ya know, I won the Dual Halo, too, but I don't see everyone bringin' that shit up. It's always "You hit Wade Elliott with a car." I've done lots of other stuff, too.

Angelica Brooks: The point, Ty?

Tyler Rayne: Right, right. Point is, boss man says I can't fight little miss Sunshine in the building. So... I'll just fight him outside of it. I assume this camera's broadcasting all of this, and I'll assume by now someone has turned Sunshine's attention this way. So, Dusk, if you're listening... I'll be here all night. Swing by Cantrell's office, I'm pretty sure he's still got Lindsay Troy's balls in a jar on his desk. Borrow those since we all know you don't have any of your own, and drag your no talent ass on out here so I can kick it seven different shades of purple. Don't be a pussy, Sunshine. Just come on out.

Angelica Brooks: Is that all?

Tyler Rayne: Unless someone wants to grab me a couple beers...

Angelica Brooks: Back to you, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Actually, Ang, I hear we've got Matt Mills standing by near Dusk's locker room now. Maybe we can get a word from the Lost Soul himself...

Matt Mills: Hey Nick, I'm standing out here, and I know the Lost Soul is out there because, well, I'm pretty sure he throws a chair up against the wall when he saw Rayne calling him out. It's very possible that we might get the Lost So--

Then, the door opens and in the threshold of the door is Dusk, dressed in a suit, and looking rather pissed.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Dusk: Look, if you're going to stand out here and wait for me to come out so you can talk to me, don't you think it would be better if you just knock on my door? Wastes less of your time and then I don't have to hold up inside of my locker room hoping you'll leave me the fuck alone.

Matt Mills: My apologies, but I've just got to ask this. Tyler Rayne has just called you out to fight him in the parking lot after Cantrell issued an order that you two are not to fight in the arena this evening. Are you going to answer his challenge?

Dusk stands there for a moment before sticking his hands in his pocket.

Dusk: Do you want to know something about Tyler Ryane? He's a Grade A, All-American Pussy. He wants to complain about no one mentioning his Dual Halo win, and instead talking about hitting Elliott with a car? Here's an idea... STOPPING HITTING PEOPLE WITH A FUCKING CAR! You bring unneeded attention to yourself Rayne, and it's about damn time someone shuts that damn mouth of yours. It looks like the task has fallen on my shoulders and trust me, I'll be more than happy to step up to the plate. But, not now. Not on your time table.

He then takes a step back, takes a deep breath in, and licks his lips before continuing.

Dusk: You might've missed that I've got a match with Jonathan Rhine tonight. I've got bigger things to worry about then you right now. You know when I'll worry about you? At Colossus. For now though, I've got other things that I need to take care of, and then, maybe, just maybe, when I'm done battling it out with Rhine, I'll come out there and kick your ass so you'll get a taste of what's coming to you in a few weeks.

With that, he walks off down the hallway, leaving the world wondering what it is that he'll do tonight.

"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.

Mega Job vs. The UPstarts

Bryan Dawkins vs. Rhett Locke

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

Jonathan Rhine vs. Dusk

PICK YOUR POISON MAIN EVENT

"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 Philips Arena goes batshit crazy as an impressive display of pyro blasts from the stage. Full-on arena pan, cameras zooming in on signs and screaming fans before stopping right at the announce table where the Voices of PRIME sit, ready for another wild week.

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

Richard: And I'm Richard Parker!

Nick: This is it! The road to Colossus is almost at an end, but it's got one more stop before the big 'un. And what a night it's going to be!

Richard: Man, so glad Rayne didn't dent up the Buick next to Dusk's rental. I would've had to go out there and THROW DOWN, SON.

Nick: Tyler Rayne has a pipe, Rich.

Richard: And I have...umm... (sound of headset rustling) ...okay, I see your point.

Nick: Tonight it's Mega Job vs. the UPstarts, Bryan Dawkins vs. Rhett Locke, Jonathan Rhine vs. Dusk and a special PICK YOUR POISON Main Event!

Richard: I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it!

Nick: Let's try not to break into song here. Let's just get right into things. REVOLUTION 168, ON FX, HERE WE GO!

"Alright, the amounts of questions I have are endless. First, how did you jack an entire section of catering? Second, are you really going to eat all of those and have a match in the span of two hours?"

For once a backstage encounter is not transpiring in some random corridor, which absolutely kills all the prop betting on where this one would go down, I had 25B. Anywho, sitting on a couch and reclining chair respectively are Bryan Dawkins and Universal Champion, Devin Shakur. Before the two of them is a giant table courtesy of the PRIME catering section that is filled to the brim with...you guessed it, pineapples.

Dawkins: If you only knew, bruh. This stuff is the fruit of the Gods. THE GODS, I TELL YA!

With that, Dawkins shoves another piece of the juicy fruit into his mouth, and glances at Shakur…more specifically, his guyliner-covered eyes.

Actually, they are temporary eye patch tattoos to commemorate Jonathan Rhine’s lost eye, but that’s neither here nor there.

Devin Shakur: I think you need some more variety in your diet, personally. Although, variety to you would probably be pineapple stew, pineapple shakes, and pineapple chunks instead of ice in a beverage. Seriously, do you have a bed shaped like one of those things?

Dawkins: What if I do, bruh? What if I do?

Devin Shakur: Well I would say that you probably need to sell that on e-Bay. Although I suppose you would be in a real pickle if Carrot Top bought it.

Bryan Dawkins: …

Crickets, dude. Fucking crickets.

He doesn’t even get a delayed rimshot.

Instead, the door bursts open and Tony Gamble rushes in with a tomato. With the speed of a major league pitcher but not necessarily the accuracy of one, Gamble launches the tomato at Shakur, who promptly ducks and allows the tomato to hit the wall.

Tony Gamble: THAT’S NOT FUNNY!

Gamble slams the door while Shakur makes sure none of his hair got affected by tomato ricochet.

Meanwhile, back in seg-land, Dawkins stares blankly with that "what the fuck just happened?" look at the tomato-stained wall. Did he really just bust into the room, hurl a tomato at the wall, and leave without saying another word? Yeah, he did.

Dawkins: So, uh…where were we, bruh?

Devin Shakur: Oh, right, I was going to ask from what chapter out of the ‘Book of Heelsmanship’ do you want to acquire your lesson from today.

Dawkins peers at the Champ, and contemplates what he just asked. Did Bryan want to turn his back on all he’s ever known to become like…him?

Dawkins: Hey now, bruh…I never said I wanted to become like you, or learn from your book. I just thought you had some "interesting" views. Nothin’ against ya or anything, I mean, you’re the champ. Can’t argue with that, bruh.

Shakur scoffs and shakes his head.

Devin Shakur: Pfft, please, when was the last time a face was able to do something significant here in PRIME?

Dawkins: Does the name ‘Lindsay Troy’ ring a bell to ya, bruh? How about Tyler Rayne? Troy Douglas? All former champs and/or contenders.

Devin Shakur: Alright, I suppose this can be our lesson for the day, how to tell whether one is a true face or not.

Shakur raises his arms into the air and claps three times, cutting about 90 percent of the lighting off in the room.

Bryan Dawkins: What the hell, bruh? I swear, if fifty people from Warped Tour come rollin’ in here and a rave starts...I’m gonna be launchin’ pineapples like Gamble did that tomato, bruh.

Devin Shakur: How many times do I have to come out and say it? Geez, it’s like I need to call a press conference to confirm that I’m not emo. Anyway, no, this is entitled

Shakur whips out a laser pointer and directs it at the wall. A grainy title slide comes up, obviously done in PowerPoint, entitled:

‘PRIME’s Greatest Douchebags’

Bryan Dawkins: You just happen to have this wherever you go, bruh?

Devin Shakur: Legal reasons

Shakur hits a button and moves to the second slide.

‘With Artwork Done by Sonny Silver’

Devin Shakur: Now, you say that the first person coming to mind is Lindsay Troy.

Shakur changes slides again, showing the full body PRIME roster photo of Lindsay Troy.

Devin Shakur: She has all the makings of a face. She allows the people to slap hands with her and gets into verbal battles with pretty much every heel on the roster. However, nobody amongst the League of Extraordinary Heels classifies her as a face. Instead, we classify her as a-

Shakur flips the slide again. In big bold letters right above her head, the word BITCH is placed in 32 point Times New Roman font.

Devin Shakur: -Yes, she is a complete bitch. And there is physical evidence to back this up. Scientists have done year long studies into this, and we believe that the source of her bitchiness comes from right about here-

Shakur slides the laser pointer down to her mediocre chest area.

Devin Shakur: -But mostly down here-

Shakur moves the laser pointer down to her...Yeah, you can figure this one out.

Devin Shakur: So that eliminates the first name...Next, our Five Star Champion.

Shakur changes shifts one more time to the roster photo of Tyler Rayne.

Devin Shakur: Do you really believe that someone who has almost committed vehicular manslaughter and is perhaps the most violent person on the roster can be considered a face? No, in fact, he is, in everybody else’s eyes, a-

Shakur hits his laser pointer yet again and a giant penis is placed next to Tyler Rayne’s mouth. The aesthetic design is brilliant and dead on accurate. Shakur doesn’t notice a slight beam of light enter the room and someone gently shut the door behind themselves.

Devin Shakur: Since this is being broadcast to distant education PRIME wannabes, SCCW, I’ll refrain from uttering the word...Finally, Troy Douglas.

Shakur changes slides once again only to find a giant question mark on the slide.

Devin Shakur: Yeah, nobody knows who he is. Alright, so in conclusion, nobody who has been a face has accomplished anything of significance in PRIME. Thank you, drive thru, that’ll be 20 bucks.

Shakur claps his hands once again and the lights turn back on. Bryan Dawkins is still sitting there in amazement while Shakur gives a nod of approval. Chandler Tsonda is shaking his head in disbelief over near the door.

...Wait, Chandler Tsonda?

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Chandler Tsonda: I'm sorry, were the Dickhead Lessons over? I need to speak with my pupil.

Shakur grunts slightly and stares over at his CV opponent.

Devin Shakur: Oh no, the Viet Congie is feeling left out. You know, I would have included you in the package but you've made more heel/face turns than all of WWE and Christian Cage put together.

Dawkins shifts his eyes in between his former mentor and his quasi current mentor.

Dawkins: So...uh. You guys gonna duke it out here, over me, instead of over that shiny belt that the guyliner-clad bruh lugs around? Or can I leave?

Chandler Tsonda: Kid...and I say that nickname with all the man-to-man-no-homo love in the world...feel free to stay, but Daddy might have to hit Mommy to remind Mommy that she's a stupid Emo cocksucker.

Devin Shakur looks down at his Universal Championship and then back at Tsonda

Shakur: I didn't know you thought of yourself as an Emo cocksucker Tsonda, nice way to put it in perspective so I don't have to. I don't care about this whole philosophy of women in the work place, last I checked Mommy didn't carry around the breadwinner belt anymore.

Dawkins, wielding a fake microphone, shifts from Shakur back to his mentor, requesting his comeback.

Dawkins: Eh, bruh?

Chandler Tsonda: Kid, if you can't say that I'm not in the same league as this dickcheese, it's your funeral. I'm trying to help you and you're doing an Angelica Brooks impression. You see what's wrong with that picture.

Dawkins: C'mon bruh. What Devin did to me last week was no worse than anything you've done to me. You're both givin' me advice, some of it good, some of it bad. Thing is, at least when Shakur decided to turn on me, he stabbed me in the front, while you went ahead and stabbed me in the back.

Chandler Tsonda: Advice? This idiot is trying to derail your career just to keep his title and you call that "advice?" How many of his teeth would I have to kick out to prove to you that I'm right?

The Sultan of Style takes a step in Shakur's general direction, a challenge that the champion doesn't back down from. He stands his ground, leading to a severe staredown.

Suddenly the door flies open again. Unlike last time, it's not Tony Gamble with a tomato to throw at somebody's head. Instead, it's a nerd adjusting his glasses and staring down at a clipboard. The nametag reads Techie: Shane

Techie Shane: Uhm, Mr. Tsonda and Mr. Shakur?

Devin Shakur: You better be here to deliver the cardboard boxes because I'm about to breakdance this fool out of the room.

Chandler Tsonda: (pointing to Shakur) I'm sorry, we took him off the leash today to see if he could play with the other kids. What do you want, techie?

Techie Shane: You two are wanted in C.P's conference room, immediately regarding official business for later this evening.

The Model Citizen leans in close to Shakur, who's looking at the techie

Chandler Tsonda: (whispers) If i know anything about your opponent, you're about to have some fun tonight. Toodles, d-bag.

Tsonda exits from the room with Shakur one step behind, threatening to backhand him down the hall. Tsonda goes to the right while Shakur goes to the left. Dawkins and the techie looks confused.

Techie Shane: Mr. Cantrell’s conference room is where Mr. Tsonda is go-

Devin Shakur: I’M TAKING THE LEFT AT ALBUQUERQUE!

"Where the HELL is he!"

Kaiser Vashaun isn't shouting at anyone in particular, but the authority in his voice, the fire in his eyes and the fact that he's banging at every door he can find in the Phillips Arena backstage area leaves absolutely no doubt as to whom the Next in Line is looking for.

Luckily for him, Kaiser's search is about to pay off.

Troy Douglas: Whoa, whoa, whoa ... banging down doors like a madman is my job, isn't it?

Wheeling around, Vashaun sees the man he'd been tramping around the entire arena trying to find. The Intense Champion, looking calm and confident, sipping a cup of coffee.

Kaiser Vashaun: Hey, if you're going to steal my bit, why shouldn't I return the favor?

Troy Douglas: Touche. Although...

Douglas pauses for a moment, letting Kaiser wonder exactly what's coming next.

Troy Dougas: If you're going to go with the whole "copycat" thing, maybe we should have it go full circle and get C.P. to give you a little slap on the wrist, too.

Kaiser Vashaun: Well, here's the thing about that. Your little restraining order deal? I'm thinking it's about time we throw it out the window and I kick your ass right here and now.

With that, Vashaun closes the distance between himself and Douglas, then violently slaps the cup of coffee out of Troy's hands, sending the remnants splattering off the wall. Troy looks down at his hand for a moment, dumbfounded, then looks back at the Next in Line.

Troy Douglas: Well, I had kind of gotten used to the idea of waiting until Colossus to shred you into several hundred thousand tiny pieces, but if you're so damn intent on blowing your load here tonight, that's fine with me. In fact, we can go tell him together at the meeting.

Kaiser Vashaun: Meeting? What fucking meeting?

Troy digs into his left pocket, pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it calmly to his archrival.

Troy Douglas: Cantrell wants both of us in his office, ASAP. Guess while you were in your whole HULK SMAAAASH mode, you didn't get the memo.

Kaiser Vashaun: What the hell does he want?

Troy Douglas: Dunno. I just figured he was looking for extra security to keep Dawkins away from new pineapple shipments.

Vashaun shrugs off Douglas' glib remark and looks the Intense Champion dead in the eye.

Kaiser Vashaun: Well, I'll make sure to bring this up during the proceedings. Then we'll see if you even make it to Colossus.

Troy Douglas: Oh, I'll be there, Kaiser. And when we get there, it's not about mind games or restraining orders anymore. It's about MY title, and the fact that I'm not letting you anywhere near it.

Kaiser Vashaun: Suuuure it is. By the way, you're rental period on MY belt is about to expire, and if I were you, I wouldn't want to pay the late fee.

Troy Douglas: Wow. Congratulations, Kaiser, because I think you just won this year's "World's Crappiest Threat" award by a landslide.

The two stare at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to blink. After what seems like an eternal awkward pause, Vashaun finally breaks the silence.

Kaiser Vashaun: Well ... I guess we should probably get going. I'm anxious to get this restraining order deal tossed out the window so that I can break your back tonight.

Troy Douglas: Yeah. So, is this where we lock arms and skip away like we're heading down the Yellow Brick Road?

Kaiser Vashaun: If you do, I'll kill you.

Troy Douglas: Hey, I was just asking.

The two turn around, keeping their distance from one another as they walk toward's C.P. Cantrell's office.

They're off to see the producer, the Executive Producer of PRIME.

If anyone remembers anything about Revolution 167, it is not Sonny Sil-SEGWHORE of PRIMEv-ver suplexing a ladder onto Killean Sirrajin, it is not the Xavier Kannon and Jonathan Rhine drama, and it is definitely not Sin City's Lance Marshall pulling off a win on a PRIME show against some dude no one has ever heard of...

From what I hear, no one in his promotion knows him either.

No, you see, there was nothing more important or memorable than Tony Rolo stealing Tony Gamble's underpants. It was so awesome, that no one even bothered to watch the tag team main event. Okay, those three Devin Shakur fans John, Chris, and Renner watched it, but those guys don't really matter considering they have nothing else to do until Fantasy Football season starts.

ANYWAY!!!

The cliffhanger of the night occurred when Tony made a passing comment to that lesser Tony about having his underwear dry cleaned, wrapped in a box, and tied with a pretty little bow. Lesser Tony thought this to be a threat, but the majestic and awesome Tony would never do such a thing.

Well, the time has come for Lesser Tony to come correct, drop them drawers with the coolest cat this side of the Mississippi, and pay the respect a pioneer in this industry so duly deserves.

Problem is, Lesser Tony is more commonly known as Tony Rolo, and Rolo don't roll ova fah no one.

Gamble: Dude, it's about time.

Or does he?

Rolo: I'm sorry for being late. I was stuck at Wal-Mart trying to pick out the right bow. You wouldn't believe the wonderful selection they have.

Gamble: Yeah. Yeah. Look, I was kidding about the bow. Who do I look like, Joey Troy?

Rolo shrugs his shoulders.

Rolo: I don't know. I mean, right around the eyes you have this...

Gamble: I DO NOT!

Regaining his composure, Gamble snatches the box away from Rolo with an upturned nose.

Gamble: I know I'm the kind of guy everyone wants to hang around and suck up to, but I've already filled that role with Shakur so you can go now.

Rolo: Oh yeah, I have to go and – you know – do stuff, so I'll catch you later or something... Laters.

Rolo turns and heads down the hall as Gamble starts to open his box much like a child at midnight on Christmas Eve that couldn't wait until Christmas morning to open his gifts. Did I mention he is humming a tune.

Gamble: Who's got lucky underwear...

I probably failed to mention it because it wasn't in tune.

Gamble: I got lucky undah-

Tony's eyes go wide, the look of shock flushed out by the sudden storm of red that painted his face.

Gamble: Oh my...

The site of the grown man dry-heaving as he drops the box to the floor would be enough to make fans of slapstick comedy roll on the floor laughing their asses off to the tenth degree – Yes, I mean you, Chris – but actually noticing the skidmark ridden briefs that fell out of the box when it hit the ground just caused half the television audience to dryheave themselves.

The other half turned to that half and said: "Damn, that boy gots talent."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the skidmarks spell out the name Joey.

Have you ever been really mad? Not "that bastard stole my parking spot, dammit!" mad, but "I will rip your face off and wipe my ass with it" mad?

Backstage, Angelica Brooks looks uncomfortable -- not a mean feat, sure, but not something we see everyday. The redhead lifts her microphone, emblazoned with the snazzy new PRIME logo, and tries to smile.

Brooks: Guys, I'm backstage with the woman who defeated Elite Championship semifinalist Wade Elliott last week on ReVolution.

Ah, that would explain her discomfort. Pan slightly to the left, as two assholes and a crazy person await the dynamic Ms. Brooks' attention.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

Siena van der Wal doesn't get the credit for her pale imitation of a happy smile that her...that Andreas does, but this week, her red-lipped grin is perhaps a few watts brighter than the Smiling Serpent's. Maybe she's just fond of that turquoise cocktail dress, but we doubt it.

Siena van der Wal: Angelica, you look lovely today. Simply adorable, and not at all trashy. Doesn't she look great, Andy?

Andreas frowns in contemplation -- perhaps the flurry of face-punching Lindsay Troy did last week has straightened the man's attitude out.

Andreas van der Wal: I don't know. When you're putting on weight, Angie, you should probably wear something less...snug.

Then again, maybe not. The Serpent is resplendent in a shiny, sky blue short-sleeved dress shirt and light tan slacks, and her manages to carry off the trio of butterfly bandages over his left eye well.

Siena van der Wal: I wasn't going to say anything, dear. That's rude.

The third person in the triumvirate of terror paces behind the van der Wals, curly black hair wild and unkempt. Cozen mutters to herself, so softly it's really just her lips moving.

Angelica ignores the insult, pressing forward. The quickest way to getting this over with is to do it.

Brooks: You three were noteworthy in your silence prior to Cozen barely managing to overcome the 'Bama Brawler last week.

Andreas: I recall things slightly differently. I remember the Faceless Fighter -- the last person to defeat Lindsay Troy -- knocking perhaps the toughest man in PRIME flat unconscious with a single butterfly kick. A mere love tap put out a man who took far more than that from Tyler Rayne.

Siena snaps her fingers, still effortlessly beaming.

Siena: Just like that.

Brooks: After she'd loaded her boot!

A considering frown blooms onto the Auburn-Haired Harpy.

Siena: I don't recall that.

Andreas shakes his head, lips pursed.

Andreas: Nor I. Perhaps that's because we were being terrorized at ringside.

Siena: That's a very likely possibility.

Brooks: 'Terrorized'? Lindsay Troy is --

Siena: As my colleague would say, a jealous bitch. What have we done to deserve such treatment from Troy?

Brooks is not as dumb as many think; the redhead's brows rise.

Brooks: You mean before you handed Cozen the brass knuckles that she used.

Andreas: You cannot make it justified by citing actions after her unmitigated assault on my person.

Brooks: You hit her with a chair.

Siena: Clearly not very hard.

Andreas: I was merely defending the honor of my sister.

Siena puts a long-fingered hand on the Serpent's forearm, smiling proudly.

Nick: Does that mean her name is Siena McFarland?

Richard: Almost certainly not.

Siena: Andy has always been my knight in shining armor. I remember when we were younger, he'd --

When the Crazy moves, it's almost unnoticed -- there's no dramatic turn of her head or flex of her knee. One moment, she's turned away, muttering nonsensically. The next, her flesh just moves and she's between the van der Wals. Instinctively, Angelica raises the mic to the taller woman's lips.

Cozen: You think this is funny, Troy? Laughing, all you do is laugh and joke, smoky eyes and frowning lips. I have...I have tolerated your existence in my world, wanted to be you, thought you were a bright star in an empty sky.

The force of her voice is much greater than it usually is; she's usually light and sort of childlike in these rants. This is darker, growled.

Cozen: You. Are. Nothing. I thought I was, thought I was the empty mind, hidden behind a tower of my own will. I thought I was a monster, but I have looked into the eyes of a true monster, a beast of ego and rage and arrogance -- an out-of-control beast-bitch worshipped by men who have no idea, no comprehension, of the dark in its soul.

Her smile is...unsettling in its brightness. It's plastic, painted on.

Cozen: But I see the truth in you. Opened your head and climbed inside. You tell people you've beaten me at my own game, you speak like I do, words a-jumble. But you're not me, Troy. And you don't want to be. There's barely room for me in my head, barely a whisper between my ears that is my own. But I hear them, Lindsay. I hear them loud and clear.

Her head cants to the left, slightly. The motion is still epic in its stillness.

Cozen: And they are telling me to destroy you. I will break you, take you, and make you see. I will know you, grow you, and show you the way. You laid your hands on my toys, Lindsay, and I warned you not to do so. But who is Lindsay Troy if she's not playing the rebel? Who is the Queen without a coup to stage?

The smile nearly splits her head in half, a jagged line that bubbles with imminent laughter. Even the van der Wals seem slightly taken aback by the rage lingering in the Faceless Fighter.

Cozen: I'll show them. Show them all you don't want seen, you pompous halfwit. I told you. Told you the rules: only I get to play with Andy and Miss Siena. Not you, never you. Play with my toys, Troy, and I will play with yours. You'll find out tonight, and so will everyone else.

Andreas: (low) What have you done?

Her angry yin-yang gaze snaps to Andreas, head cocked to the side.

Cozen: I like you, Andreas Andrew. You're not like other guys. But do not think you can question me -- me -- about my actions. I did what was necessary, needed but unwanted. It's to protect you; it's to protect her as well. Troy wants to climb inside and take a look around, but she's only dipped her toe into the water. I'll pull her down to the bottom. We'll see how long she can hold her breath.

Brooks: You make sense sometimes, others...

Cozen: I am the prophet of fate, the seer of truths. I can peer inside your mind; make you find your way in the dark. But like Cassandra, you do not believe. Not until it's too late. It's already too late, Lindsay. Far too late. "Don't touch my toys." All you had to do was listen. That's it. But you couldn't manage that. Bet you never make that mistake again.

With that, the Impressionable Impersonator merely...wanders away, leaving Andreas and Siena van der Wal behind with Angelica Brooks.

Siena: Did she...

Andreas: Gods, I hope not.

They bustle after the former Universal Champion as Brooks turns to the camera.

Brooks: There you have it, fans. Cozen planning some kind of vengeance for what Troy did to Andreas last week...and promises it later tonight, though neither of the van der Wals is particularly thrilled by this idea.

Brooks turns to glance after the lot of them as we cut away.

Richard: Why were we made to suffer, Nick? ...okay, granted, I suffer enough just having to listen to you call the action each and every week, but COME ON. Why this?

Nick: You're talking about Mega Job actually wrestling tonight.

Richard: Yes! I mean, granted, it's going to be quick, but COME ON. How has PRIME's tag division fallen so low that we have to be subjected to this? I almost wish the Sound and the Fury were back, except then I realize that they're almost as bad as these guys.

Nick: We hired a couple of drunkards for this division, you know.

Richard: Fair enough.

GUNSHOT.

SCREAMING.

"Natural Born Killaz" by Dr. Dre and Ice Cube.

Richard: Holy fuck, it's New Jack!

Nope, Richard, it's only what you fear the most.

It's Mega Job.

Richard: Fuck.

Coming out to a chorus of indifference, the three members of Mega Job walk down to the ring. Along the way, sparklers are being lit to serve as their pyro. Their tron video is just a montage of both Beef and El Janito taking nutshots. Also of note is that El Janito is carrying a bottle of water with him.

When the trio get to the ring, Steve remains on the floor while El Janito climbs up onto the apron and Beef just rolls into the ring. Janito stands with his back to the ropes while on the ring apron, takes a swig of water, then he raises his arms into the air and...

...chokes on the water.

Spitting out the water and coughing uproarously, Janito collapses on the apron and eventually rolls into the win, where Beef decides to help El Janito as only Jsnito's closest friend and comrade could possibly help him.

Beef: I told you not to do the Triple H entrance.

Remind me never to be friends with Beef.

"Spot Lite" by MATHEMATICS.

Oh yeah, there's this other team that's supposed to face them. Sigh. I guess we really ARE going through with this.

The Upstarts, the team consisting of Eli VanNess and Felix Young, head for the ring. They absorb some of the cheers from the crowd as they get there, and then stare across from the idiots on the other side of the ring.

Oh, by the way, Steve has opted to walk over to Richard Parker and Nick Stuart and join them on commentary, which is why he isn't included when we refer to Mega Job as idiots.

Nick: Wait, why is Steve here?

Steve: RATINGS.

Richard: What he said.

Nick: No, I mean, how is he going to contribute to commentary? He only talks with one word at a time! How can he get through the nuances of a professional wrestling match if he can only say one word at a time? I mean, that's crazy. That's insane. That's madness.

Richard: But... this is PRIME.

Richard suddenly wishes he had a big hole to kick Nick Stuart down. Instead, he turns to Steve.

Richard: So, Steve how do you feel about the economy?

Steve looks over at Richard and ponders for a second.

Steve: ...PEDOPHILE.

Richard: ...What did you just call me?

Nick: I dunno man, you were pimping those Miley Cyrus pictures pretty hard.

Richard: THEY ENDED UP ON MY COMPUTER IM TELLING YOU! I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT!

Steve: LIAR.

Richard: IT'S A SHARED COMPUTER AMONGST PRIME EMPLOYEES!

Steve: BULLSHIT.

Richard starts whimpering.

Nick: Wow. He got you good, Richard.

Then Steve points at Nick.

Steve: HOMOSEXUAL.

Nick: Wait, what?

Richard recovers nicely.

Richard: Ha! He's calling you out, Nick!

Nick: Why am *I* a homosexual?

Steve: WRESTLING.

Nick: You think that I'm only excitedly calling the action because I'm really a closet homosexual? That's absurd.

Steve: (pointing at Nick) ABSURD.

Nick: *I'm* absurd!?

Steve: INDEED.

Steve cherishes this victory almost as much as that time he pinned Devin Shakur in the elevator when they were trying to remake the FU/Blue Rogues segment during takes.

Richard: Wait, why are we both being attacked? Shouldn't we be... I can't believe I'm saying this... focusing on the match at hand?

Nick: Um... actually, the match is over already.

Richard: Wait, what?

Nick: The Upstarts won.

Richard: Already!?

Nick: It's Mega Job, Nick.

Richard: Oh, right.

Steve leaves the broadcast booth at this point.

Nick: So. Um... should we go to commercial, now?

Richard: Please, God, yes.

And we do exactly that.

Out in the parking lot once again, we see Tyler Rayne chatting it up with a couple of the fans. The party has calmed a little, and most people just seem to be chillin' like villains watchin' pigeons. Or... whatever. Anyway, the 5-Star Champ is propped up on some dude's tailgate, a gaggle of about six or seven fans spread throughout the bed of the truck. They're all drinking beer from plastic cups. One of those smokin' hotties in a bikini is working the keg to make sure everyone is kept in fresh brews.

Tyler Rayne: There's no way, man. "Hush" is easily the best episode ever. How can you argue against an episode without any dialogue?

Fan Numero Uno: C'mon, dude. "Passion" set the tone for the whole series. Right there in Season Two, the entire thesis of the series.

Tyler Rayne: Sure, but--

Fan Numero Two: "Conversations with Dead People." Hands down.

Fan Numero Uno: That one is pretty sic.

Smokin' Hottie Beer Wench: What about "Once More with Feeling?" People give it shit because it's a musical, but shouldn't we give credit for thinking outside the box?

Tyler Rayne: I did enjoy those goram songs.

Fan Numero Two: If we're going for the silly, though, I prefer "Tabula Rasa."

"Hey, Rayne! You suck, man! Dusk's going to kick your ass!"

SSSCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRREEEEEEEEEECCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

That's the sound of this party coming to an abrupt halt. Everyone turns to look at a handful of people who've now entered "the circle," all proudly displaying their Lost Soul t-shirts and moody dispositions. The leader of the gang, a portly fellow with horn-rimmed glasses, stares right at the 5-Star Champion without an ounce of fear.

Tyler Rayne: So what, Sunshine sends out Rainbow Bright and her Rainbow Warriors because he's too much of a puss to come out here himself?

Dusk Fan Uno: You're the pussy. If you were a real man, like Dusk, you'd go in there and find him. The Icon of PRIME doesn't wait for C.P. to tell him what is and isn't okay!

Dusk Army: YEAH!!

Tyler Rayne: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Beepity beep, little man. Back that short bus up a second. Did you just call me a pussy?

The 5-Star Champion pushes up off the tailgate and marches right on over to Dusk's biggest fans, standing only inches from the mouthpiece of these Lost Souls.

Dusk Fan Uno: Ye... yeah. Wha--what are ya gonna do about it?

He tries really hard. I promise. If you watch the replay, you'll see how hard Rayne is trying not to laugh. Too bad trying isn't enough, though, and he bursts into an uproarious fit of laughter right in this fan's face. It goes on for quite some time, to the point that Rayne is hunched over, trying to catch his breath and wipe tears from his eyes before he can speak.

Tyler Rayne: That... oh shit. That's... fuckin' ... phew. Hold on a sec. Man. Shit... Is... Funny. Alright. Alright. I'm good. Oh. Damn, dude. So, you lot came all the way out here to tell me that Sunshine's fans have more balls than he does?

Dusk Fan Uno: Wha-- no. No! We came out here to--

Tyler Rayne: Zip it, Poindexter. Listen here. If your boy was all it is he's cracked up to be, he'd have already caved my skull in. Instead, I'm sittin' out here gettin' drunk and wasting my evening on the hope of all hopes that he can scrape together enough sack to drag his useless carcass out here and take the beating he deserves. You wanna kick my ass, kid, give it a go. You want him to do it, I'd suggest you start turning that cock trap of yours elsewhere. Ain't me you need to be convincing. I'm out here looking for a fight. Your boy's the one playin' Hide and Go Fuck Himself. It's not my fault that-- Hellooooo, nurse.

The Underground Pimp's attention shifts from portly Dusk fan to by gods fucking gorgeous little belle of a woman walking on by. (I don't remember what Miranda looks like, so we'll fill that bit in later. Tongue)

Tyler Rayne: I gotta go talk to somebody who's supposed to have breasts. Savvy? Good. There's beer there if you want. Or you can, you know, go... brood or something. Whatever it is you people do.

With nothing more than a dismissive wave, Rayne jogs away, leaving those poor Lost Souls behind while he sidles right up on a pretty lady. Charming personality and disarming smile commencing in ...3...2...

Tyler Rayne: So I was gonna come over here and talk about how beautiful you were, but somewhere in my head it just sounded cheesy. Thought maybe instead I'd point to our keg there over yonder...

Which he does.

Tyler Rayne: ...and ask if you might like to have a beer. It's cold. It's tasty. And it's guaranteed to be a better time than watching a Dusk promo.

The problem with Tyler's choice in quarry happens to be twofold, both of which are things that Tyler probably isn't aware of and wouldn't probably have cared too much even if he'd noticed. Although the girl he's speaking to is a pretty brunette who's currently wearing a pink dress with a knee-length skirt and white lace, and black sandals.

The first problem is that she happens to be too young to be drinking beer and is consciously aware of it.

The second problem is that she hasn't yet turned around to actually acknowledge that Tyler Rayne is speaking to her. Instead, she's paying attention to something else, like the clock on her cellular phone. She looks impatient, as if something's going on that's annoying her. In all actuality, it has to do with her brother and his jerk of a best friend being late in actually getting into the building.

Her name is Miranda O'Reily, the public relations manager of the Princes of New England.

The story with her today is that she came to the arena ahead of the Princes, because she had wanted to clear a bit of red tape regarding the desire of the Princes of New England to cut a promo in the ring. Being one of the most hated groups of people in PRIME, along with the fact that they're in Atlanta this evening, means that special percautions had to be made to ensure that the Princes wouldn't get mugged by crazed fans.

Unfortunately, the show is now underway and the Princes happen to be late coming into the ring.

This makes Miranda upset, tapping her foot on the ground in sheer annoyance.

Miranda O'Reily: (muttering) I swear to God, guys, you make this job such a hassle.

Basically, in other words, Miranda O'Reily isn't exactly interested or even paying attention to Tyler Rayne right now.

Tyler Rayne: Right. So... good talkin' to ya. Maybe I'll just, uh... go back over there. Where people noticed I existed. It's cool, though. No hard feelings. Really. Another time. Yeah. Shiny...

Miranda O'Reily sighs and turns to look at Tyler Rayne.

Miranda O'Reily: I heard you just fine.

Tyler Rayne: Right, but... you seem none too interested in what you heard. Which is, you know... that's your thing. And my thing is over here. So I'll just go back to it. Name's Rayne, though. Tyler Rayne. You ever decide you wanna pick this conversation back up on some better footing.

Miranda puts her phone in her purse, and now fully turns toward Tyler Rayne, with her arms crossed.

Miranda O'Reily: I know who you are. You've quite a reputation going for yourself. I'm sorry to say, though, I'm waiting for my idiot brother and his jerk of a best friend to get in the building already. Can you find someone else to rip their clothes off for you?

Tyler Rayne: Plenty, as it were. In fact, there's a whole line of 'em over there waiting to do just that. Thought maybe I'd be nice, though, and extend the invite. Ya know... forget it. Maybe it's not your scene. Brother, huh? So you're with the Princes, then?

Miranda O'Reily: Oh, yes, those wonderful people whom I can barely keep from getting themselves into so much legal and personal trouble that they'd literally drown. Seriously, I'd take Cantrell's job in a minute if it meant I wouldn't have to micromanage those two, in particular.

She holds her hand over her head, as if trying to block a headache.

Miranda O'Reily: Oh well. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be on fire.

The 5-Star Champion begins to rub along the bicep of his left arm. Some might confuse the gesture with nervousness. It's much closer to reminiscence.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Fire. So not cool. Anyway, I was meandering on back. There's beer. And it's calling me. So, uh... good luck with the kids.

Miranda O'Reily: No, trust me, at least kids are easier to manage.

Tyler Rayne: Wouldn't know. Well, anyway... have fun.

The Underground Pimp, apparently not so pimptastic today, shrugs his shoulders and trudges on back to the party. Where there are still smokin' hotties in bikins playing on the Slip 'N Slide. Pimp points makin' a come back.

Miranda sighs and turns around to see Simon Knox and Connor O'Reily have FINALLY arrived. Simon Knox looks at Miranda, then looks back at Tyler Rayne as he finishes walking back to where he had been.

Simon Knox: Who's that loser and why was he talking to you?

Miranda, however, casts a gaze at Connor in particular.

Connor O'Reily: What? What is it?

Miranda O'Reily: (pointing at a bag Connor's got in his hand) WHAT is THAT?

Connor O'Reily: Oh, uh... a Nintendo DS.

Miranda looks like she has a migraine.

Miranda O'Reily: ...Connor bought... a game system... (glares at Simon) ...and you LET HIM!?

Simon Knox: We wanted to understand the mind of the beast that is Tony Davis, so we bought a sample of the types of things that he is into.

Miranda O'Reily: You know that's like one of my commandments that he can't have game systems, right? He'd neglect EVERYTHING if he had one!

Connor O'Reily: But I bought this doctor game and I kick ass at it. I even diffused a bomb.

Miranda O'Reily: Surgeons don't diffuse bombs!

Connor O'Reily: Well, um... this one did.

Miranda O'Reily sighs, and she starts to walk off.

Simon Knox: Hey. Where are you going?

Miranda O'Reily: If you idiots need me, I'll be waiting in the car. Certainly, you can cover a simple in-ring promo by yourselves, without me. Though, I swear to God, Connor, if you come back with some of those bikini girls over there...

Miranda gestures towards Tyler Rayne and his groupies, thus dooming Miranda's next couple of words to being ignored.

Miranda O'Reily: ...I'm gonna hospitalize BOTH of you.

Simon looks at Miranda, then he grabs Connor by the arm, causing him to turn around.

Connor O'Reily: What? I wasn't looking at their boobs.

Simon Knox: Let's just get tonight over with. I *hate* Atlanta.

With that, Simon drags Connor away, leaving Miranda O'Reily alone. She quietly just turns around and walks away, sighing to herself.

With the running thought of Rayne on his mind and Rhine on the forefront, it's any wonder that Dusk is able to speak much less walk to find someone. Having just seen Flyer and Davis fighting with the Princes of New England, he knew his friends were in the building, and he desperately needed to talk to the one of them that was sane. When talking about Viagra though, that was a tough needle to thread, and as he walked up to their locker room he was hardly surprised by the loud noises coming from the room. He hesitates at first before putting his hand on the doorknob and opening the door only to see a mass variety of weapons littered all along the floor with a giant whiteboard hanging from the wall with a list of different ways they could harm the Princes of New England.

Dusk: So, I was thinking... wouldn't it be easier to just take the Princes of New England to like the Sudan and fight there? I think there they allow you to essentially kill a person without getting in trouble.

High Flyer: I dun wanna kill 'em. (off of Dusk's looks) I know... right? Crazy... They kinda remind me of myself at a younger age. So-no, y'know, I just want to make them wish they never found each other.

Dusk chuckles at this news as he walks in and picks up a flamethrower, trying to figure out to himself how heavy one of those bad boys are.

Dusk: Well, I've got a friend who specializes in that. Just name the places and they'll put them into the sex trafficking circuits. (mumbles underneath his breath) Wouldn't mind doing that to Rayne myself...

He then points the flamethrower at the locker and thinks about pulling the trigger on it, but then just puts it back on the ground.

Dusk: Any suggestions with Rayne? Guy's gone overboard with smashing up random cars.

High Flyer: You could always hit him with a bus.

At this suggestion, Dusk's eyes perk.

Dusk: Yeah, but if I do that then he hits me with a plane. Where there I go from there? A spaceship?

High Flyer: You expect Tyler Rayne to endure a head on collision at 75 miles per hour as a pedestrian and SURVIVE?! Christ, if that's the case, you're screwed for Colossus.

Dusk: I fully expect for Rayne to take that collision head on and to get up from it wanting more. I expect to hit Rayne with everything that I have and for it to not be enough. That's why I have to take it up to the next level and then to another level after that. Because, I know Tyler will, and I know if I don't then I'm not going to last very long with him. He and I, we're built the same way. Tolerant to pain and then some. We don't know how to give up which is why I have to make him give up in the end. One way or another, I have to.

Dusk then leans up against the lockers, hands in his pockets, as he's still dressed up in a suit.

Dusk: Right now, he's out there and he wants me to go out there to confront him, and it's taking every fiber of my being not to go out there and just throw down with him. But, what will that get me? How will that allow me to beat him at Colossus if he's the one getting into my head, and I'm not doing the same to him?

High Flyer: Won't. And since Rayne's already in your head... I'd say it's time to fill his visions with nothing but dancing Dusk sugerfairies.

Dusk: You suggesting that I just let him in my head and let it take me to the point that I just snap?

High Flyer: No. I'm sayin' you should play your own game. Get yourself into Rayne's head. Make Tyler snap FIRST.

He simply shakes his head.

Dusk: I don't think I can. Because if he snaps, he takes it to a new level. And then I have to find out if I have that level or not. And if I don't...

High Flyer: It's not a new level. It's a DIFFERENT level. The human body doesn't perform like a ladder. Nothing comes without cost. You piss Tyler Rayne off, and sure, he'll want to throw a car at you, but fuck, HE'LL WANT TO THROW A CAR AT YOU! Do you see how illogical it is!?! Someone who isn't thinking straight, now that, THAT is an easy opponent. Two people who aren't thinking straight... well, that's just a bare knuckle razzle dazzle monkey chested Thunderdome street fight. And who hasn't been in one of those?

Dusk: The only downside to that is if he actually does throw a car at me. Because, then, I might be in some trouble.

Beat.

High Flyer: ... Fucking duck?

Dusk: He's waiting out there and wants to bash my brains out. I'm not scared of fighting him. I'm just not certain I can take my game to the next level.

High Flyer: You don't get it Craig. Forget about your worries. Toss off those invisible metaphorical shackles. Throw yourself to the wolves. Live in the moment. Bask in chaos. Rain down ANARCHY. BE THE JOKER! Forget about levels. We're all the same. We're all... just... human. And you know what Tyler's biggest weakness is?

Dusk: No, what?

High Flyer: Pussy. Hot. Fresh. Twenty two year old pussy.

Dusk: So you think I should just throw Mary-Lynn in his face?

High Flyer: If Tyler's gonna throw a car your way, I don't see the harm.

Dusk lowers his head as he thinks about this for a second.

Dusk: (mumbling under his breath) I do. (He then looks back up at High Flyer.) Talking about Mary-Lynn, where the hell is she?

High Flyer: I told her to buy us Batman tickets again. I wanted to buy a print but those fuckers won't sell yet. Say it's not cost effective.

Dusk: I'm gonna go find her.

With that, Dusk walks to the locker room door, and leaves High Flyer. Flyer turns to Davis, who quickly closes his cell phone.

Tony Davis: So, the Chinese government won't train Pandas in the art of Kung Fu.

You know how all of Dusk's segs always start out with a recap of everything that's happened to the Lost Soul throughout the course of the evening (As if you hadn't read the fifty other segs before it where he appeared... Though on second thought, you probably didn't.) Including how many times he's taken a shit and what kind of sammich he ate before his four hundred thousandth chat with the van der Wals?

Well, we're about to do something very similar to that without all the whining and bitching and poor attempts at creating suspense. So, for those who missed the opening of tonight's ReVolution (blashemy!), Tyler Rayne was bustin' up a car like he was Stewie Griffin and it owed him money, when Angelica Brooks ran out and was all "WTF?"

To which Rayne responded with the kind of clever wit and biting sarcasm Dusk has only read about in those self-help books he keeps buying. Point is, the ol' E.P. has prohibited any sort of violent shenanigans between Dusk and Rayne inside the arena this evening. Leading to the inevitable position of Tyler Rayne standing outside the arena, waiting for the Lost Soul to come out and fight.

Caught up? Good. We're never doing that again. For those watching at home now, things have changed a little since the start of ReV 168. The parking lot has been converted into an impromptu block party. A bunch of fans have pulled their cars together to form one large ring, within which they're all partying and having a merry old time. There are kegs on tap. There are a couple fat dudes grilling out on barbecues they apparently had stashed in the back of the F-150. There are a half dozen smokin' hotties in bikinis playing on a Slip 'N Slide.

Yes, that's right. A mother fuckin' Slip 'N Slide. Ain't no party like a Tyler Rayne party.

The 5-Star Champion himself is just finishing a record setting keg stand when the honk of a nearby automobile pulls his attention from the cute brunette and her bouncing... so this automobile that's honking. A big green van trying to back its way into the party. Tyler perks up, immediately shaking off his buzz and beginning to direct traffic.

Tyler Rayne: Ladies, please, if you could just hop out of the way here. Could somebody move that Taurus? Shiny.

It takes a few moments for the party-goers to stumble their way through his orders, but after a couple confused minutes, the green van manages to back right up to the Underground Pimp, who immediately pops open the back doors and drags a heavy cardboard box from the van. The box thumps heftily down to the concrete. Rayne's grinning like a kid in a candy store as he rips open the box and pulls out one of the dozens of little dolls contained inside.

The plush figure is soft and squishy and almost cute. It's about eight inches tall, completely flesh toned save for the diaper wrapped around its little bottom. The head, a cartoonish caricature of Dusk as an infant, is at least two, if not three sizes too big for the body. Remember how we said it was almost cute? Yeah, well if it didn't have Dusk's face these things would be too gods damned adorable for words. As is, though... almost cute. Rayne holds the action figure up for all to see.

Tyler Rayne: Ladies and gentlemen... the Baby Dusk plush doll.

Everyone begins to laugh, because, well, Baby Dusk is funny, damn it. No matter what Nate said. Rayne throws out a few of the plush toys to the nearest fans, then pauses to hold another up in the air.

Tyler Rayne: Complete with spring-loaded superkick action!

A squeeze of Baby Dusk's belly triggers the "action." The right foot, outstretched in that oh so familiar superkick pose, launches from the doll's leg like a bullet, slamming straight into some poor drunk's chin and sending him about twelve feet back on his ass.

Tyler Rayne: Oh. Um... my bad. Get that camera in close, chief. Here comes the sales pitch. *ahem* Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you, the BRAND NEW, never-before-seen BABY DUSK PLUSH DOLL. Complete with over-exaggerated superkick action! Buy it now at kiosks throughout the arena, online at PRIMEshop.com, or wherever fine PRIME products and Maloof humiliation are sold.

"I better get at least 50 percent of the revenue on this or I’m suing the BeJebus out of you."

Making his way into the scene and through the throng of thong wearing women is Universal Champion, Devin Shakur. Trailing behind, staring at the big voluptuous breasts on all the smoking hotties are Beef and El Janito from Mega Job. Steve would be haggling along, except he’s already getting phone numbers from aforementioned hotties.

Beef: I have the Mean Beef Machine Pelvic Thrusts and he gets more digits than I do?

El Janito: Well if you count all those 1-800 numbers you have, you technically have more than he does.

Beef: They all hang up on me before I can even get anybody.

Steve (pointing to self): PIMP!

El Janito: Sickening.

Shakur continues to walk toward Tyler Rayne, having to leap over the Slip N Slide just to even speak with the Underground Pimp. He’s handing out Baby Dusk dolls like they are going out of style and doesn’t even notice Shakur coming up to him.

Tyler Rayne: Thank you. Thank you, your contribution will go toward furthering the tuition of college females who deem it acceptable to remove their clothing on a stage with a large pole to swing around.

Devin Shakur: Tom Walczak is finding work again?

The entire party stops yet again. Shakur is so not in the comedic zone tonight.

Tyler Rayne: …

El Janito: Even I’m funnier than that.

Bursting through the parking lot door, once again, is Tony Gamble with three trusty tomatoes. He makes his way through the mass of drunken humanity and chases Shakur around the van.

Tony Gamble: COME HERE! I’LL TEACH YOU TO BE FUNNY!

Devin Shakur: NO! NO! HELP! RAYNE! GIVE ME ONE OF THOSE DOLLS, NOW!

Tyler Rayne: $29.99

Shakur and Gamble run past Rayne yet again while the party seems to have gone back to normal. Gamble launches one into the air and barely misses Shakur, who runs around the front of the van and continues sprinting away.

Devin Shakur: THAT GUY PAID 19.99 FOR IT!

Tyler Rayne: He’s not a douchebag like you.

Shakur ducks another tomato that hits one of the partygoers in the face, breaking his nose. Begrudgingly, Shakur removes thirty bucks from his pocket and flicks it off to Rayne, who makes the clutch assist and hands Shakur a Baby Dusk doll. Shakur coincidentally trips over himself, allowing Gamble to have the over under on his shot and spike the tomato downward.

Shakur: NO! NOOOOOOOO!

Shakur activates the Baby Dusk plush superkick action, which sends the tomato sky high into the air and clear out of the parking garage.

"Ooooooooooooo" "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

Three seconds later, the faint sound of shattered glass is heard about 2000 yards away. Gamble scoffs and exits from the party. Steve waddles over, having gotten every girl’s number from the party, and brings Shakur back up to a vertical base by taking his extended hand with one arm. Dusting himself off, Shakur goes back to Rayne.

Devin Shakur: Thanks

Tyler Rayne: Don’t mention it…No really, don’t. At least say you paid extra for it because it’s the greatest invention ever concocted by man so sales aren’t hurt. You seem to be a real buzz kill lately.

Devin Shakur: I can’t actually believe you had these things made.

Tyler Rayne: The pre-order sales are amazing. This thing is going to go quadruple platinum before the night is over, bank on that. So what are you doing out here anyway, Emo? I don’t imagine you to be the kind of guy who does anything remotely hip.

Devin Shakur: I’m actually on a bit of an inquiry. See, for the last few weeks a question has been posed and I really need to know the answer tonight. It’s killing me not to know.

Tyler Rayne: Thus making me wonder why I should help.

Devin Shakur: You were the one who posed this question to begin with, so it’s your fault that I’m thinking it.

Tyler Rayne: Yes, I really have slept with more women than Wilt Chamberlain. There, question answered.

Meanwhile, Beef and El Janito have somehow found a way inside of the van and they are exploring the inside.

Beef: Awesome, this thing has everything, look including wigs.

El Janito: I’m not putting one on a broom stick again and pretending to be a janitor.

Devin Shakur (Completely ignoring Mega Job): No, it’s actually one regarding PRIME…

Mega Job digs into another cardboard box that unveils some straight from the factory T-Shirts. El Janito holds one up and ponders at the question.

Beef: Who the Fuck is Troy Douglas?

Devin Shakur: …Yes, that one.

Tyler Rayne: Now that’s an adventure, one that not even the Scooby Gang could solve.

Almost like they have been summoned by an unascertainable means, Mega Job piles out of the van, almost toppling the box of Baby Dusk plush dolls on their way back to the cement ground. When they fully emerge, Rayne, Shakur, and Steve all stare at them with confused looks on their faces.

Rayne: What the h

Shakur: The hell…

Steve: …HUH?

Chandler Tsonda comes emerging from around the corner looking fly as WWWWWWHAT? He tries to give a sup nod to Rayne, but his eyes converge on what everybody else is looking at.

Shakur/Rayne/Tsonda: WHAT THE HELL?

El Janito is dressed in giant glasses and an orange sweater, not to mention hair that is borderline orange as well. He’s all about the orange, except the skirt because he has a small sense of dignity. Beef has on a purple sweater, green scarf, and some dashing purple shoes to match along with a red haired wig. Yes, they look like Daphne and Velma from Scooby Doo.

El Janito: Jeremy Jenkins! It appears that we have a mystery on our hands.

Beef: Wait, what did you say?

El Janito: ...Jenkies?

Chandler Tsonda: Is Ashton about to pop out of somewhere? Because otherwise I'm swinging.

Devin Shakur: The hell with that, I better see him first.

Steve looks at both El Janito and Beef before staring back at Shakur, Rayne, and Tsonda. An idea begins to formulate in his head that will change the space time continuum forever. Even more so than the time Rayne actually broke the damn thing.

Steve (pointing at Shakur): SCOOBY

Devin Shakur: That’s fucking ridiculous, no way am I playing Sco-

Steve (pointing at Rayne): SHAGGY

Tyler Rayne: Get the fuck out of here, kid.

Steve (pointing at Tsonda): FRED

Chandler Tsonda: You have got to be out of your vertically challenged mind.

Steve shrugs his shoulders and dunks both arms down into the box of Baby Dusk Plush dolls, returning with thirty of them with the superkick spring launch action just a second away.

Tyler Rayne: …Dammit, he’s serious…Fine, I’ll be Shaggy.

Devin Shakur: Ruck this, I’ll be Scooby.

Chandler Tsonda: He’s just got a bunch of do-

Steve sets off the nearest one toward the back left tire of the van, flattening it completely.

Chandler Tsonda: …Ok, I’m down.

Steve (pointing to himself): SCRAPPY!

Chandler Tsonda: …Alright gang, we are investigating the mystery of ‘Who the Fuck is Troy Douglas?’ I say we split up and search for clues before I come up with an overly dramatic and highly expensive trap that sets the PRIME budget back to the Ian English years and catches Troy Douglas. We then let Shakur have one of his cute one liners at the end and everybody laughs before going to theme music.

Tyler Rayne: Zoinks! That sounds…Fine with me. Anybody like got any questions?

El Janito: Yes, Shaggy I have one…WHY AM I VELMA?

Steve: HOMOSEXUAL.

Devin Shakur: Rhy me? Rhy always me?

Tyler Rayne: You are like getting way too into the character man. You want a Troy Douglas T-Shirt to calm your nerves?

Shakur perks up like…a dog when he hears the prospect of having his own free t-shirt.

Devin Shakur: Reah, yeah, yeah.

Tyler Rayne: $49.99

Devin Shakur: Rou runtdrip.

El Janito: Why am I Velma and why is he Daphne? He’s wearing high heels!

Beef: Because I make this look *good*, thank you very much.

Chandler Tsonda: …I am so not pretending to hit that while everybody remains oblivious, that’s for damn sure. Alright, here’s what we are going to do. Velma, you Shaggy, Scrappy and the Emo Doo go down the random corridors while Daphne and I will investigate the locker room.

Tyler Rayne: Like HOLD ON, MAN! Ain’t no way I’m going in there with the possibility of hearing or seeing Xavier Kannon give a lecture on Scientology. What if we, like, pull off his face and it's just Tom Cruise hiding underneath. That's some scary ass shit. I’m just going to stay out here and guard this gigantic supply of Plush Baby Dusk dolls.

Chandler Tsonda: You really are going to abandon us, Shag? For dolls?

Tyler Rayne: Hey, man, I only agreed to do this because Scrappy was going to set off the dolls. I can’t have that, too many left to sell.

El Janito: Fine, we’ll go on without you.

Tyler Rayne: Have fun, kids.

Tsonda leads the charge of Shakur, and Mega Job w/Steve into the building.

Chandler Tsonda: Scooby Douche, use your keen sense of smell to try and track down the Douglas’s scent.

Devin Shakur: Rou gotta be ruckin kiddin.

Chandler Tsonda: Come on Scoob.

El Janito: Would you like a Scooby Snack?

Devin Shakur: Not if they’ve been touched by you.

Beef: Like total pwnage, hehehe

Everybody glares at Beef. Tsonda darts off down in the direction of the locker room area while Steve, Shakur, and El Janito follow suit with Beef trailing behind.

Beef: These heels are a bitch. Wait for me!

The foursome curiously begin looking for clues, poking their head into the random locker room here and there. Suddenly Steve stops dead in his tracks, which causes everybody else to stop.

Steve: GHOST!

Sure enough about fifteen feet ahead of Tsonda is an eerie looking ghost, complete with white sheet and scissor cut out eyes. He is somehow hanging three inches off the ground, which amazes everybody.

Devin Shakur: RIPES! RUN!

Everybody scatters in different directions, heading into different locker rooms. Danny Janssen plays over the PA system, which causes everybody in the stands to get up and dance like it’s 1972.

Hey girl you got me running na na na na na na na
heart is lost and my minds gone running
na na na na na na na

Shakur, Tsonda, El Janito, and Beef come out in various combinations from different locker rooms. Shakur is somehow the quickest, probably because he’s got four legs at his disposal. Beef drags behind because of his choice to wear heels. The ghost is always a step behind.

Tell me tell me where ya been hiding I took a look and I decided
Gotta know why you been beside me I can’t take nothing but you
It’s all I do just think of you hey girl you know you need me na na na na na na

Steve meanwhile just stands there and observes this fiasco breaking out. Tsonda and Shakur collide into each other, elbowing each other as they have to roll underneath the ghost to avoid capture. Beef launches a heel at the ghost, missing horrendously while El Janito runs with his arms out at the waist, elbows bent. We have no idea why.

Open your eyes and see me na na na na na na na

Steve finally walks up to the ghost and yanks down the sheet, revealing his true identity. Everybody stops and stares at the mysterious ghost, who was using wires to elevate himself off the ground.

Steve (pointing at ghost): CODEMASTER!

Devin Shakur: Rhat gives?

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah, creepy, spit it out.

Beef: And quick, THESE THINGS ARE KILLING MY FEET!

Codemaster: Uh... yo, guys.

Beef: Why the hell is it YOU?

Codemaster: Well, uh... funny thing is that I'm lookin' to catch the REAL ghost by becomin' one. All Geist and what have you. Maybe a bit of Jericho. I dunno. Point i-- wait, why are my former lackeys dressed like women?

El Janito: It's a long story.

Beef: No, it's not.

El Janito: Shut up, Beef. It's long if you're me.

Codemaster: Look. Point is, I ain't your ghost. ...And why are the Universal Champion and the number one contender chasing ghosts, anyway?

Devin Shakur: Rored, rostly.

Chandler Tsonda: So you are looking for the REAL ghost?

Codemaster: Correct

OJ Simpson walks into the shot, giving a hearty wave to the camera. Steve points in his direction.

Steve: MURDERER!

Codemaster turns around and gets a parting glimpse at OJ, giving chase.

Codemaster: I'LL GET YOU, OJ! I'LL GET YOU NINE TIMES!

Everybody stares at one another and then shakes their heads.

Devin Shakur: So did you find out anything?

El Janito: Nope

Beef: Absolutely not

Steve: NO

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah, they're meeting in CP’s conference room. Follow the handsomest man in the room.

Devin Shakur: How did you find that out?

Chandler Tsonda: An oompa told me while we were running in and out of rooms.

Devin Shakur: An oompa?

Tony Gamble emerges from a side room and LEVELS Shakur with a tomato, knocking him down on his back, all four paws in the air.

Tony Gamble: THAT’S FUNNY!

Incense burns slowly in the Executive CABINET~! boardroom, sending a thin wisp of smoke up into the air. More and more the PRIME backstage area is coming to smell like a head shop, due in no small part, surely, to Business Utilities Liaison & Securities Head Treasurer Nova’s increased influence in PRIME supply imports. The four men in charge of the business end of PRIME sit around a large conference table. CP Cantrell twiddles his fingers, eyes darting around the room. His odd behavior is not lost on his crew.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Sup, boss?

Nova: Something bothering you, Chuck? You seem a little…antsy.

CP Cantrell: Honestly? I’m wondering what else you may have slipped into that stack of papers that I signed off on. You never answered me last week when I asked you what else was in there.

The Admin Star averts his eyes, lighting a cigarette.

Nova: Nah…nah, man. That was it. *Blink* Yup.

Silence.

CP Cantrell: You’re full of shit.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: Dude, WORST. POKER FACE. EVER.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Dat was awful, boss.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: Lemme give you a timeline, chief: Age 8 months, first word: "Cunt." Age 9 months, first snap kick, killed the family dog Ribbontree. Age 11 months, first lie: shook my head when Grandma Silver asked if I’d taken money out of her savings hoard under the crooked floorboard in the hallway. And my poker face THEN was better than yours, Nov.

Nova: Alright, ALRIGHT! First off, Sonny, that’s horrifying.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: Thank you. If you knew Grandma Silver, you’d know why that was my first word.

Nova: And second, yes, there was something else.

CP Cantrell: HAH~!! What was it? Dissolution of PRIME’s drug policy? Nude Swedish massage steam rooms with optional happy endings? C’mon, hit me with your best shot!

Nova: Authorization for my Colossus entrance.

CP Cantrell: (Pausing) Are you serious?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Dis wuh no ordinary entrance, boss.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P.: Show ‘im the paperwork.

Nova: Fine, fine.

The Admin Star removes a folded sheet from his pocket and hands it to CP. The Executive Producer slides glasses up his nose as he looks down at the signed contract. His eyes widen, and he forcefully sets the paper down on the desk.

CP Cantrell: No. No way.

Nova: ?!?

CP Cantrell: Nova, this is too much of a liability. What the hell IS all this? A cannon? A net? A bicycle?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: It’s, um, not really a bicycle if it flies ‘tru the air, boss…

Nova: He’s right…it’s more of a…FLYCYCLE!

He slaps a hard five with the Head of Security and the three of them howl with laughter as CP stares on, beads of sweat rolling down his pale face.

CP Cantrell: I…I can’t condone this.

Nova: YOU ALREADY DID!

CP Cantrell: Oh, don’t start with that sh-

Interrupting this tender administrative moment, the boardroom is enriched with the sounds of two screaming voices from behind a door.

"COME ON! RIGHT HERE ON THE CHIN! MAKE MY DAY, CHAMP!"

"Keep running your mouth and you’ll be the next in line for my fist down your throat!"

CP Cantrell gives a facepalm, now about to have two more people indulge upon his already disastrous board meeting. Fulfilling the earlier request sent by a techie, Intense Champion Troy Douglas and number one contender, Kaiser Vashaun slowly make their way to the roundtable, taunting and arguing all the way.

Kaiser Vashaun: I almost wish you would hit me, Douglas. That way I could prove once and for all that even your best punch is a fraudulent piece of shit.

Douglas goes to wind up for the big punch, having not realized yet that Vashaun has led him straight into the boardroom and mere feet from CP Cantrell.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas (whispering to CP): You want me to handle ‘dis, boss?

CP doesn’t respond, instead deciding to watch the scene develop in front of him.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P: OH HELL NO! YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT, DAWG! SHOW HIM WHO IS CHAMP!

Douglas swings his hips around and goes to throw the punch. Vashaun stands there, eager to take the blow on the chin.

Nova meanwhile…Is reading US Weekly, paying no attention to the scene in front of him.

Putting all his 260 pounds forward, Douglas swings for the fences and Vashaun braces himself for the blow.

…

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Douglas stops so close to Vashaun’s nose, he can feel the minute knuckle hairs on his middle finger. Vashaun backs away and moves a few reassuring feet away from Megatron.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: You done got served, boss.

Troy Douglas: Fat chance I’m going to violate that restraining order inside CP’s boardroom.

Everybody gives a cursory glance over at CP who has his legs interlaced and arms folded like Mr. Burns in his lap.

CP Cantrell: Oh so finally everybody decides to pay attention to the boss. At the rate you were going, I was expecting twelve people to come in from the side door and you guys to sing "Maria" from West Side Story.

Nova slowly dips his magazine down into his lap and looks at CP Cantrell with legitimate interest.

CP Cantrell: Don’t you dare, Nova.

The magazine ascends back toward his chest.

Troy Douglas: So, you wanted to see us, Mr. Cantrell?

CP Cantrell: Indeed I did gentlemen. Please, have a seat.

Kaiser Vashaun: I’m not sitting at the same table with a fake. He’ll probably melt into the chair.

Douglas rolls his eyes and plops down into a nearby chair. Reluctantly Kaiser does the same, sitting as far away as humanly possible. Unfortunately that means having to sit within breathing distance of Sonny Silver and Nova.

CP Cantrell: Now ever since I administered that restraining order, you two have been surprisingly mature and not struck each other. I can’t believe I’m about to say this about two wrestlers, but I’m proud of you.

Kaiser Vashaun: Wait, you are proud of him using a balloon and a thumbtack to stimulate involuntarily reflexes? You are proud of this imbecile using a Kick Me sign?

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P: You got kick signed, dude? Wow

The Sports Entertainment…I’m not finishing that, holds up two finger to Kaiser’s head in the shape of a O and then puts his right pointer finger on the left side to give the final shape of a P, the new universal symbol of ‘PWNED’.

Or one I just made up about ten seconds ago.

CP Cantrell: Everybody else can’t wait to get their hands on each other for Colossus, while you two seem to be at least quasi-civil about the matter, and hey the Kick Me sign is classic.

Troy Douglas: That’s what I said.

Kaiser scoffs at the entire table.

CP Cantrell: So to honor your senses of restraint gentlemen, I am going to grant you the wish of lifting the restraining order-

Immediately three people leap from their chairs and rush to the center of the conference room. Kaiser Vashaun obviously irked that nobody sees the horror in him getting humiliated, Troy Douglas who is just dying to get his hands on this newcomer who keeps calling him a fraud, and Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas who doesn’t want a ruckus to erupt during a meeting.

CP Cantrell: Hmm, maybe I should reconsider that position.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P: Let them go. I got 200 on the Transformer. WHO WANTS IN ON THIS?

CP Cantrell: As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I’m going to lift the restraining order-tonight. Because you two are going to be one half of a tag team match in the Main Event.

With equally intimidating snarls, Kaiser and Troy Douglas return to their seats.

Kaiser Vashaun: I don’t care who you stick me with, Ceeps. Just give me five minutes with this Uri Geller over here and I’ll make mincemeat out of him.

Nova drops his magazine yet again.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Not talking about actual food, boss.

The magazine once again rises.

Troy Douglas: So who is going to be the other half of the tag team equation?

CP Cantrell: Well…

SUDDENLY, the door flies open and in steps four different, and we’re thankful for that, entities. The Sultan of Style, Chandler Tsonda, looking suave and leading the way, Mega Job, and trailing in the background is a curious and wide eyed Devin Shakur.

Beef: Hold it, gang.

Shakur starts pawing at El Janito and pointing in the general direction of everybody else in the conference room.

El Janito: Scoob, Velma Beef is talking.

Beef: I believe-

Chandler Tsonda: Gang, I believe we have solved the mystery of who the fuck Troy Douglas is.

Beef: Yes we have, and in record time without commercials. Eat that 1970s!

Everybody is staring at the foursome like they are…out of their fucking minds.

CP Cantrell (pointing to El Janito): Did you just call our Universal Champion, Scoob?

El Janito: It’s a long story, Detective Cantrell.

Steve…Scrappy Doo tugs at his uncle Scoo…Shakur and points over to a nearby tank which has somehow made it into the arena.

Scrappy Steve Doo: RATINGS!

Chandler Tsonda: I’ll admit that this was a tough one to crack and believe me nobody made it easy on us. But through our leader work-

Devin Shakur: Because you shoved me into a closet at least ten times.

Beef: And left with El Janito for an undisclosed amount of time while Scrappy, Scooby, and I searched for clues.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P is trying very hard not to bust out into hysterical laughter at Shakur being called Scooby Doo. He makes a mental note to add that on the list of nicknames for Commie Emo.

Chandler Tsonda: And if you fiends had been on your game, we would have solved the mystery earlier. Ladies and Gentlemen, now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for…The unmasking of Troy Douglas.

Needless to say, Troy Douglas looks a little confounded and shifts his closed right fist outward in a menacing manner. Shakur and Tsonda both walk over into his general direction. Tsonda and Douglas have faced off once before with Tsonda barely achieving the victory so there is a little hidden tension there.

Except they breeze right past him and over to Kaiser Vashaun. Shakur tugs at his hair while Tsonda tries to pull off a mask.

Kaiser Vashaun: ASSAULT! I’M BEING VIOLATED!

Devin Shakur: RELP!

El Janito: Are you kidding? I’m not ruining my new shoes. You guys are plenty capable of handling this.

Scrappy Steve Doo waddles his way over and taps Scooby on the shoulder, causing Shakur to divert his attention over to the real Troy Douglas. Shakur puts his paw…arm underneath his chin and begins to contemplate while Tsonda still struggles with Vashaun.

Meanwhile, the real Troy Douglas is standing in the corner chuckling endlessly. Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P and CP Cantrell get in on Nova’s US Weekly viewing party while this incident goes down, refusing to have anything to do with this shenanigan.

Chandler Tsonda: This mask doesn’t want to come off. Come on Douglas, fess up, we know that’s you under there.

Kaiser Vashaun: IT’S NOT A MASK! THE NEXT IN LINE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS!

Devin Shakur: Ruh…Fred?

Chandler Tsonda: Not now douchebag, I’m about to get a footing on this.

Scrappy Steve Doo waddles over to the Intense Championship, looking up at Troy Douglas before snatching the belt and walking back over to Tsonda. He taps the Viet Viper on the leg and holds up the Championship while pointing back over at the real Troy Douglas.

Scrappy Steve Doo: DOUGLAS!

Chandler Tsonda: That’s preposterous Scrappy. No way is that Troy Douglas.

Troy Douglas: Actually, I am Troy Douglas.

Tsonda turns completely around to see Troy Douglas is in fact wearing a T-Shirt that says "Hi, I’m Troy Douglas, PRIME Intense Champion." Douglas turns the shirt around and it has a picture of him on the back with the caption underneath reading "Yes, I’m really Troy Douglas."

Chandler Tsonda: …

Tsonda turns around and once again rips at the face of Kaiser Vashaun. This time The Next in Line launches Tsonda back about three feet with a shove.

Kaiser Vashaun: I’m calling the police on you ignorant morons. For the love of God, Chandler, you faced Douglas recently in a Main Event match.

Chandler Tsonda: …

Devin Shakur: Rhat a fucking idiot.

Chandler Tsonda: That’s why you are playing a subordinate puppy, emo and I’m the lead star.

El Janito: Gang, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but we were supposed to be in this office for a reason.

CP Cantrell slides away from the magazine and focuses on his wrestlers once again.

CP Cantrell: Anybody else want this freak show to continue?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I’s entertained, Boss, these cats funny.

CP Cantrell: Well we need to move onto more prominent business, you guys can continue if you desire after this announcement. As I was saying before Scooby and the Gang interrupted the parade, Troy Douglas and Kaiser Vashaun will be competing as one half of a four person tag team equation…The other half being Devin Shakur and Chandler Tsonda.

Kaiser Vashaun: You’ll rue the day you touched my face, Tsonda, and you’ll be teaming with the fraud. This is going to be a walk in the park for-

CP Cantrell: Actually, Mr. Vashaun, your prediction for who will be on what team is slightly inaccurate.

Everybody focuses their attention back on the boss.

CP Cantrell: See, Shakur and Tsonda requested a Pick Your Poison scenario for this evening, involving them getting to select each other’s opponent. Unfortunately, all of their selections didn’t appease to me and I thought of a much better idea than allowing them to pick their opponents…A Pick Your Poison scenario of my own. I figured the best way to give each of you a poison would be to put you in an uncompromising situation, and what better way to do that…than to make you tag partners with the person you will face at Colossus.

The four wrestlers all break from their silly stride and glare at one another.

Devin Shakur: Oh

Chandler Tsonda: Hell

Kaiser Vashaun: Fucking

Troy Douglas: No

CP Cantrell: I’m afraid so, gentlemen. Tonight, it will be Chandler Tsonda and Devin Shakur teaming up to face the Intense Champion Troy Douglas and Kaiser Vashaun.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Obligatory crowd pop that leaves all four of the wrestlers stunned.

CP Cantrell: Now if you all don’t mind leaving my damn office, immediately. Remember, Douglas and Vashaun, if I hear one word about either of you two going at it, I’m going to have both of your heads on a pike.

Vashaun and Douglas grunt out of the room, shoving past Mega Job and Steve. Tsonda follows next, going in the opposite direction of Vashaun and Douglas, probably off to whip out some pie charts on his opposition for the evening. Meanwhile, Devin Shakur stands there and stares intently at the Cabinet.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: What’cha need, boss?

Devin Shakur: Is…That US Weekly you are reading?

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P and Nova each give a nod of their head, causing Shakur to inch his way closer toward the magazine.

Devin Shakur: You think I can borrow that for an hour or so?

Both former Universal Champions drop their head and stare at the current Champ.

Mr. Silver, S.E.L.T.P and Admin Star: Sorry, brother, you gots to get your own!

Shakur frowns and slowly exits with his head hung low.

While Tony Gamble is arguably – very extremely arguably – the most intense Intense champion PRIME has ever had, nothing compares to the Tony Gamble walking down the hallway now. The left side of his face has been in a war as his mouth has tried its damnedest to curl into an angry scowl, only to have that damn scar screaming 'fuck you, this is my house' and not letting go of the smile like it was the last piece of bread at the last supper – Hoyt remembers that guy, he was a douche.

Still, as the man that had the Internet Goin' Nuts during his tenure as Alias/Internet champion storms down the hall, it is his companion that tries his best to make light of the situation.

And considering it is the usually emo-riffic Devin Shakur that is keeping Tony from running dull razor blades across his knees – yeah, Tony's not that hip to be a real emo - I don't care who you are... That shit's funny right there.

Shakur: Dude, you have to admit, if that was you you would be laughing your ass off while telling me the story.

Gamble: He kidnapped my lucky underwear, Dev... You know, you wouldn't understand.

THE CHAMP~! cocks an eyebrow.

Shakur: It's underwear, man, just buy another pair.

Gamble: I've had that pair for ten years... It's the whole reason I'm even here, man.

Shakur: But it's just underwear.

Gamble stops, putting his hand on Shakur's title to stop him.

OKAY... He touched it just to see what it felt like, but Devin will never know that!

Gamble: Just underwear? You remember the night I lost the 5 star title to your girlie girl, Sunny? Yeah, I sharted like ten minutes before the match and they didn't dry in time.

Shakur: I didn't-

The look on his face could finish that sentence, you know that look where your lips form an 'O' for 'OMG~! He didn't just say that!' and you look away to avoid eye contact. Yeah, that look.

Gamble: When I lost the Intense title to Dusk... Oh man, I sued American Airlines twice! Once for the fact that they sent my luggage to Peoria, Illinois - I didn't even know they had a damn airport or anyone actually went there – and I sued them again for the pain and suffering that I went through after losing to the one man that never wins.

Shakur: Did you win?

Gamble: My lawyers are still trying to work something out... Apparently the airline doesn't think Dusk tries too hard.

Shakur: You should win the first one. I actually heard about your luggage getting lost. That pitcher who threw a ball into the stands was working there at the time and he threw it onto the wrong cart.

Gamble looks up into his eyes, but not in that loving sensual way Sunny does.

Gamble: You messing with my head, because I think I could parlay that into the pain and anguish case.

Shakur: Of course I'm messing with your head, I'm trying to keep you from doing something that can ruin your career.

Gamble: People attack other people on our shows all the time. I'd say who does it almost every week, but I've already brought up his name one too many times.

Shakur: That's right. I forgot all about our interim color commentary gig last week. Ricky sent me a nasty letter about stealing his schtick.

Shakur taps his index finger against his chin.

Shakur: I tell you what. Let me go in first, see if I can convince the guy to do the right thing and give them back. Who knows, maybe he just didn't like your tone.

Gamble: Fine. If that doesn't work though...

Tony reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle of tomato juice, twisting off the top, and taking a nice long drink.

Gamble: Hmm... That's some good juice.

Shakur: Wait...Before I go, answer a rumor for me.

Gamble: Alright.

Shakur: I was reading Wikipedia because I was bored and Dusk didn't believe me when I said his refrigerator was running and he should go catch it...It said on there that you have clown genitals and that whenever someone squeezes them, they squirt water at you. Not to mention they also honk.

Gamble: Look, I'm not real proud of my time with the circus, but I was hiding out.

Shakur: I just threw up my in my mouth a little.

Shakur opens up the locker room door, now officially on a mission to find Tony Rolo. Well, he doesn't have to go far because Rolo is stripper dancing in the middle of the room wearing Gamble's lucky boxers.

Rolo: I AM ALIVE! HEY! HEY! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Eeeep!

Shakur: ...I'm just going to cut my wrists now and get this over with.

Rolo notices his audience and rushes over to mute the stereo on the bench, as Gamble brushes past Shakur. His steps are methodical, each one with a purpose as he slowly slips a black leather glove that is two sizes too small – OJ REPRESENT! – over his hand.

Rolo: Okay, this isn't what it looks like.

Gamble steps right up in front of Rolo's face. He lifts his hand up and draws Rolo's attention over to the Batman logo on the back of the glove, slowly slipping it off by the fingers and pulling it away. He starts to wiggle his fingers a bit, he himself staring at them as well, before swinging his other arm around and slapping Rolo with something white.

Gamble: I challenge you to a duel, good sir.

Rolo rubs at his cheek.

Rolo: Did you just slap me with a glove?

Gamble: Of course not...

He lifts his hand and produces Joey Troy's personalized briefs.

Gamble: I'll see you out in the parking lot in ten minutes... Don't be late.

Gamble tosses the dirty drawers toward Rolo's face, but he manages to swat them away.

Nick: I've just received word that Crucifix is outside and Logic is with him.

Richard: Logic is WITH Crucifix? Oh this is going to be at least a PG rating.

Nick: Do we have a camera out there?

Richard: Are you kidding? PRIME has cameras everywhere! By the way, a little urinal etiquette for you - if you shake it more than twice, you're playing with it.

Nick: Let's - wait, what?

Richard: Uh, what my esteemed colleague was trying to say is - let's cut to the parking structure across the street and watch the carnage unfold.

Nick: You’re saying that there’s a camera in the bath-

Richard: I SAID CUT TO THE PARKING STRUCTURE!

Those at home are given a new image on their screen. It’s the same one those in the arena are watching on the PRIME*View. The bad news is that the Centennial Garage is out of the range of the plethora of cameras that have been posted around the arena. The good news is that the old school methods still work. A camera man has been dispatched to the parking structure, and once he arrived it didn’t take him long to find the action.

Or rather, inaction.

Wearing a black kung fu jacket with matching baggy pants, Crucifix is sitting cross-legged on the hood of Logic's Crown Victoria with his palms resting on his knees. Logic’s white polo shirt is immediately visible in the driver’s seat, his eyes locked on Crucifix’s stare. Logic’s palms are resting on the steering wheel. It is interesting to note that the Crown’s engine is currently idling.

Crucifix: Hello David.

Logic: Hello David.

Crucifix doesn’t seem to acknowledge being addressed as David. He simply continues to stare through the windshield, watching Logic like a cat scoping out a goldfish swimming around in its bowl. Logic doesn’t appear to be the least bit intimidated by this.

Logic: I would like a match with you at Colossus.

Crucifix: Is that what you would like? Well, we would like to eat –

Logic (rolling his eyes): My soul, right?

Crucifix: No, Mister Know-It-All. First, you don’t have a soul. Second, if you did, we suspect it would taste like old cheese. Something heavy and German and offensive. No, what we really want is to eat your face.

Logic (clears his throat): Do I get my match?

Crucifix (smiling slightly): Of course David. Of course.

There’s a tense pause while each man studies the other, calculating each other’s next move. Their business would appear to be concluded, yet neither man seems intent on budging from their spot. Logic finally squares up his broad shoulders and leans closer to the windshield, his face almost coming to rest on the steering wheel.

Logic: I want you to understand something. I know where you've been.

Crucifix: We seriously doubt that.

The red blinking light from the camera gets David Walter Smith’s attention. He looks out the driver’s side window and sees a single shoulder-mounted camera, PRIME stencilled down the side, being held by a man who clearly would rather be anywhere but here. The camera man can taste the potential gunpowder in the air, and would rather not be at Ground Zero if a spark goes off.

Logic: Oh look, a PRIME camera. Why don't you look over there and tell all four of your fans what kind of hospital you were in for all those weeks?

Purple locks of hair drag across Crucifix’s shoulder while he turns his head. He looks at the nervous man holding the camera, then at the camera itself.

Crucifix: Four fans? We've doubled our fan base. How very exciting.

Logic: You were in a psychiatric hospital. You weren't well. You're still not well.

That newsflash brought Crucifix’s attention back to the man sitting in the car. Logic seems pleased by the reaction, and continues to talk with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Logic: I realize that it has become fashionable to be crazy in PRIME, but you're something else entirely. You're not just mad - you're a danger to others. The fact that you’re still permitted in a wrestling ring only reflects the sad state of the business, that promoters will exploits freaks like you to put fans in seats. At the end of the day, you’re just a pathetic sideshow attraction.

Movement from Crucifix causes Logic to quickly sit back in his seat. Crucifix’s hand cups his ear.

Crucifix: We're sorry, but we can't hear you very well. Maybe if you stepped out of the car?

Logic: Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?

Crucifix: More than kittens.

Like a man standing before an angry dog, Logic moves slowly and purposefully. His hand inches down the steering wheel, floating off the wheel entirely, then hovering above the shifter beside his thigh.

Logic: Of course, I could just as easily step on the accelerator and slam this rental into that concrete wall behind you. I wouldn't get my match, but next door at CNN Central Wolf Blitzer could do a Situation Room segment with your corpse.

Crucifix: Sounds like a win-win situation to us.

Contemplation for seconds. The hand returns to the steering wheel.

Logic: No, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Colossus.

Crucifix: ... oh balls.

A car pulls up behind the Crown Victoria, waiting for it to move. Seconds tick by, and once again neither Logic nor Crucifix seem interested in leaving their current positions. The driver in the car behind them, a middle-aged man, leans on his horn and while the camera can’t pick up the audio, the video can easily make out a selective choice of F-Bombs. Crucifix looks over the roof of the Crown Victoria and gazes at the rude man, with a look that screams ‘I would like to wear your skin as a thong.’

The driver slouches in his seat and slowly drives around them, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as he passes.

Logic: See? You are not well.

Crucifix: We suppose we have you to thank for that.

Logic: Oh please. You were a broken toy long before you came to me. Still, your condition has inspired me to add a stipulation to our Pay Per View match.

Crucifix: Stipulation? Hedging your bets, are you?

Logic: Actually this is more up your alley. You see, to win the match you must put your opponent in a straight jacket.

The camera man peeks out from behind the ocular viewing lens. There must be a glare from the poor overhead lighting, or some other kind of optical illusion. But no, once he looks out from behind the camera he can see what everyone else can see – both at home and in the arena.

Crucifix looks horrified.

David Walter Smith looks satisfied.

Logic: I can see you're familiar with straight jackets.

Lips quivering, eyes wide as saucers, Crucifix disrupts his serenity by quickly spinning from the seated position and raises himself onto one knee. His fist cocks back and explodes forward like a five-fingered battering ram. He startles both Logic and the camera man by punching through the windshield, his bloody hand clawing for Logic's throat. The Pensive Punisher takes that as his cue and throws the car into reverse. The sudden change in direction dislodges Crucifix's arm from the glass. He rolls backwards off the hood and lands on his feet.

Holding the bloody limb in front of him, studying it as if he’s seeing blood for the first time, Crucifix glimpses between his fingers to see Logic stick his arm through the hole in the windshield and wave at him.

Logic: See you at Colossus! Don’t worry about a dress code, I’ll have a jacket for you to wear!

Crucifix shuffles towards the car as it turns around and speeds away. Tires squeal as it rounds the tight corner and disappears from sight. With his arm hanging by his side, Crucifix stops his movement. The parking structure is suddenly very quiet, and the camera man actually picks up the sound of Crucifix breathing. He’s shooting Crucifix’s back and contemplates moving around to the side to get a good expression shot when Crucifix starts ambling again, zombie-like, towards the red neon ‘EXIT’ sign. He leaves crimson breadcrumbs of blood behind him, marking his path. It’s a path the camera man decides not to follow. He pulls in tight on the Zen Assassin’s back, trying not to get too much of the blood and gore, when he hears a new sound. It takes a moment to filter, but three things spring to light.

One – the sound is coming from Crucifix.

Two – the sound is laughter.

Three – the laughter isn’t very funny. Not one bit.

With the cuts and bruises of Jonathan Rhine’s vengeful assault just one week ago blemishing his stubbled face, Xavier Kannon paces impatiently back and forth in front of C.P. Cantrell’s office within the bowels of Phillips Arena.

With no match scheduled, it’s a casual look for the Gold Patron Meritorious. An open, white short-sleeved shirt over a white vest show off the trails of tattoos that run up his arms, while a pair of shredded-knee jeans are worn in place of his black and camo tights.

Kannon: Where in Hubbard’s name is that little peon? Useless! To think, the soul of a Thetan ferried light-years across the universe and detonated inside a volcano was wasted on an unreliable runt like that!

At his side, as always, is Eleanor.

Yes, you would willingly give up all four limbs, your left nut, and any form of urinary function control to tap it. Oh, and yes… she’d go like the freaking clappers.

Eleanor: Um, yeah, like, totally wasted…

Blushing rose lipgloss is apparently to Ellie what Operating Thetan status is to Xavier.

Kannon: Were you even listening?

After the pasting he took last week on ReVolution, Kannon could be forgiven for being a little bit cranky. Sighing, Ellie pouts her lipgloss dry and turns to her agitated husband.

Eleanor: There was, like, this guy called Xenu who was all RAR~!. Since he was all, like, totally Naomi Campbell level bitchy he took way loads of people a hella long way and dropped them in a volcano and stuff which then went, like… BOOM! Then, well, stuff happened and that runner is two minutes late… it’s all, like, connected and stuff.

A perky grin of achievement settles across Ellie’s shiny lips… only for Kannon to be facing the opposite way as her eyes fall back down from the ceiling.

Eleanor: Heyzzies!

A sweaty runner, his face throbbing a deep red, staggers around the corner, clutching an envelope in his clammy hand. His body warped by the stitch that drills into his side, he hobbles the final few paces to the expectant Gold Patron Meritorious, who doesn’t move a single millimetre towards the agonised delivery boy.

Kannon: You’re late.

Panting, and with the side of his neck throbbing alarmingly, the exhausted runner looks down at his slashed jeans and bleeding knees.

Runner: A (gasp) car (gasp) hit (gasp) me (gasp) on (gasp) the (gasp) way (gasp) back!

Snatching the envelope from him, the Gold Patron Meritorious looks down his nose at the obedient, and quite possibly internally injured runner.

Kannon: A caaaaar hit meeeee! Last week, when I emerged victorious a from a weapons match by pinning the Intense Champion, did you hear me complaining about being hit by a chair? No. So grow up.

Tucking the envelope under his arm, a sneering Kannon shakes his head at the dispirited employee and psyches himself up to knock at Cantrell’s door.

The scolded runner, head bowed, turns apologetically to Ellie.

Runner: Er… do I, um… still get this kiss you promised? You know, for getting the.. Um, thing?

Full of honour, aren’t they?

Eleanor (rolling eyes): Like, okay…. since we promised. But, you, like, totally have to freshen your breath first. Like, open up and stuff…

As the sweat-drenched runner leans towards her, hypnotised and woozy at the prospect, Ellie pulls a dainty bottle of breath freshener from her bag, then sprays a plume into the runner’s mouth.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Did I say breath freshener?

I meant pepper spray.

As the runner falls to the floor, flailing, Kannon knocks at Ceeps’ door and strolls in, followed by Ellie who blows a kiss to the heaving, agonised employee. Sitting up straight at his desk, Cantrell tries to look around the couple as the door closes behind them.

Cantrell: What was that scream?

Kannon (nonchalantly): Rayne just shot a crossbow through Dusk’s leg.

Cantrell: Ah.

Waving the envelope that has just been delivered to him, a smirking Kannon strolls over to the Ceeperman’s desk, before holding it aloft and letting it drop on top of the stacks of forms already littered about in front of the ExP.

Ceeps looks less than impressed.

Cantrell: There’d better be a fifty tucked in here for me if you’re going to pull that shit.

Kannon: Afraid not, Mr Cantrell, Sir. But, what you will find in that envelope is a conclusive medical report on my fine self that clearly states that due to Rhine’s cowardly assault on me, I am in no fit state to face him at Colossus V… just like I warned him.

Not even looking inside the paperwork, Ceepers stares stonily back at the Gold Patron Meritorious.

Cantrell: No, seriously. There’d better be.

Ever as mischievous as her husband, Ellie shoots him a ‘you don’t know’ look.

Kannon: Oh, this is serious, Sir. The biggest Primetime Central showcase in years, wrecked by Rhine’s brutish urge to fight outside the ring like ruffians. As that envelope will show you, I have a very mild concussion, a nasty cut on my forehead that if opened up, could result in millilitres of blood loss, and a black eye that has reduced my vision by 7%. Oh, not to forget the psychological damage of such a violent experience. All of which would make it irresponsible of me to step into the ring with Rhine at Colossus.

Eleanor: Like, totally irresponsible.

Kannon: But, there is a bright side. Since I’m having to withdraw through an injury sustained during my duties as a PRIME wrestler, I still get to cash that ever-so-generous match purse.

Steam starting to whistle out of his ears, Cantrell keeps both burning eyes on the King of Wrestling as he rips the envelope open and studies the report inside.

Kannon (ignoring Cantrell): Oh, El, almost forgot. I’ve booked us a break in Rome the second weekend in August. I checked the planner, we’ve nothing on.

As his eyes scan down the report, Ceeps’ expression morphs from one of rage to one of smugness to one of vindictiveness.

Cantrell: …and so it is my medical opinion that Xavier Kannon of PRIME is suffering from an acute case of pussyitus brought about by surgical removal of his spine via his own ass.

As the Executive Producer gleefully reads from the report, the cockiness falls from Kannon’s face.

Falls like an emo Lemming.

Cantrell: The only course of treatment for such an affliction is to purge the pussyitus from the body via extreme blood loss and involuntary urination and faecal discharge brought about by severe, violent impacts.

Shaking his head, Kannon dives full-on into denial.

Kannon: What’s that? No! That’s not what it says! I have a very mild concussion! And this cut! Look at this cut!

Ceeps is unmoved, to say the least.

Cantrell: If you want to stab one of the competition’s best in the eye, that’s fine, knock yourself out. If you want to turn 5 minutes of every ReVolution into one big advert for Scientology, I can live with that, gives us a few celebrity opportunities. But what you don’t do. What you DO NOT DO is try to rob PRIME’s biggest… MY biggest PPV of one of it’s main events because you know you‘ve got another kicking coming.

Holding his hands up, Kannon tries to placate the man who holds the King of Wrestling’s career progression in his hands.

Kannon: Look, that’s not the report. Just give me fiv-

Cantrell: You WILL be wrestling at Colossus, and just as a little reminder that you don’t screw with my buy rates, she…

Eyes shooting open, Ellie gives a not-very-convincing ‘who, me?‘.

Cantrell: …will have a chair waiting for her at ringside come your match with Rhine, and if she leaves it even once, then you’ll NEVER get a shot at a PRIME title so long as I’m in charge. Not the tag belts, even if John Travolta signs up as your partner, not the 5-Star, not the Intense, and certainly not the Universal. Hell, if the ring crew stick a bit of aluminium foil to a piece of string and award it to the guy who can spit the furthest, you’re not even getting a shot at that… understand?

Kannon: But… I… that’s… someone…

Cantrell: UNDERSTAND?!

For once, the Gold Patron Meritorious is lost for words. His eyes dart all around the office, and then to Ellie, who simply shrugs.

Kannon: I don’t have to listen to this!

As the King of Wrestling storms out into the corridor, he almost jumps right back through the door again as the man who beat him unconscious and tossed him in the trash just 7 days ago stands waiting for him.

Sporting a smirk that wouldn’t look out of place across Kannon’s lips, Rhine lets streamers of shredded documents slip through his fingers and onto the tiled floor.

Rhine: Quick bit of advice… tell Ellie not to facebook about your plan the day before you actually do it.

Eyes threaten to burst their sockets as XK turns to his wife.

Eleanor: I’m totally on private!

Rhine: Then don’t accept friend requests from Patchy McPatch.

Eleanor: That was you?!

Rhine brushes his hands through his hair and steps up to Xavier Kannon, a growing smile on his face.

Rhine: Hey, Goldie. That was a cute trick. Every time I think you can’t get any lower, any worse, any more pathetic, you push the limbo bar one rung lower. How low can you go, Xavier?

The smirk leaves his face as SCCW’s New Life gets a little closer, then looks Kannon directly in the eye with a glare that, accompanied by his eyepatch, makes for a creepy expression, one you probably won’t find on a Rhine T-Shirt any time soon.

Rhine: As you found out last week, I can go pretty low too. And come Colossus, you’ll see just how much lower. Anywhere in this world, Xavier. By any means necessary. And it’s got to be eating at you by now, when you stop to think about it: you were outbrawled by me, outwrestled by me, and now you’ve been outsmarted by me. You’ve carried yourself with a sense of superiority this past month, but when you take a long look at it, you aren’t better than me in any way. And when you finally stop running from me, when there’s no escape from the fate that awaits you, maybe you’ll finally realize that. If not?

He shrugs and the smile is back as he claps Kannon on his shoulder.

Rhine: Well, I’m just going to have to make you realize it, now aren’t I?

SCCW’s only 2 Time Champion looks through the open door at Cantrell and nods.

Rhine: Thanks for not giving him the out, Mr. Cantrell. I’m sure I'll find a way to make it up to you.

He sends one last look at his rival before turning around and walking away, whistling. It seems that the anger that had possessed him for those few moments faded away. The same cannot be said, however, about Xavier Kannon.

Eleanor: You should, like, totally get the last word in.

Nothing.

Nothing other than the kind of silence that likely preceded the big bang.

Eleanor: He won’t be able to, like, hear you in a few secs.

The kind of silence that is accompanied by a reddening face and steam bellowing from orifices.

Eleanor: Yeah, he’s, like, gone now.

After being fought over earlier in the night, Bryan Dawkins needed to clear his head. He had a match against PRIME newcomer Rhett Locke in a matter of minutes, and his mind was nowhere near where it needed to be in order to compete in a decent showing.

Does Tsonda really have Dawkins’ well-being in mind?

What exactly does Shakur want from Dawkins, other than a mental advantage over Tsonda?

How was Dawkins going to deal with Union Jack next week at Colossus?

Yeah, the Flyin’ Hawaiian NEEDED a win, and needed it BADLY. He wandered around the backstage area of the Phillips Arena, looking to gain his composure and focus back after the happenings earlier in the night.

Dawkins passed by the catering area, where a few PRIME officials were standing in a half-circle, all peering at the void left by the ENTIRE pineapple display that Dawkins had taken for himself earlier in the night. They all looked at the empty spot with confusion, and Dawkins strode past, nonchalantly masking his face with his hand.

He didn’t need to be caught stealing a pineapple tray before a match. Afterwards, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But before? Nah, he’d rather not.

As Bryan rounded the corner to head toward the entrance to the ring, he came upon his opponent for the night, Rhett Locke, who was seated in a black steel chair across from the ring-entrance. Dawkins smiled, for he, too, was a fan of Locke’s when he was in OSW. The Flyin’ Hawaiian decided to introduce himself.

Dawkins: ‘Sup bruh?

Locke was staring blankly at the entrance to the ring, in a trance-like state. The Albino almost seemed like he was having a staring contest with the wall…and surprisingly, Locke was winning. Dawkins, mildly offended, decided to interject again.

Dawkins: Ready to get out there and put on a show, bruh?

No response from Rhett.

Dawkins: (confused) Uh, I mean, we’re both pretty high-risk dudes. We both like to, ya know, kick the intensity up a level, right bruh?

Locke was still winning his contest with the wall.

Dawkins: BRUH! SNAP OUT OF IT, BRUH!

The Flyin’ Hawaiian waves a hand in front of Rhett’s beady, red eyes, but to no avail.

Dawkins: Bruh, either you’re messin’ with my head, or there’s somethin’ wrong with ya. I saw the stuff ya used to do back in the ‘day, with all the mind games ‘n stuff, bruh. I might not be the most ripe pineapple in the bunch, but I’m not rotten, bruh.

That’s Philosophical Dawkins right there, folks.

Since the Bryan had encountered him, Locke hadn’t moved an inch. Dawkins wasn’t amused, though. There was only one way to truly find out if Rhett was faking or not. That’s right, ladies and gents…

…THE PINEAPPLE TEST!

Dawkins: Alright bruh, there’s only one way to solve this.

With that, Bryan pulled out a pineapple (from where, we’ll never know. It’s like one of those mysteries of the universe or some shit) and carefully placed it, right side up, atop Rhett’s head. The tropical fruit was perfectly balanced on the Albino’s blonde hair, and wasn’t budging. Dawkins stood there, amazed.

Dawkins: Well, you got me, bruh.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian turned and headed toward the ring entrance, turning back to take one last look at Rhett, who was still balancing that pineapple perfectly.

Dawkins: Bruh, you better snap out of it, ‘cuz our match is like…next.

And with that, Bryan Dawkins headed out to the ring, leaving Rhett Locke to balance that pineapple in solitude.

Nick: Hello fans, and welcome back to ringside for what should prove to be a truly exciting matchup between two of PRIME’s risk-taking superstars!

Richard: Oh joy, a match between a pineapple eating Chandler Tsonda-wannabe and an overrated has-been. I’m oozing with excitement.

An energetic drum beat.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The addition of a catchy guitar riff.

Nick: Bryan Dawkins is coming off of a week in which he was somewhat brainwashed by Devin Shakur, defeated in a tag match by his foe, Union Jack, and accidentally taken out after the match by his mentor, Chandler Tsonda. Not a very good week, wouldn’t you say, Richard?

Richard: Gimme a break. The kid’s soft, that’s all.

WOO HOO!

Orange and aqua lights fill the arena as the vocals to "Song 2" by Blur kick in and the Flyin’ Hawaiian steps out into the spotlight of the Phillip’s Arena. Dawkins plays to the crowd, flashing his "hang loose" hand gesture, prompting a HUGE pop.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: And listen to that response for the Flyin’ Hawaiian!

Richard: Oh come on. Two years ago, these people were cheering on Michael Vick. Look where that got him.

Vince Howard: Coming first to the ring...weighing in at two hundred and two pounds…hailing from Hilo, Hawaii…."The Flyin’ Hawaiian" BRYAN DAWKINS!

Dawkins continues with a slight jog down towards the ring, where he slides into the squared circle before hopping atop one of the turnbuckles. He yet again flashes the "hang loose" gesture and tosses his signature white sunglasses out into the Atlanta crowd, prompting another pop from the crowd.

Richard: Honestly, I could care less who wins this match. It’s a contest between two irrelevant beings, in my book.

Nick: Ladies and gents, I’ve just gotten word that Rhett Locke was found in almost a trance-like state backstage moments ago, but he’s still opting to come out and compete in this match.

Richard: They know that already, you idiot. Weren’t you paying attention to what happened between Dawkins and Locke a moment ago?

Whilst stretching, Dawkins keeps an eye on the entrance ramp, waiting for Locke to finally make his entrance…if he was physically able to, that is.

Finally, "21st Century Pop Song" by Hymie's Basement begins to play, and the crowd begins to stir with anticipation. These are the kinds of matches that those internet wrestling aficionados trade back and forth, for the crazy spots and intense action.

Nick: And here comes the former OSW International and World Champion, Rhett Locke!

Richard: O-VER-RA-TED. *clap* *clap* *clap clap clap*

As if on cue, Rhett Locke sauntered out onto the entrance ramp and began a slow, trance-like walk down toward the ring.

Vince Howard: Now approaching the ring...weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds…hailing from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico….RHETT LOCKE!

Locke continues his zombie-like walk to the ring, and slides in. Not even paying attention to Dawkins, who is still in his pre-match ritual of hopping around the ring, testing the ropes, and stretching, Locke stands motionless in the ring, staring blankly ahead of him.

Richard: Take a look at your underdog hero, Nick. He looks strung out. This is gonna be grrrrrrreat.

Nick: Uh, maybe he’s just deep in concentration and focus.

With that, referee Max Newell points to the timekeeper and it’s on like Donkey Kong, bitch.

DING DING DING!

The two cruiserweights circled around one another, Rhett doing his part quite sluggishly, before locking up. Dawkins took the advantage and whipped Locke into the far ropes. He then bounced himself from the opposite ropes and met Locke with a spinning back elbow that sent both wrestlers crashing to the mat.

Nick: Dawkins is taking no shortcuts here, and is pushing the pace here in the early stages of the match!

Richard: Okay, we’re 30 seconds into the match. I’m not impressed.

Bryan popped up immediately from the move, anticipating the same reaction from the Albino, but was met with a fallen Rhett Locke still laying on the ground. Remembering what Tsonda had taught him following their one-on-one match at ReVolution 164, Dawkins went back on the offensive, mounting Locke and planting hard rights and lefts into his pasty-white face.

Nick: Rhett Locke seems to be out of it completely, but Dawkins doesn’t seem to care!

Richard: (pondering) Maybe I do like this Dawkins kid. If he rids PRIME of this pigment-less piece of trash, I might warm up to the kid.

With Rhett seemingly out of the match, Dawkins pulled him up by his long blonde hair and saw his red eyes roll into the back of his head. Backing him into the corner, Dawkins cocked back and unleashed a Ric Flair-esque chop across Rhett’s chest.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Another chop.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Yet another.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I could do this for the rest of the match and end with a pinfall and it would work for me.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But I won’t.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Dawkins is relentless with those chops across the chest! Rhett isn’t even attempting to contest these shots!

Richard: This is better than I could have ever imagined.

Finally, after five chops that left Rhett’s chest blood-red, Dawkins Irish whipped the Albino across the ring, followed closely after him, and sent a boot into his chest with a spinning heel kick. Locke tumbled over the top rope and crumbled into an awkward looking heap outside the ring. Dawkins glanced over at referee Max Newell, who just shrugged.

Nick: And Dawkins has just put Locke to the outside with a spinning heel kick!

Richard: It’s over. Newell, start the count so we can get this over with.

…1!

…2!

Unaware if Locke was playing possum or not, the Flyin’ Hawaiian hopped outside the ring to continue his assault on his opponent. Newell restarts his count.

…1!

…2!

…3!

Picking Locke up and playing to the crowd at the same time, Dawkins grabbed Locke’s arm to whip him toward the ringpost, but out of nowhere, the Albino shifted his weight and reversed the move, sending Dawkins shoulder-first into the ringpost.

OOH!

…4!

…5!

Nick: Finally, the Albino is showing signs of life! They better be careful that they both don’t get disqualified, though!

Richard: And I thought he was almost flatlined. Fear not, I still have hope.

…6!

Locke, still in his trance-like state, starts to walk toward Dawkins, who is on the ground clutching his shoulder in pain. Rhett almost reaches the Hawaiian, but trips over…nothing, and crashes face-first into the rubber matting on the ground.

…7!

…8!

Nick: It’s like Rhett is popping in and out of consciousness!

Richard: C’mon kid! Get back in the ring!

…9!

Dawkins, still favoring his shoulder, rose to his feet and peered down at his opponent. Shrugging his shoulders, Dawkins slid back into the ring as Max Newell finished his 10 count!

…10!

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: And your winner, by way of disqualification by count out, BRYYYYYYAN DAWWWWWWWWKINS!

Nick: In a very controversial fashion, Bryan Dawkins has picked up a win tonight!

Richard: Maybe he did enough of a number on that reject to get him out of PRIME for good. One could only hope. I guess I’ve gotta tip my proverbial hat to the youngster.

Nick: Shit…let’s go to the back. We’ve had a...

Nick sighs.

Nick: …Dusk sighting.

"And during these few moments that we have left... I want to talk right down to Earth, in a language that everybody here can easily understand."

That familiar introduction to Living Colour's "Cult of Personality" hits the airwaves in the Georgia Dome, bringing the crowd to a frenzy of boos and hatred. The two men belonging to the Princes, Simon Knox and Connor O'Reily, step out from behind the curtains. The two men are, respectfully, wearing Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce Celtics jerseys, and are clearly bringing to attention the fact that the Hawks couldn't beat the Celtics in the playoffs earlier this year.

Strangely absent is Miranda O'Reily, but given that she pretty much left Simon and Connor to their own devices out of sheer agitation with them, who could blame her for not being there at the moment?

The two men, clearly in street clothes, are here to cut a promo.

And this could be really bad for pretty much everyone.

Simon rolls into the ring, while Connor hops up to the apron and slingshots into the ring. Once in the ring, Simon calls for a microphone and Vince Howard foolishly gives him one, not realizing that the amount of venom Simon and Connor could have for Atlanta could kill an elephant.

Simon, microphone at hand, looks towards the side of the ring where the main camera is.

Simon Knox: I'd like to start by saying that neither of us are out here to talk about your Hawks, your Falcons, or your Braves. I'm sure I could devote an entire non-sequitur about how much they all suck cock, but not only do we have a limited amount of airtime tonight, but I don't really find them to be worth talking about.

Pause, Simon absorbs the boos from the crowd, before he smirks smugly for the camera. He makes an almost concerted effort to make sure the camera is filming his "good" side, which would be his right side.

Simon Knox: Besides, don't the Michael Vick jokes just write themselves?

BOO. HISS. HATE. DISCONTENT.

Simon Knox: No, we're out here because we have something to address.

Connor O'Reily whispers to Simon Knox.

Connor O'Reily: (whispering, but his mouth can be read) Also, we have to hard sell our match.

Simon Knox: Thanks, Connor.

Connor O'Reily: It's what I'm here for.

Simon grins for the camera again.

Simon Knox: See, the next show we've got comin' up... is Colossus. More important than all that... it's the day that this farce we like to call "Team VIAGRA's World Tag Team Championship Reign" comes to an end. Since the day those two washed up has-beens came along and literally tripped and fell onto the tag titles... because seriously, the last champions were so bad that they set the standards on the division back by three years... the tag titles have been seen more and more as a joke. That's right. Nobody gives a flying fairy fuck about the tag titles, now. I even hear people start to say that PRIME... has no tag division.

There's a pause as Connor and Simon look at each in that "what, really?" sort of way. Simon turns back to the camera.

Simon Knox: The point is, those tag titles would be better left in the hands of men who can appreciate their real value. Men like us. Connor and I, we care about one thing, and one thing only... that's to sit on our rightful throne. That's right. We're calling a god damn coup d'etat on this division. Once we're doing usurping the power base of this division at Colossus... there will be little left to do but to reign as kings of this tag division. And unlike Risk & Reward, when we say we're the kings of tag teams... we'll mean it.

Another pause.

Simon Knox: But you know what?

Connor looks at him as if he's saying "what?"

Connor O'Reily: What?

Simon Knox: Why stop at the tag division? Why not conquer all of PRIME, too?

Connor O'Reily: Sounds like a good plan.

Simon Knox: Once we're in the saddle, there's not gonna be such a thing as knocking us off. We will be the dominant force in PRIME. Mark my words.

Simon then drops the microphone, whereupon it lands with a thunk. Apparently, he's done. However, things in PRIME are rarely as simple as just going to the ring and cutting a quick promo.

"I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang begins to play, and the arena's decibel level rises at least three levels in cheers. Simon and Connor get prepped for a wild slobberknocker, but that's when VIAGRA appears on the PRIME*Tron for the world to see.

High Flyer: HI! Princes of New England. Starting off here, Tony and I would like to apologize for not making it to the arena tonight. (disappointment from the crowd) I know. I know. It's a shame. I'm pretty sure there's at least six people who bought a PRIME ticket just to see me, and will walk home disappointed. But don't fret young PRIME-ates. There's a lot more action out there tonight, even if it won't include a huge medical boost to your Neilson Ratings.

Tony Davis looks up from playing his Nintendo DS.

Tony Davis: So, why are we in Boston again?

High Flyer: Because we're going to make a mockery of the Princes hometown area! (like Human Giant) Let's go!

Tony Davis: Good thing they don't hail from Parts Unknown. I hate Puerto Rico.

A STIFF IN CAMERA CUT: Team VIAGRA currently stand in front of the dilapidated historical monument that IS, Paul Revere's house.

High Flyer: Now. We wanted to rent a bulldozer but they wouldn't let us when we told them what our plan was. So, we bought a bunch of gasoline and we're going to have a little barbeque chicken fun.

Suddenly, Mary-Lynn Mayweather rushes over.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I can't defend you burning down Paul Revere's house! NO! NO! STOP IT!

High Flyer: (sulks) Spoil sport.

STIFF IN CAMERA CUT: Outside of a Residential Home. Flyer tosses the end of his cigarette on the pavement.

High Flyer: Looking at my Cue cards… apparently this is the house of a Lindsay Bracca… Alright boys. Back it up.

Suddenly, large dump trucks start to crawl all over the front lawn of the house. Without warning, her house is quickly covered in garbage. Flyer turns to Tony.

High Flyer: Why did we stop throwing garbage onto people's lawns?

Tony Davis: I think Donnie Daze moved.

STIFF IN CAMERA CUT: Gillette Stadium. High Flyer and Tony Davis march outside like protestors.

High Flyer: Cheater's never prosper! NEVER! Unless they're never caught, but you never know if you've succeeded cheating because you could ALWAYS be caught.

Tony Davis: I wouldn't be surprised to hear that coach dude is really bald.

High Flyer: Where's a large Celtics flag? I want to wrap myself naked in it and defacte inside.

MEANWHILE: Inside the ring, Connor has been fuming, stomping around the ring like a man possessed. If Miranda were there, she may have been able to calm him. Simon looks on, a cold demeanor.

Enter, Team VIAGRA, from the crowd. High Flyer carries a snow shovel and completely WHACKS a stomping Connor's head clean off. Simon turns quickly from the sound, but is met by Tony Davis, who sprays a liquidized form of NADS directly into his eyes. Simon stumbles back, blinded, when Flyer finally strikes him down with his shovel.

Flyer pulls out a microphone from his jeans.

High Flyer: You wanna be KINGS?! Wanna rule the empire?! STAY DOWN!

Simon fights and crawls to his feet, as Flyer smacks him back down with his snow shovel.

High Flyer: You think you can waltz past Team VIAGRA so easily? Claim your throne and toss off the underachieving labels of Prince, but no, once Colossus passes, you won't even be able to claim the title of prince. You'll have to be the people formerly known as the Princes of New England. And then you'll become some stupid infinity sign and sign onto Christopher Nolan's third Batman movie as the composer. And then we'll never have to listen to you whiny freaks consider yourself BETTER than the rest of us. Alright, let's go Tony.

Tony Davis: But I wanted to say something.

High Flyer: NOW!

Flyer and Davis slowly exit the ring.

For Mary-Lynn Mayweather, life couldn't be anymore hectic for here then this moment right now. Having kept her eye on the monitor all night long as she watched Rayne demolishing cars in the parking as he waited for Dusk to confront him and the impending legal issues with Team VIAGRA and, well, Viagra, she had been up to her ears with issues. Sitting on the floor of the backstage area, staring at the ceiling, in the Phillips Arena hadn't been the most comfortable for her, but had afforded her a way to stay away from all of the action for her.

Except for when it comes to her.

"Hey..."

The voice trails off and as her eyes slowly move from the ceiling down to the intruding voice, she knows that she doesn't even really needing to look at the person to know that it's Dusk, standing there in another nice suit and smiling at her.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Oh, hey.

She's kind of sheepish as she looks away from Dusk and he just shakes his head at her.

Dusk: Stop blaming yourself. You got me out of jail.

Mary-Lynn then looks back at Dusk and shakes her head at him.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I put you there. They cancel out. So, here’s where I come in and look guilty.

Dusk: No, it's not. You can't hold yourself responsible for what Rayne and I did. It got out of hand and you thought you were helping, not hurting. I don't blame you at all.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I wouldn’t say all parties involved share your viewpoint.

Dusk: Yeah, well, he's a little bit pre-occupied asking as if he's got about as much sense as O.J. Simpson writing a book called If I had Done it.

The line makes Mary-Lynn giggle a little bit while Dusk sits down next to her and rests his head on the concrete wall.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: So, the million dollar question, just gestating inside the minds of Prime fans(she smiles) see, I could totally be an interviewer. Wrongy McWronginstien. Yes, you’re jewish. Anyway… you gonna give in to Tyler tonight?

Dusk: Yeah, I guess that is the big question.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I just want to be prepared if I have to do my legal thing. Considering Cantrell has put enough security guards between you two to make me think we’re also going to be attacked by terrorists…

He then sighs as he closes his eyes, knowing that the Mack Truck was slowly approaching him.

Dusk: I don't know if I can physically match him in that ring, Mary-Lynn. He knows no boundaries and he doesn't know the meaning of quit or giving up. He's going to keep taking it to the next level, and I'm not sure how long I can match him.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: It’s discipline. It’s a test of your mental capabilities. It’s knowing what Tyler is going to do before he does it. You know he’s going to try to get on your nerves, and you have to go, "No, that doesn’t bother me, but does this right hook to the face bother you?" I mean, in the end, he’s been a bully. Bully’s are always overcompensating for something… so just don’t back down.

Mary-Lynn then looks at Dusk and grips his shoulder.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I know you can go out there and beat him. I know that. As long as you know it too… that’ll give you merit and motivation to fight through the pain, keep battling past the pressure, pace yourself alongside the pretty boy. Eventually, Rayne will max out. And you know what Tyler does when he pushes himself… Now… Tyler? I doubt he knows what you can do. I don’t even think I do. So… surprise him, toss your chips in the air and let them fall where they will. You won’t be able to know your limits until you push yourself past them… so…

Dusk looks over at Mary-Lynn and nods his head.

Dusk: Thanks. I've gotta go get ready.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Sounds like a good idea. I started rambling there and Rhine isn't going to wait forever. I doubt he’ll be a cakewalk in that ring.

Dusk: True.

He begins to stand up and looks to the end of the hallway before Mary-Lynn stops him.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Hey, Craig. One second.

Dusk glances back at her.

Dusk: Yeah?

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You’ve seen the new Batman, right? This war isn’t just being fault in that ring. It’s being fought over your spirit. So… just… remember who you were when you danced to Madonna for me, and see if you’re still that person when you’re done. Don't forget who you are. Cause even if you lose… you’ll win out in the end.

A smile appears on Dusk's face. Mary-Lynn blushes at the cornyness of her line.

Dusk: You got it.

And she shoots one back at him. With that, he walks down the hall, and begins to mentally prepare himself for his upcoming match with Jonathan Rhine.

What do you think the boys do when we're backstage, watching people chitchat?

Nick: Well, all right! We're moments away from what should be a fantastic wrestling contest between Dusk and Jonathan Rhine, Richard.

Richard: Two people I hate wrestle a match that will probably not involve me getting to laugh at asshats getting hit in the crotch? Yay.

Nick: But before we do that, I'm told we have a "Very Special Familial Moment"?

Richard: Man, didn't we already do the "Kids, don't jump off high things" right around the Dual Halo?

Nick: I'm not sure what's going to --

We are, Nicky, m'boy. Cue up the thudding drums, the thudding guitars and rhythmic, almost chanting Jonathan Davis.

Korn. "Coming Undone."

"Keep holding on
When my brain's tickin' like a bomb
Guess the black thoughts have come again to get me
Sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard
Sing along, mockingbird
You don't affect me."

Nick: Oh, for god's sake. What does she want? We're supposed to be having an -- oh, no.

Blue lettering. Black background.

C O Z E N

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

"The Faceless Fighter" is perhaps not the greatest nickname in professional wrestling, as she most assuredly has a face. In truth, the brass liked the alliteration (why does that start with a vowel, anyway?). But Cozen emerges through the curtains alone, a scowl locked on to those plump lips she usually uses for a bright, sunny smile. Her skin gleams with an olive-tinged cast in the house lights, her black and yellow wrestling garb on.

Nick: Cozen's not scheduled to compete here, Richard.

Richard: Yeah, but does she know that?

Nick: And she's without Andreas and Siena van der Wal, who've been accompanying her to ringside for weeks now.

Richard: No, she's not.

In this one case, Richard Parker is correct before Nick Stuart is -- the Smiling Serpent and the Auburn-Haired Harpy emerge from the curtain significantly further behind their charge than they usually are, and speeding to catch up (though in those platform sandals, it's more like Siena hobbles - ah, the price women pay to look cute).

Andreas steps in front of Cozen; there's a soft conversation between the two of them, before the Crazy shoves past him and rolls into the ring.

Nick: What was that all about?

Richard: I... have no idea.

Vince Howard has no idea either, but that's because Siena van der Wal is a cute, redheaded Asian chick and she smiled at him before she took away his mic. Oh, yeah, he'd be getting those digits.

Siena climbs slowly into the ring, squatting low to step between the bottom and middle ropes (do you think girls like her know their skirt is going to ride up that much?), and handing the microphone to the Impressionable Impersonator. Oddly, Siena seems to be ignoring her brother/husband/best friend/cousin completely and he seems miffed about something. Perhaps we'll find out why.

Cozen thumps her hand against the microphone. The resounding thud echoes through the building.

Cozen: It's good to be home in Atlanta!

"RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAH!", says some of the crowd.

"She's not really from Atlanta," shout the rest.

Cozen: Last week, I was in Birmingham -- we hate those suck-ass Alabamans, don't we?

She gets no response.

Cozen: We were in Wade Elliott's home town and I made him sleepy, tired...

She snaps her fingers.

Cozen: Gone away, drift away, in the cold, gone away. One kick, one touch, one push of my foot and the toughest man in this place wasn't standing anymore. Add him to the list, Miss Siena.

Siena van der Wal makes a show of doing so, writing "WADE ELLIOTT" on a memo pad in metallic pink ink.

Cozen: But that's not why I'm here. Why am I here? What is the meaning of my life? Why does grilled cheese always leak out onto the stove? These are the questions I ask myself, the dreams I have. I am here because of Lindsay Troy...

"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Nick: These fans in Atlanta love the Queen of the Ring, Richard!

Richard: WHY?

Cozen: Or am I here despite her? I am here because of Lindsay Troy's ego, certainly, for it is a beast all its own. For what have I done to Lindsay Troy? Took away a title belt? Showed her there is more to her life than what she is living? And yet she has to disobey, to fight against, to rise up and rock your fist and mock and needle and pick and poke and prod. She's like a mosquito, suckling away all my blood, all my life's savings.

Cozen steps towards the side of the ring with the hard camera on it; gripping the top rope in one hand, knuckles whitening.

Cozen: People think I'm crazy, the beast within her most of all. People think I live by no rules, but I don't. No one does. Once you're socialized - at age eight - there is a piece inside you, a book that you're constantly reading from. Mine is probably shorter than yours, I ripped up the pages, ate the words. My rules begin and end with, "NO TOUCH! MINE!" And you broke that rule, Troy. Broke it shattered it and made it your bitch. Lesser people would imply you have a penis now and that you fucked it, but, remember, I have seen and I know for sure.

Her grin is lopsided; Siena's is beaming. Andreas' is nonexistent. He is unhappy with this turn of events.

Cozen: They tell me not to break the rules, not to make it personal, but you already did so because you're incapable of taking it as a learning experience. I am a mirror, showing you your ugly bits, and Lindsay didn't like hers. C.P. Cantrell says we must fight, fists must fly, fur must be thrown. I have decided to agree with him, but my people always buy a gift for the vanquished. Maybe it is to remind them of their imminent doom, maybe they were just cocky pricks, who knows. So, Lindsay...

Straight out of Cape Fear, she adopts a remarkably convincing Southern twang. The kind of accent some people say doesn't exist, but others will point to Wade Elliott as proof it does.

Cozen: Come out, come out, wherever y'are...

There's a long stretch where the only sound is that of the crowd.

Cozen: Miss Siena's gon' call us fer dinner real soon, an' I still gotta get all washed up 'n clean. So I'd be might appreciative if ya just-

"THE ENEMY." GODSMACK.

The crowd?

"RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

"HEY! HEY!
Oh Mister Backstabbin' Son of a Bitch...
You're livin' in a world that'll soon be dyin'.
And I know, I know
Everybody knows you try to be like me...
But even at your best, as a man you couldn't equal half of me."

"I am realizin'
That everybody's lost their simple ways.
And now that it's here
I see it oh so clearly
I've come face to face with the Enemy.
Oh, the Enemy."

The Queen of the Ring slowly walks through the curtain and out onto the stage, microphone in hand, eyes slitting and a blank expression on her face. Her music cuts off as her head falls to the right, eying the Terrible Trio with as much disdain as a party host having to clean up the vomit of one of her houseguests after everyone stumbled out the front door.

Troy: Last week in Birmingham, I saw the tears of sorrow flow down a twisted glacier, hot river of lies pooling at the bottom of a cracking ice slab. But all the king's horses and all the king's men put Dandy Andy back together again. Crazy game you've started, little one, and when someone plays a little harder than what you've come to expect, you turn and go running back to your doll house all sniffles and puffy eyes.

She looks over to Andreas.

Troy: I sort of thought you quasi-cute. But hitting Queenie with a chair means someone needs a face-punching.

Cozen: You don't know can't know what it's like to be me, Lindsay Lindz Queenie Crazy Wannabe. Talking like me doesn't make you me, I can talk like other people, but that doesn't mean anything. I've been giggly, jokey, truth and lies and nothing in between. These are my toys in this ring, Lindsay - just because you broke your own doesn't mean you can steal mine.

Her smile suddenly brightens, cheering up in an instant.

Cozen: I look forward to you breaking out of my shadow after Colossus. Well. After you get out of the hospital after Colossus, but beggars can't be choosers and choosers can't be beggars. I'll never beg - but you will. Think you're playing my game, Lindsay? I got you a toy.

Troy: Did it come from a Happy Meal? Pokemon trading cards? I've never needed to talk like you or be like you or change my hair or make my head tilt and my eyes glitter. But I'll bet the house that you've never had someone get inside your head like I've done, never had to account for all the games and all the pain before you chose to play with someone who bites and kicks and punches just as well as you, and who will snap your neck in twain at Colossus and watch you float away down the brook all waterlogged without a life preserver.

Cozen: You don't understand, Lindsay. But you will, can't hope not to. Please turn your attention to the FABULOUS PRIME*VIEW and see what a little bit of magic and a little chutzpah can get you. You're going places with me, kid!

The arena goes dark so that the footage can be watched, but we're watching on TV, and why should we watch a TV screen when we can pipe it right into your house?

There's nothing quite like the sounds of children laughing, is there? The camera pans through a small, glass-enclosed play area dominated by a red and white slide. On the other side of the frosted Plexiglas is gym equipment; there's one of those tension machines near the wall. The camera swoops down to focus on the cherubic, gap-toothed grin of an African-American boy, maybe six years old.

Our cameraperson is soft-voiced, but still probably Cozen -- you'd have to be listening close for it, though.

Cozen: What's your name?

The kid does not stop smiling. Ever.

Kid: Curtis!

Cozen: And Curtis, what are we going to do today?

Curtis: We're going to build with Legos and draw coloring books while Mommy gets buff! Rar!

Slight zoom-out. There's a collection of perhaps six children, aged three to seven, sitting cross-legged around a plastic table. A box of Crayola crayons (256 colors!) sits in the middle on its side.

Cozen: What do you want to --

A little girl's voice interrupts (and not the little girl's voice that Cozen often falls into - it's an honest one, soft and concentrating hard.)

OSV: Excuse me, Miss Hendricks? I got... I got some water and Mommy says I should be very careful not to spill so can you help me, please?

The camera pans over to a round-faced little blonde, hair pulled back in pigtails and held that way by tiny ribbons. Her blue eyes are squinted, both hands cupped around a rather large, kind of over-filled glass of water.

Which is gently prodded from her by our camera-Cozen.

Cozen: Here, let me take that. That's a very pretty dress. What's your name?

Girl: CeCe... Cecilia!

Cozen: That's a very pretty name. Why don't you have a seat with the rest of the kids right... hey, there's a seat up front!

Cecilia claps a little; settling down to the front.

Cecilia: Why are you filming?

Cozen: I have to for practice for school. It's so hard, you know?

Cecilia: Aunt Linny has a camera around a lot, too, but that's 'cuz she fights the enemies of justice ev'rywhere.

Cozen does not respond to the words, but the sentiment.

Cozen: Let's all draw a picture, then! Why don't all of you draw for me your favorite person who's not your Mommy or your Daddy! Curtis, who'll you draw?

Curtis: Uhhhhh. Alex Rodriguez!

Cozen: He's a GREAT player. And you, Cecilia?

Kids have what's called the "Duh" voice. CeCe's using hers right now.

Cecilia: Aunt Linny!

SFX: Screeching microphone feedback

Nick: Cut away from this! Cut away now!

It's not very exciting footage that we're cutting away from, no. But we would have cut away from anything short of this girl getting punched in the face to get a look at the emotions flickering over the features of the Queen of the Ring, who is running pell mell down the ramp. Rage blankets her face, eyes wildly wide and fists clenched so tight her palms might be bleeding because of her nails.

Nick: Troy slides into the ring! Siena and Andreas bolt, but not Cozen! She's grinning! Lindsay with a right hand! Left hand from Cozen! Right hand from Troy! Left hand from Cozen! These two women just kicked up the intensity!

Richard: And all it took was coloring books!

Nick: Troy with a kick to the midsection! Cozen is laughing! LAUGHING! Troy with a right cross -- Cozen stumbles backwards slightly, but drives a forearm up to Troy's face! Lindsay is... I don't remember the last time I saw her like this!

Richard: November 16, 1984.

Nick: Troy stomps down on the Faceless Fighter's instep and --

**SMACK**

Nick: ROARING ELBOW! Roundhouse elbow to the face from Lindsay Troy! Cozen is damn near knocked out of her boots! Cozen flops into the corner and Troy follows in with a flying forearm to the likely stolen face of the Faceless Fighter! Troy with a headbutt! Troy with a headbutt now and she is looking to beat the life out of her rival right now and not waiting for Colossus!

Richard: I... know I don't say this much, but I kind of don't blame her.

Nick: Andreas looking frantically for a way to get his charge out of the ring! He reaches in for Cozen's ankle and Troy damn near shatters the Serpent's hand with a stomp!

Richard: Siena!

Nick: Siena van der Wal with a weak forearm to the back of Lindsay Troy! Troy doesn't even flinch away from the Faceless Fighter! Siena climbs on Lindsay Troy's back and gouges those manicured nails into the Queen's eyes and COZEN! Cozen sneaks a kick in to the patella! Cozen drives her foot right through Troy's leg!

Lindsay does not cry out as she latches her hands into Siena van der Wal's hair and snapmares her over to her finely-shaped rear.

Nick: Cozen now stepping in and twisting an armbar on the partially blinded Queen of the Ring! Cozen with a boot to the elbow! She's pinpointing joints here! The elbow, the kneecap...

Richard: The niece!

Nick: Troy with a swing back, but Siena has a hold of Troy's ankle! Dammit, give me a fair fight! Give me a --

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: Dam! Los Enemigos! Los Enemigos and Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas down to the ring!

That's cue enough for Siena to get out of there. Stomping feet + expensive dress = icky. This is all the excuse Troy needs to escape -- she jumps at Cozen... or would if Dam didn't catch her around the waist. Los Enemigos pin back the Faceless Fighter, who is alternatively giddy and wholly serious.

Nick: Security having a devil of a time separating these two women! Security trying to --

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

It's the only time that they'll cheer for Cozen all night.

Nick: Cozen breaks free and leaps at Troy! Cozen raining fists down, blocked off partially by the Queen of the Ring! Troy -- WHACK! Kick to the gut knocks Cozen to her hands and knees and Los Enemigos swarm over her like ants!

Richard: Troy can't possibly have actually broken free from Dam!

Nick: But she did! Or, Dam just let her go! Troy now hammering away at the Faceless Fighter! These two have moved way beyond words!

Los Enemigos, under instructions from Dam, shift their attention from Cozen to Troy. The moment they let her go, the Faceless Fighter shifts into a capoeira-style handstand kick that nicks Troy in the shoulder. It's not without some violence that Dam pulls Cozen away.

The crowd doesn't want this to end.

"LET THEM FIGHT!"
"LET THEM FIGHT!"
"LET THEM FIGHT!"

Nick: This capacity crowd at the Phillips Arena wants to see this continue, but we'll have to wait for Colossus V!

Troy does her best to fight through the Enemigos to get another shot at Cozen, but they seem to multiply all around her.

Troy: SHE'S THREE! SHE'S FUCKING THREE! LET ME G-

Cozen, meanwhile, giggles uncontrollably. Dam tosses her away forcefully, dark brown eyes shooting bullets through the Impressionable Impersonator as she stumbles against the ropes. Sticking her tongue out, Cozen climbs to the outside and joins Andreas and Siena and leaves Dam to deal with Troy, who has now managed to break away from the Enemigos and runs into Dam's brick-wall build.

Richard: Awww MAN! I wanted to see BLOOD!

Nick: This is one war that I can guarantee will see some bloodshed in Charlotte.

Cutting away now? Thankfully!

It is the moment you have all been waiting for, Tony Gamble and Tony Rolo are in the middle of a steel circle. Hummers, Escalades, Navigators, and Benz's are parked in a circle, with Oompa Loompas and citizens of Munchkin Land hooting and wailing as they cheer their favorites on.

No, this is not an episode of Celebrity Deathmatch, and this is definitely not a rehash of Kannon vs Rhine.

No, ladies and gentlemen, this is the Tony Awards.

Gamble: Best out of five. Ready... Set! GO!

Gamble and Rolo start to pound their fists into their palms rapidly. On the third pound, each man holds fist to palm.

Rolo: Yeah, BOY! Rock crushes scissors!

Gamble: Dammit! Alright. Alright. This time you call it.

The crowd chants "PAPER! PAPER! PAPER!" in a deafening roar.

Rolo: Alright. Ready... Set! GO!

The sound of flesh pounding against flesh fills the air, and somewhere Chandler Tsonda can't help but to think about Cytherea a few moments away from...

Gamble/Rolo: Dammit!

Double rock. This round is a squash, and neither man looks to be too happy.

Rolo: The scores still One Oh, Midget Mac!

Gamble: Yeah, I got your Midget Mac right here.

Sure enough, Midget Mac, from the never popular I Fucked New York – as it should have been called - show on VH1, walks up from behind Gamble and flips Rolo the bird. YES, I said the BIRD!

Gamble: I'll call it this time. Apparently you can't even do that right. Ready... Set...

Rolo starts the motion to pound his fist, only drawing the ire of one Tony Gamble, who points at him and shakes his head.

Gamble: You started early. I get the point for that round by default, since you wanted to cheat.

Rolo: Bullshit! You set me up. You purposely paused on... On purpose.

Gamble: Yeah. Yeah. Prove it, Pops.

Rolo mouths a word, two words actually, and they sound a lot like Sucking rich. But he lifts his hand anyway.

Rolo: I'll call it this time.

Gamble: Be my guest. But the score is still one one, old man.

Rolo: Ready Set...

Neither man moves, and the word he mouths this time sounds a lot like fuck. Oops.

Rolo: Alright! Alright! Here we go. Ready... Set! GO!

The two pound flesh again, and somewhere the minds of hundreds of pervs click at once and they chuckle.

Gamble: Whoo Hoo! Scissors, BABY!

Sure enough, Gamble's scissors beat out Rolo's paper.

Rolo: I demand a recount.

Gamble: No way, Jose. Two one.

Rolo: Alright, fine!

The crowd is going nuts. Oompas are doing cartwheels as Munchkins sing cute little tunes about being little.

Gamble: Ready... Set! GO!

The two men go through the motions, each ones face intent on psyching out the other. Gamble's tongue sticks out the side of his mouth, ala Michael Jordan going in for a dunk. Rolo's eyes narrow, nearly a squint, as he does his best Sun Tzu impression.

Rolo: Take that, Tony 'No Pants' Gamble!

Sure enough, the score was now tied as Rolo's paper beat out Gamble's rock.

Gamble: Dammit, I had you pegged for scissors.

Rolo: Hey, I've faked orgasms to get away from fat chicks Joey made me sleep with to take one for the team. Faking scissors is nothing.

Another story for another time.

Gamble: Alright... Tie breaker right here.

Rolo: I'd be up by one if you wouldn't have come up with that stupid loophole.

Gamble: Why do you want to dwell on the past, huh? That was like two weeks ago.

Rolo: Whatever. Let's just get this over with.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. That tension is disrupted when a deep voice booms out from nowhere.

"Final Round!"

Everyone looks around, but no one knows where it came from. The Munchkins mumble something about the wizard, but those guys are always so hopped up on helium that no one really takes them seriously.

Gamble: Ready...

Rolo: SET!

Gambolo: GO!

SMACK!


SMACK!


SMACK!

The crowd suddenly goes quiet, their mouths agape and their eyes wide in surprise.

Gambolo: YEEESSS!!!

The two stare at each other - anger in their eyes.

Gambolo: What do you mean, yes?

The two step toward each other.

Gambolo: I won!

Rolo: What do you mean, you won?

Gamble: Did I stutter?

Rolo holds up his hand - he's got scissors.

Rolo: But I have scissors.

Gamble lifts his hand – he has paper.

Gamble: And quarter inch thick steel crushes scissors. I win.

Rolo: What the... This isn't rock, paper, make-shit-up-as-you-go.

Gamble: I know, we're playing I always win. And I just won.

Rolo: Hold up. What?

Gamble waves him off.

Gamble: Look, you lost - get used to it.

Rolo: You know what... I don't think so. Meet me in my locker room in ten minutes if you want your lucky charms back. Winner takes all.

Gamble: You're on.

Our night, ladies and gentlemen, is far from over.

"So…can you show me what’s under the patch?"

This is a question that Jonathan Rhine has probably been asked plenty of times in recent weeks. This time the asker of the question is a particularly brave staff hand. Rhine, who is leaning against a wall, sighs.

Rhine: Sure.

He lifts up his patch, and although the camera cannot see the wound the staff member can, and his face forms into a disgusted grimace.

Staff Member: Dude…that’s sick.

Rhine: Yeah. I know.

Staff Member: Can I take a picture of it?

Sighing again, Rhine shakes his head.

Rhine: I’ve got a match to wrestle. Maybe after.

Staff Member: Sweet! Would you get mad if I sent it in to College Humor?

Not bothering to answer, Rhine turns a corner and begins bouncing as he walks. He starts whispering lowly to himself, getting ready for his match against Dusk.

"You must really get tired of that..."

As he looks up, he's met with the very man that he's preparing for and nods his head.

Rhine: Sometimes. Other times, not so much. People are curious, and they have a right to be.

Dusk: For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what Kannon did.

Rhine: Thanks. It is what it is, and he'll get what's coming to him in the end. Trust me on that one.

Dusk nods his head, dressed in usual battle gears, and looks ready for his upcoming match.

Dusk: Look, I respect you. I respect what you've done in that ring whether it be here in PRIME or over there in SCCW. You've done amazing things and I look forward to stepping into that ring with you so we can give these fans one hell of a match.

Rhine nods his head slowly, smiling.

Rhine: I look forward to it too. Don't go easy on me just because of the patch, okay?

Dusk: You really don't have to worry about that. That's not the kind of person I am, and I think you already know that. These fans, here in Atlanta, have come out here to see an amazing match between you and me. However, I'm not going to go easy on you. It's the complete opposite. You see, I'm going to give you everything that I have and then some. Because you know no less then 100% and the same goes with me.

Dusk then points towards the ramp.

Dusk: Now, let's go put on a show the likes of which they'll never forget.

Rhine nods, then holds his hand out for Dusk to shake, which he does, chuckling all the while.

Rhine: That sounded a little too dramatic, but yeah, let's do this thing.

Dusk laughs at hearing the comment about him sounding a little too dramatic.

Dusk: I guess it's what I do. See you out there.

Dusk then walks down the hallway as he knows his time is up. Rhine just stands there and nods his head, returning to his whispering as he's been reminded of the match he has coming up soon.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first…

#Th-th-that that don't kill me
#Can only make me stronger

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Just like a roaring train, the fans all leap to their feet as the opening lines to "Stronger" by Kanye West rips through the Phillips Arena! It doesn’t take long as from the back comes the Lost Soul himself, Dusk, who gets a loud reception from the crowd! He stands at the top of the ramp, feeling the adrenaline racing through his body as he hops up and down before running down the ramp like a streak of lightning.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Los Angeles, California and weighing in at 250 pounds, he is the Lost Soul… DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSK!

Dusk then slides into the ring as the fans continue to chant his name!

Nick Stuart: The evening is getting closer and closer to the end, and pretty soon we’ll be staring Colossus V right in the face.

Richard Parker: And the closer and closer we get to Colossus, the more likely we are to see Tyler Rayne completely demolish Dusk! Sounds like a good night to me!

Nick Stuart: Of course it does, Richard.

Richard Parker: Look, we’ve seen how scared Dusk is as he won’t even go out there to confront Rayne. The sooner we get rid of him, the better if you ask me.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure many would disagree with you—

Richard Parker: And we just happen to call those people idiots, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Now you’re just being crazy.

Vince Howard: His opponent…

As "Stronger" fades out in the background and Dusk tosses his trench coat out into the audience, the rumbling bassline of Strata's 'Piece by Piece' starts, and the fans give a modest reaction, then settle down, waiting for the bass line to turn into an...

# AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! #

Explosion. The music kicks into a heavy riff and the singer screams loudly, and as the smoke fades Jonathan Rhine walks towards the ring, looking around at the arena with a large smile on his face, his arms raised to the side.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 238 pounds from New Orleans, Louisiana...'THE NEW LIFE' JONAAATHAAANNN RHIIIIIIIIIIINE!

# I found these plastic parts and wires #
# Let's split me open at the seams #
# And rip out everything inside #
# Make room for all these new machines #

Rhine offers a knowing smile to the crowd as he walks down to the ring, shaking hands with the fans. Pointing at SKYE as if to thank her for the introduction, Rhine approaches ringside.

# Sew me up, pray that I survive #
# A brand new me #
# Piece by piece #

As the music slows down for a second, hitting chilling notes, Rhine leaps over the top rope and lands in the middle of the ring just in time for the hard-hitting chorus

# Stay here and watch me bleed #
# Watch me bleed #
# It's a brand new me, piece by piece #
# Piece by...#
# Piece #

Rhine throws out his hands, turning and soaking up the reaction, then leans against the ropes and mentally prepares for his match.

Richard Parker: You know what, I take it back. I think I’d rather see Rhine taken out instead of Dusk.

Nick Stuart: As exciting it is to hear you trash talk just about everyone who walks out here, it does get a little tired.

Richard Parker: That’s impossible Nick. I can never get tired. I’m ALWAYS entertaining.

Nick Stuart: If you think so…

With both athletes in the ring…

DING! DING! DING!

Dusk and Rhine immediately lock up in the middle of the ring with Dusk getting the upper hand over the smaller but agile Rhine. Dusk has him in a headlock as Rhine grabs Dusk's wrist and twists it to put him into an arm bar. Dusk winces from the pain, but turns towards Rhine before kicking him in the midsection. He then grabs Rhine's wrist and puts him in an arm bar, but Jonathan flips out of it before knocking Dusk onto his back with a leg sweep. Rhine then bounces off the ropes, but Dusk is quick to his feet and drops him to the mat with a dropkick that the fans approve of. Dusk continues the assault as he stomps away at the Jonathan who is desperately trying to get to his feet only to have Dusk harass him on his way up. Dusk lands a few shots to the face before pushing the Jonathan into the nearby corner. He then whips him across the ring and runs after him. Rhine however hops onto the second rope and kicks Dusk in the face as he gets close to him. Rhine then turns around and leaps off the middle turnbuckle and nails a jumping neck breaker on Dusk before going for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

And Dusk is quick to kick out, as Rhine knows that this match is a long way from being over.

Nick Stuart: And a close call there for Dusk as it looked like that Rhine was going to put this match away.

Richard Parker: You have to know that both of these competitors are looking to give it all there in their tune-up matches for Colossus V, and they’re willing to go the distance.

Nick Stuart: That’s so true, Richard. These two love putting on a show for the fans, but more than anything, their gritty, gutsy competitors who just always give it their all.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but Dusk might not have much left to give if he doesn’t get up off the mat.

Rhine never relents though as he slams his boot into the kidneys of Dusk who fights through the pain to get to his feet. He goes for a forearm smash on Jonathan, but he sees it coming and ducks it. As he does so, he reaches behind him and grabs Dusk's neck and drops him with another neck breaker that leaves Dusk crumpled on the mat. Jonathan then bounces off the ropes and nails an elbow across Dusk's throat as the momentum is firmly behind him. He then grabs Dusk by his hair and pulls him off the mat before slamming his knee into his midsection. Rhine then bounces off the ropes again and connects with a bulldog! He rolls Dusk over and goes for another cover, eager to end this as soon as possible.

ONE!

TWO!

And once again, Dusk is able to kick out immediately after the two count. Rhine doesn't let it phase him though as he just gets back up and rushes over to the nearby corner. He quickly climbs it before he turns around and let’s loose with a moonsault that connects!

Richard Parker: And Rhine is bringing everything to the ring right now, leaving Dusk in the dust rather quickly!

Nick Stuart: It’s obvious that Rhine was probably the more ready of the two. He knows he needs to have a good showing here tonight if he intends on being ready for Kannon.

Richard Parker: You can’t match the cosmic powers of Xavier Kannon, Nick, it just can’t be done! He’s like a level seventeen Beta by now, I’m certain of it!

Nick Stuart: Yeah, okay, shut up.

Dusk pulls himself up to his feet ever so slowly as Jonathan just watches and waits. As Dusk turns towards Rhine, Rhine nails him with a drop kick that sends Dusk through the ropes and to the outside. Rhine wastes no time as he bounces off the ropes, hops onto the top rope, and nails a Swan Splash onto the fallen Lost Soul. The fans show their approval as they cheer on Rhine who is on his knees and slams his fists into Dusk's face. Rhine then gets up on his feet and walks over to the steel steps before dislodging them. He drags one over close to where Dusk is and just leaves it there as he hops onto the ring apron and looks at Dusk who is slow to his feet once again. Yet, Dusk continues to fight through the pain and gets up as he doesn't realize the steel steps behind him. He looks at Rhine who quickly jumps through the air. Yet, Dusk is able to react this time and ducks the flying Rhine. Yet, Rhine is agile enough to land on top of the stairs and uses his speed as he follows through with a roundhouse kick to the back of Dusk's head!

Nick Stuart: And this match has just been pure domination on the part of Jonathan Rhine as he’s not letting up in the least bit, and is taking the fight right to Dusk without a moment’s remorse.

Richard Parker: If Dusk can’t keep up with Rhine, then how does he expect to keep up with Rayne, who is considered the hottest thing in PRIME right now?

Nick Stuart: That’s gotta be the million dollar question here, Richard, and if Dusk doesn’t pick it up pretty soon then we’re looking at an almost-certain victory for not only Rhine, here tonight, but for Rayne at Colossus V.

Richard Parker: I’m willing to bet you that Rayne is watching this mouth and smiling from ear to ear. He knows he’s going to have fun with Dusk at Colossus!

Rhine then drags the prone Dusk over to the other half of the steel steps and puts his head on top of it before he walks back to the other set of steel steps. He picks it up and walks over to Dusk before gently placing the other half of the steps on Dusk's head who isn't moving after the roundhouse kick. Jonathan then walks backwards before getting onto the ring apron and climbing the nearby turnbuckle. He looks down at Dusk who isn't moving at all and just shakes his head.

Richard Parker: And things don’t look good for Dusk as Rhine is climbing to the top of the ropes!

Nick Stuart: They definitely don’t look good, and you have to wonder if Dusk’s mind is just too focused on Rayne, and not enough on Rhine.

Richard Parker: If that’s the case, then Dusk is making a HUGE mistake!

Nick Stuart: So true!

As Rhine reaches the top rope, he looks down at Dusk, and just flies with the New Life Moonsault!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

But, he misses as Dusk uses his strength to throw the steel steps at Rhine!

Nick Stuart: And Dusk just turned the tables on their sides as he just put himself right back in this match, and put Rhine on the floor in a world of pain!

Richard Parker: Houston, this is PRIME, we’re reporting possible life detection in Dusk, I repeat, we’re reporting possible life detection in Dusk!

Nick Stuart: For a moment there it looked like the former Intense Champion was just out of this match and never going to be able to make up the ground!

Richard Parker: And yet, he’s back in this match. Or, well, he might be. We’ll have to see.

Rhine continues to squirm around on the floor as he feels like his entire has just transformed into dust. Dusk grabs at the ring apron and slowly starts to bring himself to his feet as the fans cheer him on. He shakes his head slightly as he tries to clear the cobwebs in his head. He then looks over at Jonathan and drags him towards the nearby ring barrier. Dusk then climbs over the ring barrier as the fans slap him on the back and then he launches himself into a front flip and drops his leg across Rhine's throat, which just worsens his pain. Dusk doesn't slow down though as he gets onto his knees and slams his fists into his face a few times before pulling him off the ground. Rhine takes a chance and throws a fist at Dusk, who just ducks it, and grabs an off balanced Rhine and nails him with a release German Suplex!

Richard Parker: And that’s not going to feel good for Rhine!

Nick Stuart: Definitely not as the tide has quickly turned here in the favor of Dusk, who is starting to fight back here after being completely dominated by Rhine!

Richard Parker: And these fans can’t make up their minds as they going back and forth between Rhine and Dusk!

Nick Stuart: Two big time faces, crowd pleasers, and the crowds just love them! Not an easy decision for them to make here tonight.

Back on his feet, Dusk grabs Rhine and rolls him back in the ring as the fans cheer Dusk on. Dusk pulls himself up onto the ring apron and Rhine starts to walk over to him only to be met with a shoulder to the midsection from Dusk. Jonathan stumbles backwards from the blow as Dusk runs up the nearby turnbuckles and connects with a Whisper in the Wind on Jonathan! Dusk rolls through it and gets right back on his feet as he bounces off the ropes and nails Jonathan with an elbow to the sternum. Dusk then gets back up and drags Jonathan with him before nailing him hard with a European Uppercut that sends Jonathan into the ropes. The momentum sends Jonathan right back at Dusk who is ready for him and slams him to the ground with a spinebuster! He immediately covers Rhine!

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And it looked like Dusk was going to be able to get the victory over Rhine right then and there!

Richard Parker: It was a close call for Rhine, but he’s not quite out of this match yet. I’m certain each one has a lot more left in their tank before we’ll be seeing the end of this match!

Nick Stuart: Two athletes who just never slow it down in the least bit, and is one of the reasons why they have the kind of following that they do!

Richard Parker: Well, when you pander to the crowd, of course they love it! They’re essentially baboons!

Dusk sits there on the mat and looks at Rhine, knowing that he's not going to just go down in this match without a fight. He pulls himself back up as Jonathan starts to do the same. Dusk helps him up and pushes him into the ropes before whipping him into them. As Jonathan bounces back, Dusk goes for a clothesline, but Rhine is able to duck it in just the nick of time. Dusk turns around goes for another clothesline, but Jonathan ducks again only to grab onto Dusk's arm and uses his athleticism to nail a headscissors on Dusk! The fans cheer on Jonathan as he and Dusk get right back up only for both men to go down as Jonathan nails a drop kick! Both men get up quick and this time Jonathan feels the mat face first as Dusk nails a lariat on Rhine that flips him inside out!

Richard Parker: And now both of them are going at it, throwing everything they have at one another!

Nick Stuart: This is going to be a close match here through the end! It’s going to come down to whoever can surprise their opponent!

The crowd continues to support both men in the match as Jonathan gets back up and nails a fist to Dusk's face. Yet, Dusk doesn't seem fazed by it as he whips Jonathan into the nearby corner and nails him with a clothesline! Rhine stands there dazed for a moment as Dusk backs up and tries to go for another one only to be met with an elbow to the face from Rhine. Jonathan then hops up onto the second turnbuckle and nails a flying clothesline on Dusk! Once again, both men get back to their feet quick and Jonathan uses his speed to run to the nearby ropes and goes for a springboard moonsault on the standing Dusk! Yet, Dusk is able to use his strength to catch Jonathan mid-air and slams him to the mat with a shoulderbreaker that puts Rhine in a considerable amount of pain. He squirms around as Dusk begins to climb the ropes and just waits for Rhine to get back up. He does so slowly and turns towards Dusk clutching his left shoulder that's in a considerable amount of pain. Dusk flies through the air and goes for a crossbody, but Jonathan is ready for him as he drop kicks Dusk in the ribs and drops him out of the sky hard!

He then goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Rhine almost had the victory right then and there!

Richard Parker: Very close, but no cigar! He’s going to need a little something extra to put away a determined Dusk tonight!

Nick Stuart: Yeah, but Rhine also doesn’t look like he’s going to slow down any time soon.

Richard Parker: Very true, very true.

Rhine slams his fists into the ground as he thought he had the match won. He slowly gets back up as he grabs at his shoulder that he's pretty sure is dislocated. Instead of giving Dusk time to breathe, he rushes up to him and kicks him in the head a few times before dragging him over to the nearby corner and sits him up in the corner so that Dusk's head is just a few inches above the bottom turnbuckle. Rhine then runs to the opposite corner and then runs full speed at Dusk and leaps into the air before nailing a devastating kick to the back of Dusk's head! The eyes in Dusk's head rolls to the back of it as he slumps to the ground. Rhine once again goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: And once again, Dusk manages to kick out! He’s digging down deep tonight to make sure that he wins this match tonight!

Nick Stuart: It’s amazing to watch these two men give it their all!

Richard Parker: It’s something, but I’m not going to call it amazing. It’s kind of like watching two dogs fight. You know they don’t know any better, but you can’t help but watch them.

Nick Stuart: You’re a very sick human being, Richard.

Back in the ring, Rhine starts to pull Dusk up off the mat and goes to punch him in the face. Yet, Dusk is able to duck him and as Rhine turns around, he’s dropped onto the mat! With the Lights Out!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: THE SUPERKICK FROM DUSK! Rhine might be out for the count!

Richard Parker: Where the hell did that come from?!

Nick Stuart: Dusk has this knack for pulling that out of nowhere!

Richard Parker: Seen it far too often…

In the ring, Dusk is slowly getting back up to his feet as he turns his attention to the now semi-unconscious Rhine, and begins to walk over to go for the cover. As he does though, all he hears is…

CRACK!

As he turns around, he sees Rayne on the PRIME*Tron smiling as he slams the lead pipe into another car window before looking at Dusk and beckoning for him to come out and meet him!

Richard Parker: DO IT!

Nick Stuart: Rayne is doing a great job of distracting Dusk here as his eyes are honed in on beating Rayne’s head in!

Richard Parker: Rayne is just calling him out there and Dusk hasn’t budged quite yet!

With Dusk firmly focused on Rhine, he’s surprised when he’s spun around, and nailed with the Rhine Rewind by Rhine! The fans go crazy before they start booing Rayne for distracting Dusk! Rhine wastes no time as he goes for the cover on Dusk!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

Nick Stuart: And just like that, with Rayne distracting Dusk, Rhine has pulled off the victory over Dusk!

Richard Parker: Sneaky, but I love it!

Nick Stuart: Rhine just couldn’t let that opportunity out of his grasp, and it’s all Dusk’s fault.

Richard Parker: That’s right, Dusk’s fault! Blame Dusk!

Nick Stuart: Well, Rayne had a huge part in it too…

Richard Parker: No, no, blame Dusk!

In the ring, Dusk is slowly getting up to his feet with this pissed off look on his face. He looks up at the PRIME*Tron and looks like he’s ready to kill someone. Rayne just stands there, on camera, with a large grin on his face as he knows he’s pushed the exact buttons with Dusk as the Lost Soul rolls out of the ring and starts heading up the ramp.

Richard Parker: And it looks like Dusk is going after Rayne! Good! Rayne might take Dusk out of the match before Colossus V!

Nick Stuart: Security better get read!

Richard Parker: Hell, they might want to move out of the way by the time Dusk gets there!

With his options and patience thoroughly exhausted, it seems that Jason Natas has but final course of action at his disposal.

He’s going to war.

And he’s not waiting for Colossus.

See, it’s generally not a good idea to frustrate a guy as volatile as Jason Natas. So when you pair him with a duo as down-right idiotic as Mega Job, the result isn’t going to be favourable for any of the involved parties. Now, hacked-off by the complete and utter ineptitude of his partners and infuriated by the constant antics of his enemies, Jason Natas is going to take matters into his own hands.

Dressed in tattered blue jeans, a sleeveless black t-shirt and heavy black steel-toed boots, what money Natas saved on his wardrobe he has instead spent on accessories. Those accessories being the folding chair in his right hand, the wooden bat in his left and of course the brass knuckles on both.

Oh, and he’s smoking. Like a motherfucking chimney. Naturally.

Stalking through the back hallway, Natas’ eyes burn with hatred as they dart around frenetically in search of his targets. Coming to the end of the hallway, Natas hesitates for a brief moment before catching something shiny in his left peripheral. Snapping his head in that direction, Natas brings the offending object into focus.

An empty can of Bud Light.

Needless to say, Natas believes that he has caught the scent of his intended prey, as he kicks open the nearby door into a locker-room.

And finds himself just twenty feet away from those who have so consumed him with rage. He flicks the cigarette to the floor, stomping it under his boot as his mouth curls into a sneer.

Natas: Evenin’, boys.

The edge of the steel chair catches Colby Korver in the chest before he can even register what’s going on. Startled, Hank Cobb charged at the big New Yorker, only to be nailed in the gut with the brass knuckles for his troubles. As both members of Delta Upsilon Iota lurch to the floor, pained, Jason lets the chair clatter to the floor.

Natas: I’ve come to wreck everything and ruin your lives.

Jase screws up his face, as if the words didn’t quite come out as he’d intended.

Natas: Well, maybe not as Biblical-soundin’, but you get the drift…

He balls his right hand into a fist again and steps backwards, sizing up Hank Cobb for another shot with the brass knuckles. However, before he can shatter his jaw with a haymaker, a voice calls out from behind…

"Hey! Fuck face!"

As if by some kind of mighty great convenience, Jimmy Bonafide stands in the doorframe. With a grin on his face he glares at his rival.

Bonafide: You really need to start watching your back more often, man.

Somewhat taken aback by the arrival of yet another foe, Jason turns and lunges at PosterBoy with the brass knucks, but Bonafide telegraphs the blow and blocks it with his forearm. He proceeds to knee The Anti-Superstar in the gut, driving the wind from his lungs. Grabbing Natas by the belt, Bonafide hauls him from the locker-room and tosses him out headfirst against the wall.

Korver: Gee. Nice work, bro.

Colby, still clutching at his stomach, uses his free hand to pat The PosterBoy on the shoulder.

Cobb: C’mon, let’s get this dicksmack outta here!

Without warning Hank Cobb barges through his tag team partner and his newfound buddy. He grabs Jason Natas by one arm, yanking him up to his feet, before Jimmy and Colby both grab hold of the New Yorker. The trio begin to drag him through the corridors, Cobb using his giant size and great strength to prevent Natas from mounting anything like a fightback.

Bonafide: Here we are!

Bonafide nods to his allies as they reach a large set of double doors. Colby and Jimmy step backwards a little, allowing Cobb time and space to pull Natas back, before launching him through the doors headfirst again. They step through the threshold as Jason Natas’ form flops down on the cold, unforgiving concrete of the parking garage.

Korver: Fucking nice work, big guy!

DUI share a high-five as Jimmy Bonafide smiles smugly. Meanwhile, Jason manages to roll over. He offers his enemies a look that could turn Medusa herself to stone, but decides against mounting another assault. Even Jason Natas isn’t that stupid.

Bonafide: See you at Colossus, Natas!

Bonafide laughs, mocking his opponent as he disappears back into the corridors. DUI soon follow, leaving The Anti-Superstar all on his lonesome.

Natas: See you at Colossus?

He pulls himself to his feet, still sore from the blows he’s received. After dusting himself off he glances once again at the doors…

Natas: Yeah, it’ll be your fuckin’ end.

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, so glad you could join us for this edition of ReVolution just mere DAYS away form the fifth installment of COLOSSUS! For five years, we’ve brought you some highs and some lows, but the main event tonight promises not to disapp-

"Ladies and Gentlemen" by Saliva.

Nick: Wait, WHAT?!

Richard: No, it can’t be, it can’t be! WHAT’S HE DOING HERE?! HE WAS HURT!

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~!*

The Phillips Arena goes apeshit and the dyslexic fans go shitape as the curtains part…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Strutting their stuff out to the ring, Captain Justice walks to the ring with a purpose. Flanked by Mr. Silver sporting a pair of thick Ray-Ban Goggles, much to the chagrin of the crowd, the two make their way to the ring.

Richard: HAIL THE CONQUERING HEROES!

Nick: How can you cheer these two?! These sons of bitches nearly killed a Hall of Famer just to get what they wanted!

Richard: Killean ain’t gonna make it to Colossus! He’s too busy sitting on his ass after nearly getting lynched!

Silver – also sporting a grotesque number of bandages on his head from his war with Killean Sirrajin last week and the Captain climb into the ring. Immediately, Mr. Silver chases the ring announcer out, stealing his microphone in the process. As the two guilty parties of Killean Sirrajin’s impromptu hanging stand tall, he hands the mic over to Silver who calmly sits back and allows the fans to vent.

"JUSTICE SUCKS! JUSTICE SUCKS! JUSTICE SUCKS!"

Silver: Atlanta, Georgia… home of rappers, thugs, rednecks, and destitute African-Americans striving to be like us. But you can’t. Why? Because each and every one of you sons of bitches are too much like that drug-peddler, Killean Sirrajin! This city has two things in common with that punkass bitch…

The first: Like 9/10ths of you people, Killean, too, is a hardened ex-con!

And the second? After last week, Killean ended up like most of your ancestors… he got hung!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Fans, I’m sorry… I’ve gotta apologize on behalf of PRIME for that classless remark.

Richard: (quietly) Wuss.

Silver hands the mic to Captain Justice and the boos continue to grow exponentially as he paces around hurriedly.

Captain Justice: Killean Sirrajin got exactly what was coming to him. That pill-popping ogre has screwed with the minds of the many for the last time! If I have to say it once, I will repeat myself until every last man, woman, and child has heard it! Killean Sirrajin is scum and…

The crowd tone changes from boos to random cheering. Cheering for Silver and Justice? It's hard to believe but it surely seems true.

Yeah right.

The rest of the crowd gradually joins in as through the curtain steps a familiar face. He looks probably as bad as he feels, dressed in a tight black shirt and a pair of jeans. What's missing is the music, the usual hype surrounding the entrance of a man so popular in the history of PRIME and the different color lights swirling around the arena. What's not missing however is the item he holds in his hand. The silver finish of the bat is glistening under the many spotlights shining around him. Finally, the crowd is in unison as he just stares down at the stage below his feet, taking only a few steps at a time.

Nick: I can't believe my eyes! After the events of last week, I never thought we'd see Killean until Colossus!

The PRIME Choice takes the sunglasses off his face and tosses them into the midst of the raucous crowd. He lifts his head, taking a few more steps to descend the ramp, showing off the bags under his eyes, the bandage on his forehead and most of all the severely bruised neck combined with the scabs now covering the area of his old scars.

Richard: Is he insane? He can barely talk and now he's coming down the ramp to the ring?

Nick: Unfortunately his heart seems to be masking his common sense. He really shouldn't be here.

His descent down the ramp is slow, never taking his bloodshot eyes of the two men standing in the ring. The death glare eminating from his soul would be enough to freeze a normal man in place or make them run in the other direction. Even the Sports Entertainment Liaison is now leaning on the ropes, looking like he wants to put a whole lotta gone between himself and the Supreme Legend. Sirrajin's approach is slow, but upon his arrival at ringside, he walks to the steel steps, stops to look at them and proceeds to slam the silver bat on the surface. It's the famous simplicity used to determine that their weapons are 100% real and will cause damage, especially if the man swinging almost died in front of a sold out audience the week earlier.

Richard: He's actually going to get in there!

Nick: This could turn into something downright ugly.

His gaze never waining, he steps in between the ropes and stands defiantly opposite the mountain of a man known as the Americanimal. Silver is looking on from the side closer to his protege. Killean takes a few steps closer to Justice, showing absolutely no fear regardless of his obvious terrible physical condition.

Nick: You have to wonder what's going through Killean's mind at this exact moment. Last week, we were told he was legally dead for a moment before they revived him. Now he's standing in front of the man responsible for it all.

Richard: He obviously wants revenge but will probably end up hurting himself again.

Nick: Hurting himself?

Richard: He started it all before.

Nick: Silver started it all by framing Killean.

Justice makes a fist with his massive hand and connects square on the Supreme Machine's face. His head snapping a little is the only motion seen as the crowd reacts.

The Americanimal fires a second blow, but the Hall of Famer's grip on his bat only gets tighter, his entire body tensing now and practically convulsing as the adrenaline runs through him.

Nick: Two shots and he's barely flinched! A normal man would be unconcious after those blows!

Justice looks over to Silver who looks equally as surprised. Before Justice can think though, The PRIME Choice finally strikes with a baseball bat clothesline as the crowd explodes.

Justice collapses to the mat as Killean turns his gaze to the SELTP. Silver looks ready to bail, but is caught by the cat like speed of The Supreme Machine. Silver swings a right but Killean dodges and then lifts Silver while spinning, sending Sonny airbourne over the top rope with a belly to belly suplex.

Crowd: OHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Silver's body almost made an audible splat as he bounced of those mats outside the ring!

Richard: NOOOOOOO! Someone help him!

Killean admires his handiwork and what could almost be considered a grin appears in one corner of his mouth as he watches the cockroach scream in pain in front of the front row audience. But his happiness is very short lived however as Justice leaps from his knees and catches a turning Sirrajin directly in the neck and throat with a double fist. The PRIME Choice falls to the mat like a sack of potatoes, clutching at his neck flopping on the canvas like a fish. His mouth is wide open, but there is no audible sound heard besides a faint choke.

Richard: Serves him right!

Nick: Stop this now before an ambulance is required again!

Justice looks poised to strike again, grabbing Killean by the knees. Sneering through his mask at the downed Killean, Captain Justice drags him up, looking the Supreme Machine dead in the eye and laughs.

Captain Justice: LONG ARM OF THE LAW!

Without warning, the HUGE clothesline connects flush with the throat of the Supreme Machine, sending nearly 300 pounds of flesh crumbling to the mat in a heap. Killean continues to try making a motion, but nothing but faint gasps for life can be heard as he cradles his throat in pain.

Nick: DAMN IT! That Lariat may have done serious damage to Killean’s neck!

Ready to put the finishing touches on Killean, Captain Justice raises a boot, however Mr. Silver yells from his knees on the floor to stop the pursuit.

Silver: No! Leave it for Colossus! We'll finish him there.

The Captain looks at Mr. Silver and ceases his pursuit. He backs away from the former Universal Champion as officials once again make their way down the ramp to tend to him. The crowd is totally negative towards the duo yet some are once again silenced watching Killean writhe in pain on the mat.

Nick: How is he ever going to be ready for Colossus?

Richard: If he shows up there, he'll be leaving in a body bag.

Nick: That was in very poor taste you ass. We'll be right back with our main event!

The scene fades away as Killean remains nearly lifeless on the mat while Captain Justice and Mr. Silver continue to stare at their handiwork. Colossus was mere days away and with Killean looking worse for wear, the Supreme Machine’s chokes for air paint a very bleak outcome.

By this point, C.P. Cantrell was used to the way these PRIME shows worked. He would get maybe five minutes, ten if he's really fortunate, of actual work in. Then some idiots would keep coming into his office, making demands and acting like they owned the place. Then he would step up, he would try to lay down his law, they might or might not back down, and generally speaking, television was made.

By this point, such events have become routine.

So routine, in fact, that he doesn't even bat an eye when two men and a midget just walk right into the room.

Beef: Man, isn't this like our third segment in this show?

El Janito: Second. One of them was a match.

Beef: Well, matches are really nothing more than segments with violence included in them. Speaking of which, how come neither of us were hospitalized after that match, anyway?

El Janito: It was a comedy match, Beef. We only get hospitalized if it's deemed funny enough. Clearly, the Upstarts hospitalizing us just didn't seem funny enough for some people. Even if most people would probably desire it.

Beef: Verily.

Somewhere in the building, Simon Knox seethes at the idea of *Beef* using one of his catchphrases.

Meanwhile, Cantrell looks up at the intruders, almost as if he's been expecting them. Without a word, possibly because he didn't want to acknowledge the immense amounts of fourth wall being broken right at the onset of his meeting with Mega Job, Cantrell holds his hands out towards the three chairs in the center of the room. One, they note, is just the right size for Steve to sit down in and still be able to be at eye level with Cantrell.

Beef: Dude, he has a chair for Steve.

C.P. Cantrell: I didn't want to take chances. I heard the rumors about him.

The midget's chair actually resembles a minature throne. Beef, Janito, and Cantrell all look at Steve, who wordlessly climbs up and sits down in the midget's chair and then points at himself.

Steve: PIMP.

Cantrell sighs, and decides to just get on with it.

C.P. Cantrell: Okay. I assume you're here because you want to interview me for your Behind Colossus thing. Even though it's neither sanctioned by PRIME nor culturally advisable to let you do it under any circumstances. Actually, why am I even considering being interviewed by you three?

Beef: Because you pay us in waffles and we have to earn our keep. So, are you ready to rock the party that rocks the body?

C.P. Cantrell: Never say that again. I literally FELT the ratings take a plunge when you said that.

There is a pause. El Janito pulls out his microphone from seemingly nowhere, but Beef stops him suddenly by holding up his arm. Beef then smiles at Cantrell.

Beef: Oh, Ceeps... can I call you that?

C.P. Cantrell: No.

Beef: (clearly ignoring Cantrell) Okay, Ceeps, we're gonna level with you. We actually considered you a special case, because you're in charge of this nuthouse that still employs unstable maniacs like Dusk, Jason Natas, and Lindsay Troy. So, since you're in charge, we thought, wouldn't it be great if we got a couple of guys with a certain level of gravitas to actually help us with our interview?

C.P. Cantrell doesn't have a clue what Beef's talking about.

C.P. Cantrell: I don't have a clue what you're talking about.

See?

Beef turns in his seat towards the entrance of the room, and then calls out.

Beef: (shouting) Hey! Come on in!

The door bursts open, and a single man who looks like he's a zombie shambles into the room. Blood covers his shirt, his jeans are tattered, his brown hair looks like it's as mangled as his face, and generally speaking, he looks like hell.

His name... is Ken War.

And Ken War personifies by one thing.

Ken War: hardkorr!!!11111

Cantrell doesn't say a word, but he does instinctively reach for his bottle of headache medicine, poured out at least two pills, and dry-swallowed them. He glances at Ken War with a look of disgust on his face, before he turns his attention to Beef.

C.P. Cantrell: What is that?

Beef: That, sir, is Ken War. He is a legend in the ways of hardcore. (to Ken War) Ken! Show Mr. Cantrell what you can do!

Ken War steps back outside of the door and grabs a nearby steel folding chair. He then walks into the room, steel chair in hand. Cantrell thinks the worst and gets up suddenly, but then, just as suddenly, Ken War whips the steel chair directly into his OWN face. Inexplicably, Ken War is decapitated and he falls lifelessly to the floor, his head rolling against the wall.

C.P. Cantrell is speechless.

He resists the urge to scream like a little girl when Ken War's headless body gets up, stumbles around for a few seconds, finds his head, and then puts it back onto his head.

Backwards.

Ken War picks up the steel chair again, lord knows how he found it, and he sets it up for its more intended use as a seating device, before sitting down next to El Janito. Ken War then looks around confused.

Ken War: hay!!1 were ded evry1 guu???/

Nonchalantly, El Janito grabs Ken War by the top of his head and jerks his head around the other way so that he now faces Cantrell.

Ken War: o, ey c nowz.

C.P. Cantrell: How the hell do you know what he's saying, anyway?

Beef: We're used to him.

C.P. Cantrell: You're used to him?

Beef: Yes.

C.P. Cantrell: ...

Cantrell looks over at the headache medicine bottle again, and ponders the idea of someone actually overdosing on it. He turns back to Mega Job and Ken War, and realizes to his horror that there is a gap in their logic.

C.P. Cantrell: You said guys just a little bit ago, didn't you?

Beef: Yes, well... the other guy has been standing behind you since before we even walked in.

Cantrell suddenly whirls around, almost expecting to find El Hombre Mexicano Estupendo sitting there in his wrestling tights, mask, and professor's jacket.

Turns out, his assumptions are only the tip of the iceberg.

El Hombre Mexicano Estupendo really is there, but he is having a cup of tea with a massive, seven-foot tall man dressed in a black bird suit. In fact, said bird suit could have reminded C.P. Cantrell of the Gobbledy Gooker if, in fact, he knew what the hell that was. Furthermore, Cantrell isn't even sure how he can even DRINK tea through the giant bird head sitting on top of the man's head.

This man casually stops drinking the tea, sets down the cup, and then literally flies over Cantrell, his desk, and Mega Job... landing on his feet majestically.

This man really needs no introduction, he is the Mysterious Birdman 0¿0.

But just in case you aren't sure who he is, he's more than happy to introduce himself.

0¿0: MUWAKEKEKEKEKEKEKE! I AM THE MYSTERIOUS BIRDMAN 0¿0 AND I GO CLUCK IN YOUR FACES, BECAUSE THERE IS NONE IN THIS ENTIRE CLUCKING UNIVERSE WHO CAN POSSIBLY GO ONE-ON-ONE WITH THE FEATHERY ONE! I AM THE FATHER OF EXTREME AND THE MOTHER OF HARDCORE! ONCE, THERE WAS THIS REALLY OLD GUY WHO DARED TO CHALLENGE THE MYSTERIOUS BIRDMAN! HE THREW SEED AT ME AND THOUGHT I WAS BUT A LOWLY PIGEON! OH, BUT I SHOWED HIM! I CHALLENGED HIM TO THE MOST HARDCORE OF ALL MATCHES, THE BARBED WIRE EXPLODING BIRDHOUSE OF DEATH MATCH! BUT THEN THIS OLD MAN GREW A BIG CLUCKING YELLOW DOWN HIS BACK AND HE STARTED BACKPEDDLING OUT! SO I DID WHAT ANY NORMAL BIRDMAN WOULD DO! I KICKED HIM IN THE NUTS AND GAVE HIM THE MYSTERY BIRD DRIVER, JUST LIKE MY GRANDPAPPY, MYSTERIOUS JULIUS BIRDMAN, TAUGHT ME ALL OF THOSE YEARS AGO! BUT THEN, THIS WEIRD GRAY STUFF CAME OUT OF HIS HEAD ALONG WITH THE USUAL BLOOD, AND AFTER I KICKED HIM A FEW TIMES UNTIL SOMETHING CALLED A "KIDNEY" POPPED OUT OF HIS CHEST, THE OLD CODGER KINDA STOPPED MOVING! AND, WELL, EVEN I, THE VERY ESSENCE OF THAT WHICH IS HARDCORE AND HEELDOM, KNEW THAT I HAD TO GET THE CLUCK OUT OF THERE BEFORE THE MOTHERCLUCKING HEAT SHOWED UP! SO I, OF COURSE, FLEW AWAY, CAWING AND CLUCKING AT THE HEAT AS I MADE MY ESCAPE! THEN, AS I WAS FLYING, I SAW THAT THE WORLD HAD BEEN PROSPERING IN MY ABSENCE! AND, WELL, MYSTERIOUS J. BIRDMAN DON'T LIKE THAT! I DON'T ACCEPT THAT THE WORLD IS A BETTER PLACE WITHOUT ME! SO I TOOK A MASSIVE CRAP ON THE HIGHWAY ON MY WAY HERE, AND ALL OF THE CARS SUDDENLY SKIDDED OUT OF CONTROL AND EXPLODED IN A MASSIVE, FIREY TWENTY CAR PILEUP! THEN I CAME TO THIS ARENA AND I PEED ON IT! THAT'S RIGHT! I UNZIPPED MY FEATHERS, PULLED OUT MY UNNATURALLY MASSIVE BIRD COCK, AND MARKED THIS BUILDING AS MY MOTHERCLUCKING TERRITORY, LIKE WE USED TO DO IN THE OLD DAYS BEFORE SUCH BULLCLUCK AS "LEGALLY BINDING CONTRACTS" AND "OWNERSHIP RIGHTS"! SO NOW THIS BUILDING BELONGS TO ME, AND ALL OF YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO 0¿0, MOTHERBITCHES! AND NOW, BECAUSE I AM THE MOST HEELISHLY HEELISH HEEL THAT EVER HEELED IN THE HISTORY OF HEELS, I WILL NOW CONCLUDE MY INTRODUCTION BY CALLING YOU AN ASSHOLE! YEAH! THAT'S THE TYPE OF CUTTING EDGE, HARDCORE, MOTHERCLUCKING STUFF THAT ALL DASTARDLY HEELS SHOULD DO! SOME DAY, MANY YEARS FROM NOW, LONG AFTER I'VE GROWN A LONG MUSTACHE ON MY BEAK THAT I CAN STROKE, THEY'LL LOOK BACK ON TONIGHT AND SAY, "BOY, I WISH I WAS THERE WHEN BIRDMAN CALLED SOME GUY AN ASSHOLE"! MUWAKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mercifully, the Mysterious Birdman stops talking.

The only thing C.P. Cantrell can think right now is that there isn't enough headache medicine for this segment. He looks at Beef and El Janito, completely ignoring the Birdman for now.

C.P. Cantrell: How the fuck did you get these two failures at life into the building?

Beef: Funny story...

Earlier tonight, Beef is talking to Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas. Behind Beef are El Janito, Steve, the Mysterious Birdman 0¿0, and Ken War, both of whom have their arms crossed. Although Dametreyus looks a little uneased about their collective presence, he isn't as frightened of them as the Enemigos, who have taken to hiding behind one of the boxes that the technicians bring into the arena.

Beef shows Dam an Etch-A-Sketch.

Beef: Hey, Dam, I'll give you this Etch-A-Sketch if you'll let these two into the building.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I'm down wit' that, boss.

C.P. Cantrell: (muttering) Great, I must have the only head of security in this entire stupid industry who would be bribed by toys. (holds his head, as if he has a headache) Are you actually going to interview me, or are you just here to parade around your loser friends?

Beef: Actually, the Birdman's no loser. He's right up there with Steve in the "could kick our asses without even blinking" scale.

0¿0: STEVE AND I HANG OUT EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT TO PICK UP CHICKS. IT'S A COMPETITION. SO FAR, WE'RE BOTH SOMEWHERE IN THE HUNDREDS. EVERYONE WANTS TO GO DOWN WITH THE BIRDMAN, BUT THEY ALSO WANT TO GO DOWN WITH THE STEVE.

Steve points at himself.

Steve: PIMP.

Meanwhile, Beef looks a little confused.

Beef: Wait, doesn't the show usually air on Fridays?

El Janito: No, it airs on Wednesdays.

Beef: But I thought...

El Janito: (interrupting) Let's not break the fourth wall any more than we have to today, Beef.

Steve: IDIOT.

Beef: Alright, fine. Birdman, interview the man.

0¿0: YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, FEATHERLESS DOUCHE.

Beef: ...Ken, you interview him.

Ken War: u r nto hardkorr enuff 2 ordir mi areund, depshet!!!111

Beef: Why the hell am I so low on the totem pole that even a ZOMBIE and a GUY IN A BIRDSUIT won't follow my orders? Janito. You interview him.

El Janito: (sigh) Fine, fine.

El Janito kinda generally points a microphone at Cantrell.

El Janito: C.P. Cantrell! What do you think about Colossus!?

Cantrell glares at the literal circus of freaks sitting before him. He's LONG since written this off as a loss.

C.P. Cantrell: It's fine. Interview over.

El Janito: What, already? We just introduced a bunch of guys and you want us to leave? Already?

Cantrell looks at Janito, and then decides on how he's going to get rid of them.

C.P. Cantrell: You guys say you get paid in waffles, don't you?

The two taller members of Mega Job all nod.

C.P. Cantrell: Well, if you don't get out and take the rest of this... (looks at Birdman in particular) circus with you, then I might be inclined to adjust your contracts so that you get paid in dog shit.

Beef and El Janito get up from the chairs awfully fast, and look a little panicked.

Beef: Um... guys!

0¿0: YEAH, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

Ken War: es et hardkorr???/

Beef: Let's go out to the parking lot, like... um... right now. I have to show you the New And Improved Jobmobile! (turns to Cantrell) We should totally do breakfast some time. (to everyone else) Let's roll!

And quickly, Beef, Janito, Birdman, and Ken War all squeeze out of the room at once. Ken War is torn ASHUNDER by the stampede, but he soon reconstitutes himself and leaves. This leaves Steve and C.P. Cantrell alone in the room. Steve glares at Cantrell.

C.P. Cantrell: (sighing) Yes, I'll let you go drinking with the rest of the cabinet after the show, Steve.

Steve: WORD.

Steve hops off the chair and waddles out of the room to join the rest of Mega Job and their posse. Cantrell shakes his head.

C.P. Cantrell: Remind me to figure out how they even got hired here.

And let's go somewhere else.

Devin Shakur is done waiting. Sure, he was hoodwinked by C.P. Cantrell into a Friend or Foe tag match, but so was his rival, Chandler Tsonda. Everyone got sold up the river for entertainment’s sake tonight on ReV 168, and it doesn’t bother Shakur one bit that Cantrell did whatever was necessary.

In his locker room, the Universal Champion stands up. It’s match time, and that means one can’t be dilly-dallying around the locker room. So he opens the door.

"Hold it right there, bucko."

I mean, who else but Chandler Tsonda would just be showing up at dude’s doorstep, moments before their tag match.

Devin Shakur: Came back for some more adventures with the Mystery Gang?

Chandler Tsonda: Are you back on the crack pipe?

Devin Shakur: Ya know, the whole "who the fuck is Troy Douglas" thing. We literally got done with it like an hour ago.

Chandler Tsonda: Let’s just forget that whole thing ever happened.

Both Shakur and Tsonda leer at the camera, smashing the fourth wall to bits with sledgehammers.

Chandler Tsonda: Anyway, I came with a simple message.

Devin Shakur: You’ve decided to that officially calling yourself pre-op would be best?

Chandler Tsonda: (ignores Shakur) I’m dragging your ass to a win out there, if it kills me.

Devin Shakur: Oh yeah? Tell me how that’s gonna work, Chokejob.

Chandler Tsonda: You can rile me up all you want before the match. Bring everything you got, because I’m going out there and I’m winning this fucking match. Your titanic level of suck is going to be neutralized by my refusal to lose.

Devin Shakur: So I’m just supposed to let bygones be bygones and saddle up for one more hoedown together before the big dance at Colossus?

Chandler Tsonda: No, you’re just supposed to step aside while I win us a match, so you can try and climb back up to .500, overachiever.

The Man in Black gives a love tap to the Universal Title around his waist, reminding his Colossus opponent that there’s a reason why he’s a big deal around these parts.
Devin Shakur: So did you use your Asian math skills to figure out some probabilities or something that will make us win?

Chandler Tsonda: No.

Devin Shakur: Did you have your acne-ridden interns devise a plan for us to beat those two at their own game?

Chandler Tsonda: Nope.

Devin Shakur: So your grand plan for us to win this match is what?

Chandler Tsonda: Well, I’m going to keep you out of the ring as much as possible, then I’m gonna imagine that Douglas and Vashaun are you, thus fueling a horrific beatdown the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Roosevelt administration.

Devin Shakur: Teddy or FDR?

Chandler Tsonda: It doesn’t matter, the point is that it was a long goddamn time ago the last time someone did it…but obviously, Teddy.

Devin Shakur: Fantastic, so looks like my night’s pretty much over. You go carry us to a win, Oh Wise One.

The Universal Champion shoulders past Tsonda, but the Number One Contender grabs him by the arm, the pseudo-friendly tone of banter completely gone from his voice.

Chandler Tsonda: And Devin?

Devin Shakur: Yeah, you can have an autograph later. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the rest of the locker room you asked.

Chandler Tsonda: The second that bell rings, you better run for the fucking hills.

Devin Shakur: Why would I do that? An earthquake ain’t coming.

There’s no answer from the Viet Viper, as he turns on his heel and leaves, leading the way towards the ring. The camera catches an uncertain glance from Shakur, but there’s no more time left to think. Shakur exits the locker room as the shot cuts away. It’s off to battle.

Ringside. Announce table. You know how they do.

Nick Stuart: Quite the interesting development for our main event tonight.

Richard Parker: It's a genius move, Nick. Now our Universal Champion, a champion we can be proud of mind you, can keep a closer eye on that scuzzy little Tsonda.

Nick Stuart: Of all the things you could call Tsonda, I don't think "scuzzy" is one of them. I hear he showers at least three times a day.

Richard Parker: He has to! Only way to stay clean when you're a dirty, dirty liar like him!

Nick Stuart: Thank you for that insight, Mr. Delusional. However, before you so kindly interrupted me that was supposed to be a sweet segue into other interesting developments of the evening. Let's shoot it out to Angelica Brooks one last time, standing by in the parking lot.

Imagine the shock of the viewing public when the feed switches from ringside to the parking lot. About as shocking as the fact that Devin Shakur wore black this evening. So, yeah, just as Nick said... Angelica Brooks standing by with Tyler Rayne. The party seems to have more or less cleared out, everyone having gone on to find a way to peep the main event. Which leaves these two wonderfully attractive people, that ugly ass green van and the cameraman.

Angelica Brooks: Well, you've waited all night, Rayne and--

Tyler Rayne: Hold up, B. Lemme make just one last plea to ol' Sunshine. Dusk, I know you're watching. I know you're listening. I know you've seen everything I've done tonight. Every chance I took to goad you out here. All the names. All the jokes. Yet, here I am. And one might wonder... where are you? Tired of waitin', Sunshine. Man up and show you're a little bit more than just talk. You can talk about kickin' my ass all night, kid. Ain't nothin' doin' so far. Oh... and your mother is a fat ugly whore. Bitch. Cunt.

Angelica Brooks: Finished?

Tyler Rayne: I think.

The camera then cuts to the backstage area where you see Dusk, fresh off of his match with Rhine, rushing through the backstage area, intent on taking out Rayne with his bare hands.

Back outside, Rayne is pacing back and forth in front of the van, pounding that lead pipe rather violently down into his open palm. Brooks has taken a cautionary, and well suggested few steps back.

Nick Stuart: Heads up, Angie. Dusk is on his way.

Angelica Brooks: He's coming out?

Tyler Rayne: 'Bout fuckin' time.

The 5-Star Champion orients himself toward the arena doors, stalking in place as he waits. The doors burst open and out steps Dusk, eyes immediately coming to meet Rayne's.

Tyler Rayne: Well... I didn't think you'd show.

Dusk: I didn't think you would be dumb enough to just listen to a guy who tells you that's my rental car, but there you are with a lead pipe in your head without a lick of sense in your brain. I'm interested to see what else I can beat out of there.

Tyler Rayne: Alright, Sunshine. Let's dance.

Both men take two large strides toward each other. Rayne uses his as a bit of added momentum to hurl the lead pipe in Dusk's direction. The Lost Soul is not fazed. He does not alter course. He simply lifts his forearm, deflecting the pipe so that it goes spinning to the side and... right into the cameraman. Or thus one would assume, with the way the camera goes all straight up in the air and spinning to the ground. The pained groans of the poor sap are heard near the camera as boots quicken pace across concrete. The camera really doesn't catch much more than shadows dancing around Angelica's heels.

Tyler Rayne: That all you got, Sunshine? I'm almost disappointed.

The scrambled patter of feet. The heavy thump of fist meeting flesh. Groans. Grunts. Angelica's startled cries. A pair of boots stumbles across the camera view before tumbling over.

Dusk: Disappointed? Fuck you. You haven't seen SHIT yet!

Another pair of boots in pursuit.

Angelica Brooks: Dusk! Ty! Stop it! C'mon, guys! Seriously, you're gonna--

She hits the ground hard, hand rising to wipe at the blood coming from her lip.

Tyler Rayne: You mother fuck--

The 5-Star Champion lands right in front of her. He spits a mouthful of blood to the pavement and hops back up.

Tyler Rayne: Now I'm pissed.

Dusk: You talk too much.

Tyler Rayne: Shut me up then.

Dusk: Gladly.

The camera view becomes dark as the shadows seem to be fighting right over the camera. Screaming. Shouting. Pain. Anger. It's all there if you just listen. A body falls close to the camera. Too close. There's nothing there but denim. Then a shadow falls over the denim, nearly encasing the scene in darkness.

Angelica Brooks: Ty, look out!

SSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKSSSSSSSSSSKKKKKKKKKKKCCCCC

Or whatever the fuck static sounds like. Lose the feed. Cut to ringside. Time for the main event, kids. I'll bet it's a good one.

Rolo: So pick your poison.

Rolo waves his hand over the assortment of video games spread out in front of him, the 60" plasma television and Nintendo Wii set up in the corner of the room.

Gamble: So I pick the game, and you go first. Somehow - this being your system and all – I feel like I'm being set up.

Rolo: Yeah, like I didn't get totally screwed in your little game.

Gamble: Dwelling on the past. You're so predictable.

Rolo just shakes his head.

Rolo: Just pick a game, Happy Smurf.

Gamble's eyes narrow as he ponders his decision. He hesitates a bit, but he grabs a game and hands it to Rolo.

Rolo: Guitar Hero it is.

Gamble: Is this the remote?

Gamble lifts the guitar shaped remote control from the floor, admiring the thing for a moment.

Rolo: Why do you think it's called Guitar Hero? Geesh, what a noo-

The sound of plastic shattering is heard, as Tony delivers a guitar shot that would make Jeff Jarrett walk out and shake Tony's hand.

Gamble: Yeah, I feel like a hero already. Thanks, guitar.

Gamble tosses the piece still in his hand on top of Rolo, then stomps a foot on his head before leaning down to whisper in Rolo's ear.

Gamble: I guess I won this game too. Like I said... I always wi-

There is another loud sound, this one of the television smashing against Gamble's head. All you see of Gamble is from the calf down, all you see is black and white striped socks and ruby red slippers.

Munchkins everywhere are singing: "Ding. Dong. The witch is dead."

Rolo: One... One.

Nick: And now, we close the curtain on another year in PRIME.

Richard: Been pretty damn disappointing, with all that time the she-male spent as Champ.

Nick: This time last year, Lindsay Troy was preparing for the first of her umpteen defenses against Sonny Silver.

Richard: Shakur was co-main eventing this time last year. Your boy Tsonda was curtain-jerking with three guys who don’t work here anymore. Talk about an overachiever, eh?

Nick: But before we pack our bags for Colossus, there’s one more matter of business.

Richard: And that is the tragic mismanagement by C.P. Cantrell in forcing the likes of Devin Shakur and Kaiser Vashaun to team with their inferiors.

Before any more bickering between the two longstanding commentators, the arena plunges into darkness.

Nick: *sigh* I knew the South was backwards, but I never–

Richard: HUSH! Watch the PRIME*View, Chatty Kathy!

On the PRIME*View is a familiar image of fire, burning black and white. For a second, just that image lingers, long enough to pique some curiosity before the sound of "Jackson, Mississippi" by Kid Rock can be heard.

Richard: Next. In. Line. Boyeeeeee.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce tonight’s MAIN EVENT! While the tag team rules will be standard, with only one legal man at a time, for legal entrants in the match, it is an Intense Rules Match!

The top two things that get a pop in Atlanta: hanging General Sherman in effigy and letting the people know that there’s about to be some weapon-assisted brutality on the premises. With the lights still off, except for intermittent flashes of the spotlight, Kaiser stalks towards the ring.

Richard: My god, he’s like a silent assassin or something.

Nick: I think Tyler Rayne’s got the ninja thing patented.

Richard: Tyler Rayne already patented like fourteen previously unidentified STD’s, isn’t that enough for him?

Vince Howard: Coming first to the ring, …he hails from Jackson, Mississippi…weighing in at 262 pounds, "The Next In Line," KAISER VASHAAAAAAAAUN!

A heavy chorus of boos officially greets KV, but it doesn’t last long. Because the riffs to Chris Cornell’s "You Know My Name," the same ones that graced Casino Royale but are way more bitchin’ for Mr. Megatron.

Richard: Ugh, this entrance is so goddamn gaudy.

The PRIME*View calls up a chunk of text, quickly flashing word that the crowd more or less sings along with.

End.

Of.

The.

Road.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Nick: The man knows how to make an entrance, indubitably.

After the three earth-shattering shots of pyro, Troy Douglas steps out amidst red and white lights. As eyes lay upon him and that Intense Belt, the crowd joins together in powerful cheers.

Richard: Somebody tell this blowhard to go back to fWo.

Nick: He’s a PRIMEate now, Richard, and I’m pretty sure the fans are better off for it.

Vince Howard: And his partner…from Greensboro, North Carolina…weighing in at 260 pounds, PRIME’s Intense Champion…TROOOOOOOOOOY DOUGLAS!

Nick: It shouldn’t be forgotten that Colossus V isn’t just a homecoming for Devin Shakur, but also for Troy Douglas.

Richard: I’ve had quite enough of these homecomings, from John Rhine to that waste of space Elliott.

Troy Douglas gets his moment in the sun, slapping hands and keeping his eyes trained on Kaiser, but his entrance is cut short. Before he reaches the ring, the sound system gets a new sound.

I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful,’
These are truly the last days

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: That’s the sound of an audience getting behind the Number One Contender as he readies himself for the biggest match of his life!

Richard: That’s sound of naivete, Nick.

White letters reading "Model Citizen" flash on a glowing forest green background, swelling as the acoustic loop to "Welcome Home" by Coheed & Cambria builds. Shortly thereafter, green and white pyro erupts, welcoming Chandler Tsonda from the gorilla position.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…from San Diego, California…weighing in at 201 pounds, he is the Number One Contender to the Universal Title…The Viet Viper, CHANDLER TSOOOOOOOOOOOONDA!

Nick: This is the last chance for these competitors to make their case before Colossus.

Richard: Are you kidding me? There’s so much freaking media saturation in the next two weeks that we’re about to make Super Bowl Week look like a bunch of Indians sitting around transmitting smoke signals.

Tsonda claps his hands together, raising his arms to get the Atlanta crowd into it. They follow orders pretty well.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But like many otherwise beautiful moments for the fans, this one is interrupted by "Black Hole Sun." Tsonda’s not even off the top of the ramp, and as Shakur strolls out amidst black and white lights, the Sultan of Style stares daggers through him.

Nick: Shakur just can’t get enough of this brinkmanship with Tsonda.

Richard: It’s the only way to show a dweeb like Tsonda who’s the alpha male around here.

Vince Howard: And his partner…from Charlotte, North Carolina…weighing in at 219 pounds…The Man In Black and The Universal Champion, DEVIN SHAKUUUUUUUUUUUUUR!

Richard: Sweet merciful Hoyt! Look at how regal he is!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ignoring–no, reveling in his choir of boo-birds, Devin gives a loving pat to the Universal Title around his waist, as if to say "yeah, this bitch is still around my waist and ain’t shit a Viet Cong biatch like yo self can do bout it." Paraphrasing, of course.

Nick: You don’t need to be in Atlanta to feel the simmering hatred between these two.

Richard: Haters are the mark of a truly great man.

Nick: Tsonda confessed earlier that it wasn’t personal until last week. He was prepared to do this in a sportsmanlike fashion, but Shakur had to keep pressing his buttons.

Richard: Cry me a river, Tsonda. It’s wrestling, not therapy. Playing fair’s for pussies.

Nick: And they wonder why PRIME will never make it to network TV.

Shakur actually passes Tsonda on the ramp without so much as a glance his way. Tsonda shakes his head, tensing up with anger, and then follows his quarry to the ring. In the ring, Kaiser and Troy Douglas are disagreeing loudly enough to be caught by mics.

Troy Douglas: No, I insist. You can start the match, it’s only fair.

KV sneers in disgust at the Intense Champion, but takes a step towards the middle of the ring, where Bernie Roberts is waiting to check him for weapons (moot, given the rules, we know).

Kaiser Vashaun: (over his shoulder) Your mind games can only save you for another fifteen minutes, Douglas.

Shakur is taking his time to the ring, so he’s surprised when Tsonda forcefully shoulders past him and slides into the ring, immediately taking down Kaiser Vashaun with a flying elbow.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: What? He can’t just do that.

Nick: At the risk of sounding cliché, I think he just did.

DING DING DING!

Richard: It’s clobberin’ time for Kaiser, once he gets up.

Nick: He does have the weight advantage. Actually interesting to see the size difference between the Intense Title and Universal Title feuds.

Richard: Yeah, about as interesting as the periodic table.

Kaiser rolls to his feet and shakes his head at Tsonda, a clear sign that "you shouldn’tve done that." Vashaun charges, but Tsonda puts him right back on the mat with a drop toe hold reminiscent of his former ally Danny Ferguson. He reaches his feet before Vashaun again, and this time cuts KV off at the pass, hitting a perfect scissors kick on the back of Vashaun’s neck. He falls on top of the Intense Title challenger for a cover.

One…


NO!

Richard: You’re not wrestling that patsy Dawkins anymore, Tsonda. This is the major leagues. This is the Next In Line.

Nick: Are you getting a commission for every time you say it?

Richard: 11.4% of all heel merchandise sold, baby. Loyalty to the company paying off big-time, and with the new "I’d Go Emo For Sun Tzu, Too" shirt…let’s just say that the 47-inch in the bedroom is about twenty-five inches too small.

Nick: You’re getting a seventy plus inch TV for your bedroom?

Richard: Hookers love TV in bed, Nick. They eat it up.

With that powerful shoulder up, Vashaun regains some momentum. Tsonda has to roll to the near corner, and by the time both men are up, Tsonda’s seemingly trapped between the turnbuckle and the bullish Vashaun. KV hits a powerful right hand that sends Tsonda into the turnbuckle. Vashaun runs at the corner, but the Model Citizen derails his attack with two raised feet to the forehead.

Nick: Nice counter by Tsonda, he’s been looking awfully sharp in the ring lately.

Richard: Yeah, he’s really been top-notch in all those losses he’s been piling up.

Vashaun holds his head in pain, with his back to Tsonda. The Number One Contender grabs a hold of the opportunity, much like he does to the back of Kaiser’s head, right before bringing it to the mat with a two-handed facebuster. On the outside, Troy Douglas is rummaging under the ring for something to give the match some Intense Rules flair. Shakur has taken to yelling obscenities at his partner every time the Model Citizen succeeds in hitting a move.

Nick: The Intense Champion wants this match firmly on his turf, with his rules.

Richard: Devin Shakur is a thinking man’s champion. He doesn’t need your garbage wrestling.

Nick: The same Devin Shakur who’s had two Intense Title reigns?

Richard: He was merely bringing some dignity to the belt.

Tsonda pulls up Kaiser by the head, but the Next In Line rakes at his eyes, blinding the Viet Viper momentarily. With Tsonda clawing at his eye, Vashaun lifts him with one arm and plants him on the mat with a Samoan Drop.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Only an idiot doesn’t take advantage of the No DQ rules. These people should know all about rooting for someone who sees the rules as optional. They cheered for Mike Vick.

As Vashaun waits for Tsonda to rise, Douglas tosses several things into the ring: fire extinguisher, steel chair, trash can, and a cue stick. He also starts to pull a table out from under the ring, bringing a formidable pop from the Atlanta crowd.

Nick: Troy Douglas seems very interested in living up to Executive Producer Cantrell’s mandate not to "take the week off.

Tsonda pulls himself up using the middle rope, but he’s still blinking and trying to regain vision. Vashaun grabs him and slams him into the middle of the ring with a reverse vertical suplex, in which Tsonda’s head misses hitting the steel chair by about four inches.

Nick: This is where things get dangerous. Those weapons are littered across the ring AND Douglas is lifting that table onto the apron.

Richard: Right, because massive, athletic guys dropping one another on the head wasn’t "dangerous" already.

The Model Citizen can’t shake the cobwebs, grabbing his head as he reaches both knees. And that’s a bad position to be stuck in, which Kaiser proves when he catches Tsonda square in the face with a running knee strike. The impact spins Tsonda and plants him face-first. While Tsonda tries to fight to his feet, KV grabs the trash can lid and lies in wait.

Nick: Tsonda’s bout to get uglified if he doesn’t watch out.

Richard: The horrifically disfigured bit is already sorta Crucifix’s thing. Tough luck, kid. Guess you’ll have to go back to being the Asian stereotype on the roster.

Vashaun cocks back with the lid and lets loose a huge one-handed swing, but Tsonda leans back just far enough that he misses a shot to the face. But the evasive maneuver left him open and now KV backhands the lid into Tsonda’s back, bringing a pained shout, as Tsonda drops to one knee. Kaiser swings the lid again, at Tsonda’s face, but the Model Citizen blocks with his elbow. Another swing; another elbow block. But every blow that finds Tsonda’s arm is still causing pain, and those blocks have less ability to stop the massive swings of Kaiser Vashaun.

Nick: I dunno how much longer Tsonda can fight steel with flesh.

Partly out of desperation, Tsonda busts out a sweep kick. It surprises Vashaun and drops him onto his ass. This is just the opening that Tsonda needs. He rushes the opposite ropes, bounces off, and catches the rising Vashaun with a stiff Yakuza kick.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: No manners, I tell ya.

Nick: Can’t argue with that, but I think that even these Southerners can deal with a break from etiquette once in a while.

Tsonda covers.

One….


Two…


NO!

Nick: Douglas with the save!

The back of the Intense Champ’s boot meets the small of Tsonda’s back, bringing a cry of pain from the Viet Viper. But Douglas isn’t one to embellish that type of thing, so he makes his way back into the corner with very little fanfare. Tsonda scoots on his ass towards the ropes, then pulls up. Going up with a competitor the size of Vashaun has expended a great deal of energy. So, reluctantly, he heads to his own corner. Shakur sneers at him, but puts out his hand; we already heard the conversation about how neither is going to let the other pin a loss on their record. They don’t wanna be partners, but they wanna win, and the best way for that to happen is if Devin Shakur gets tagged in. So Tsonda slaps his hand.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And if you thought pop was for Devin Shakur, I’ve got a bridge I’d like to sell you. Of course the Number One Contender was gonna give Shakur a hip toss into the ring, just to shake him out of any assumption that Tsonda doesn’t wanna rip his fucking gizzard out.

Nick: Quite an unceremonious tag for the Universal Champion!

Richard: That’s fine. Shakur’s going to be tagging Tsonda in with the bottom of his foot next time around.

Shakur starts off with quick back elbow strikes to Vashaun, pushing the larger man back against the ropes. A strong spinning elbow puts KV up into the ropes, leaning on them for support. The Universal Champion reaches down for the steel chair, then brings it up, still folded, into Kaiser’s gut, leaving KV doubled over. Shakur bounces off the ropes, jumps up, and then brings his knee crashing down on the back of Vashaun’s skull. He follows this with a hooked leg cover.

One…


Two…


ThreNO!

Nick: Shoulder up by Vashaun! He’s taken the brunt of the punishment in this match, but he’s still chugging along.

Richard: Homie don’t play that weak shit. He’s built Ford tough.

Shakur goes to grab another weapon, but Vashaun uses this opening to crawl to his corner and slap Douglas’s hand. The Intense Champion doesn’t question the tag because he’s about to get him some Emo. Shakur looks up, but too late to stop the shoulder block from the 260-pound Champion.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Douglas coming in like a house on fire.

Richard: One shoulder block is like a house on fire? I think maybe the special ed Boy Scouts might’ve made this fire.

Shakur’s up again, but Douglas is right there, lifting Shakur into a uranage backbreaker. After the move hits, he picks up the trash can, lifting it high for the crowd to see (and cheer).

Richard: Devin, watch out!

The Intense Champion brings the trash can down straight onto Devin Shakur’s head. Shakur wobbles for a second, then topples over. Douglas calls for more crowd support, and since they don’t give a flying hootnanny about the Universal Champ, they respond in the tasteful way that only Southern gentlefolk can.

DEV-IN SUCKS! DEV-IN SUCKS! DEV-IN SUCKS!

Richard: Does not, you inbred Southern swine.

Nick: Somebody’s crabby.

Richard: Why should Megatard have an advantage just because he knows how to swing a stupid trashcan? Show me him beating Shakur in a real wrestling match and I’ll show you a fantasy world.

Douglas pulls Shakur up by the head, showing the world (or at least Atlanta) that Devin Shakur, for all his escapes and clutch wins, is a mere mortal. Unfortunately for the Intense Champion, he’s a mere mortal with the most intimidating set of kicks since Karina Wolfenden was in PRIME. And the kick in question is of the mule variety, hitting Douglas where the sun shines (but only on nude beaches).

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: My two horses are taking full advantage of the situation. Maybe Douglas and Tsonda should get a clue.

Nick: Maybe they don’t need dirty tactics, no matter what the rules are.

In the corner, Tsonda is shouting at Shakur, calling him a bunch of words that we could say on TV, but our mom would find out and tell us that she’s disappointed. We hate to disappoint out mom, she’s such a sweet lady. Douglas drops in the middle of the ring and Shakur goes for a cover.

One…


Two…


ThreeNO!

Nick: Shoulder up!

Shakur slaps the mat, looking up at Bernie Roberts as if it was Bernie that somehow let Troy’s shoulder get up. Commie Emo reaches his feet again and starts to stomp away at Troy Douglas, invoking the crowd’s wrath. After six or seven stomps, Shakur becomes bored and goes to the corner. He hops up onto the first rope, flipping off the crowd with both hands in the process.

Nick: Completely unnecessary.

Richard: North Cackylacky ain’t got no love for the A, Nick.

Shakur turns around and sees Douglas struggling to his feet. He jumps off the first rope, both knees tucked for maximum impact. But Douglas rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding the dual-pronged attack. From behind him, Vashaun slaps his back, making himself the legal man. He doesn’t wait for Douglas’s reaction, but storms into the ring. He locks up with Shakur, pulls the Universal Champion into a headlock, then lets loose with fierce right hands, the last of which sends Shakur stumbling back a couple steps.

Nick: Kaiser’s back in this match, trying to regain some momentum for his team.

Richard: Gleeful is the word I’d describe myself as, when I watch these two fine competitors in the ring together.

Kaiser goes for the short-arm clothesline, but Shakur ducks and counters with several Muay Thai strikes to the back of Vashaun. Devin bounces off the nearby ropes, but Kaiser spins around, catches him, and hits a falling powerslam, right into a pinfall.

One…


Two…


NO!

Shakur kicks out, but Kaiser pulls him up by the hair. The Universal Champ swings with his left hand, but the Next In Line catches this arm and uses it as leverage. He sends Shakur’s head crashing into the already-dented trashcan with a DDT.

Nick: What a move! Pinfall coming!

One…


Two…


Three!

…

NO!

Only the save by Tsonda, flying in with a diving elbow to Vashaun’s head, saves the Universal duo from a loss. Bernie Roberts ushers Tsonda back to the corner while Vashaun gets some mounted punches on Shakur.

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!

After he’s done, Kaiser stands up for just a bit of showboating, as Shakur is thoroughly dazed on the mat. In the corner, Tsonda is slapping the turnbuckle, trying to get the crowd (as strange as this seems) behind Devin Shakur. Vashaun points to Douglas and makes the sign of a belt across his waist, stomping once more at Shakur to emphasize the point.

Richard: The Number One Contender to the Intense Title is more dynamic in the ring than to the Universal Title. Howdya like them apples, Nick?

Nick: That’s an opinion, not a fact.

Richard: Okay, double-blind testing says that Tsonda sucks. That factual enough for you?

Vashaun pulls Shakur up and tosses him into the turnbuckle. The Champion bounces out, right into Vashaun’s clutches. He pulls Shakur into a standing headscissors, then points to Douglas again. The symbolism, of course, is that Troy Douglas is also Next In Line. To get this treatment from Vashaun, that is.

Richard: Even I didn’t expect such a great showing from Ze Kaiser.

Nick: He’s hanging with the Universal Champion, no question about whether Kaiser Vashaun deserves to be in PRIME.

But pointing to Douglas becomes Kaiser’s undoing. Shakur wriggles free through Kaiser’s legs, crawling towards his corner. He goes for the outstretched hand of Chandler Tsonda…

Nick: Shakur’s running for the hills!

Richard: Tactical retreat.

…but Vashaun drags the champion by the leg back towards the middle of the ring. He picks up the steel chair with his free hand, digging into Shakur’s inner leg. Vashaun drops Shakur’s leg, bringing both hands up to the chair. He cocks back, but Shakur perfectly times his kick-up, and with both feet he impacts the chair onto Kaiser’s chest. It’s not a "make your head rattle" sound, but it sends Kaiser back far enough that Shakur can scramble to his corner for a tag to his Colossus opponent.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Tsonda’s in! Tsonda’s in!

The Number One Contender rushes like a bat out of hell, putting Vashaun on the mat with a sweet leg lariat. Tsonda grabs the pool cue, waiting for KV to reach his feet. The Atlanta crowd buzzes with the anticipation of seeing one human hit another with an object normally not used for hitting people.

Richard: That stick’s not regulation-sized! Fine him!

Tsonda remembers the trash can lid shots. So when he swings with the pool cue, he makes sure that it’s a particularly unmerciful shot. The stick doesn’t break, but it hits the exposed ribs of Kaiser Vashaun, bringing a howl of pain. And the second strike? Well, this time the cue breaks right across Kaiser’s chest. Vashaun’s arms go right to his chest as he spins away from the impact.

Nick: How do you like that for taking advantage of this lawless match?

Tsonda sneaks in and goes for the schoolboy rollup, pulling Vashaun to the mat.

One…


Two…


Three!

…

NO!

Nick: With the Shakur/Cozen Universal Title match, the Sirrajin/Silver No DQ contest, and now this match, the road to Colossus has seen some of the best cable wrestling of all-time!

Richard: We’ve come a long way since the Playboy Channel.

Thanks to the pinfall attempt, Vashaun has a couple seconds to recover. Rather than continue to try his luck, though, he dives for his corner and gets the tag to the waiting arms of Troy Douglas.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Here’s a matchup the fans can appreciate!

Richard: They already "appreciated" it as the main event of ReV 162. Snore.

Tsonda charges, but a big boot stops him right in his tracks. The Viet Viper gets back to his feet, but Douglas is ready for him. Troy grabs him around the shoulders, wrenches upwards, and hits a T-bone suplex, which he follows with an immediate cover.

One…


Two…


Three!

Nick: No! Just missed by a hair!

Bernie Roberts holds up two fingers, the international sign for missing something by a very small margin. Douglas pulls Tsonda up by the hair and tosses him at the ropes, ready to catch him. The whiplash of his momentum sends Tsonda right into a Douglas spinebuster, one that plants him back-first onto the still-folded steel chair!

Richard: Ha! Douglas doesn’t realize it but he’s just making Colossus a bigger cakewalk for Shakur!

Nick: Come hell or high-water, Tsonda is gonna fight until there’s no fight left in him at Colossus. Believe that.

One…


Two….


Three!

It’s like déjà vu all over again, with Bernie Roberts again showing Troy Douglas the small margin by which he missed attaining victory. Douglas, in one motion, pulls Tsonda up and tosses him into the turnbuckle.

Nick: Troy Douglas is ready to end this match and perhaps inflict serious injury on Chandler Tsonda.

Richard: Callous bastard, that Douglas.

Nick: It’s about winning for him and Tsonda won’t go down, so he’s gotta pull out all the stops. If that means the End of the Road on a steel chair, so be it.

Douglas takes a step back and runs at the turnbuckle. He goes for a shoulder block, but Tsonda sidesteps at the last possible moment, grabs the dazed Douglas by the head, and runs up the turnbuckle. When he comes down, he’s got his hand wrapped around Douglas’s neck, slamming the Intense Champion’s head into the mat with his patented quickstrike version of Diamond Dust.

Nick: Runway Vault! Out of the absolute blue!

The panting Tsonda looks down at Douglas. Shouts of "Pin him!" come from fans in the first two rows. But Tsonda calmly walks to his corner, where Devin Shakur wears a puzzled look on his face.

Richard: That’s right, let your Universal Champion take the win.

Shakur puts out his hand, annoyed that Tsonda is making him wait. But then that sly grin slides across Tsonda’s face as he gives Shakur what might be called a playful shove. The Universal Champion nearly falls off the apron, but Tsonda’s already stepping through the ropes. When Shakur looks at him, Tsonda merely shrugs.

Nick: What in the world?

Devin hops into the ring, lying in wait for Douglas to get to his feet. Vashaun realizes what’s going on and he steps through the ropes. He makes a beeline for Shakur, and he’s a step away from the blindside of the Universal Champion…

Richard: Devin, nooooooo!

…but like a knight in custom-fitted shining, there’s Chandler Tsonda. His appearance surprises Vashaun enough that he catches the Next In Line with a stiff midkick to the stomach. And for everyone who blinks in the next second, they miss Tsonda grabbing Kaiser from the side, pulling him up into a torture rack setup, then slamming him down with a neckbreaker. It all happens within two seconds, no more.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: What a save! And for a man he can’t stand! Tsonda is something else!

Richard: What the hell is that move?

Nick: I don’t know what the name for it is, but that’s twice we’ve seen Tsonda pull out the rack neckbreaker in a big situation!

Troy Douglas stands up, turns, and catches one of the most delicious roundhouse kick sandwiches of all-time. The crunching kick off the foot of Shakur may be for the same team that just received all those cheers, but there’s nothing crowd-pleasing about the kick.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Good Times and we can’t forget those Painful Memories!

Nick: Can Douglas kick out one more time?

One…


Two….


Three!

"Black Hole Sun" announces the victory for the team of Chandler Tsonda and Devin Shakur. The Universal Champion rises…to a strangely growing set of cheers. Instead of looking pleased with himself, he just looks confused.

Richard: Yes, you should give him his due for that hard-fought victory!

Nick: Tsonda did all the heavy lifting!

Richard: Don’t tell me what…OH CRAP!

At that moment, Richard Parker realizes what the cheers are for. Devin Shakur is about a second away. The moment that Devin realizes this is about the moment of liftoff. Liftoff, you say? Yes, the moment where, after Devin spins around, Chandler Tsonda pulls him up by the head, before a long, painful drop to the mat with a stalling lift implant DDT!

Nick: Golgotha Drop! Tsonda’s getting revenge for last week!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Now coming to, Troy Douglas rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath after the chaotic main event. What he doesn’t realize, amidst the buzz of the crowd, the pounding of his head, and the sound of his heavy breaths, is that his ‘partner’ for the night (and nemesis for the last two months) is sneaking up behind him.

Nick: But it appears the opposite is true for Mr. Douglas! He doesn’t see his attacker!

With very slow, silently placed steps, Kaiser Vashaun closes the distance between himself and Troy Douglas like a snake slipping through the fallen leaves on a forest floor. And much like a snake, shedding his ‘tag team partner’ skin, Kaiser strikes quickly.

Richard: Kaiser’s gonna be pissed that Douglas just lost him this match!

With a heavy tug on Troy’s shoulder, Kaiser spins his rival around. The look of surprise on Douglas’s face quickly disappears from camera, as Vashaun hoists him into the air and drives him down with a spinebuster that rattles even the steel steps attached to the ringside.

Richard: Spinebuster!

Nick: What the HELL is he doing?!

Richard: No restraining order, Nick! That was perfectly legal!

While this is going on, Devin Shakur is seriously stirring. But Chandler Tsonda’s doing more than stir. He’s finally bringing the table into play. He’s completely ignoring Kaiser and Douglas on the other side of the ring; that’s their business now. Tsonda unfolds the table just as Shakur reaches his knees.

Nick: And all the while, Chandler Tsonda is getting his sweet revenge on Devin Shakur!

Richard: It’s like picture-in-picture, brought to you by Sharp Aquos!

Nick: Shilling, at this, of all times?!

Richard: Gotta make sure buyrate is up for Colossus, which comes to you live from–

Nick: ENOUGH!

The Next in Line seems to have more in mind than just a spinebuster. Rolling out of the ring, Kaiser makes his way over to the time-keepers corner. A brief verbal exchange occurs, and when Vashaun’s request for a chair is denied, he abandons the politeness of asking, shoving people away, grabbing a steel folding chair from its spot behind the table.

Nick: Doesn’t he know that there’s a steel chair in the ring?

Richard: That chair’s dented as all hell. Kaiser wants something fresh and new for the bloodletting of Troy Douglas.

While Kaiser is getting his weapon of choice, Tsonda has all the time in the world. Devin Shakur reaches his feet, shakes his head free, and gets nailed with a right hand from Tsonda!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur attempts a palm strike, but there’s another block by Tsonda, followed by a left hand to Shakur’s dome! Talking a bit of trash to a few of the fans ringside, Vashaun feigns taking a punch at some drunk frat boy in the first row before climbing the steps and re-entering the ring.

Nick: This is otherworldly, but it just goes to show that the tag match didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things!

Richard: Sure it did, Devin Shakur won! Yay!

Nick: He’s about to be put through a table.

Richard: Shut it.

In the squared circle, Douglas slowly rises to his feet, once again, the CV challenger for his title belt stalking him. Raising the weapon high above his head, The Next in Line readies for the knockout blow, waiting for the Intense Champion to slowly turn around and offer up his face as a target.

Nick: This could be the end of Troy Douglas and Devin Shakur!

First, Troy Douglas senses the oncoming attack and delivers a boot to the gut of Kaiser, causing the steel chair to fall harmlessly to the canvas. At the same time, Devin Shakur attempts a stiff heel kick, the same type of kick that has bruised, battered, and defeated countless PRIMEates. But not this time.

Richard: What? Is he from the Matrix?

Nick: Tsonda caught the kick! Shakur tried to use his strikes as a way out, but Tsonda’s onto him!

Simultaneously, Troy Douglas begins to fire off punch after punch, and Chandler Tsonda spins the Universal Champion around. And then, as a charging clothesline crashes against Kaiser Vashaun’s chest, Tsonda grabs Devin Shakur’s right leg and arm. He lifts from the side, just as Kaiser rolls back to his feet.

TSON-DA!

DOUG-LAS!

TSON-DA!

DOUG-LAS!

Richard: Sonofa…

It’s a beautiful image for the fans: another storming clothesline puts Kaiser Vashaun on the mat. But to make it a Kodak moment? Chandler Tsonda bringing Devin Shakur crashing through the table with the same rack neckbreaker that allowed Shakur to pick up the team’s win just moments earlier.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Rack neckbreaker! He just hit Shakur with that rack neckbreaker through the table!

Richard: Eff this!

As the dust is just settling on Shakur being sent through the table, The Next in Line staggers back to a standing position. The Intense Champ rushes in one last time, but at the last second, Kaiser drops to the mat himself and rolls under the bottom rope, bailing from the ring.

Richard: Smart thinking!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The jeers are all for Kaiser Vashaun, who begins to slowly back up the ramp, shaking his head ‘no’ and mouthing "not till Colossus".

Nick: What a coward!

Richard: So he should stick around and get sent through a damn table?

Nick: If that’s what he’s due for, then take it like a man!

At this point, Tsonda has reached his feet, and it’s his turn to look down on the Universal Champion. The Model Citizen calls for the Universal Title, which they toss to him because, hey, the fans like him and he just put a dude through something which people usual eat on. He ain’t the most stable dude on the planet right now.

Nick: This is a triumphant way to go into Colossus! Devin Shakur on his back, Kaiser Vashaun running for the hills, with Troy Douglas and Chandler Tsonda standing tall!

Kaiser continues his backtracking, making his way up to the entrance set. Seething in the ring, the Intense Champ clenches the top rope and fires a nasty stare straight towards his nemesis, counting down the days till Colossus arrives.

Richard: This isn’t over, by any means. You’re watching the next Intense Champion go up that ramp, and you can bet your sweet ass Shakur is coming back from this with a vengeance and a half!

Nick: Fans, we’re absolutely out of time, but you do not want to miss Colossus when it comes to you LIVE on Saturday, August 9th, and Sunday, August 10th!

Richard: It’s the Pay-Per-View of the century, and I personally guarantee the beatdown that these two receive will be worth the price!

Nick: For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart. We’ll see you when the clock strikes midnight, at PRIME’s Granddaddy Of ‘Em All, Colossus Five!

TSON-DA!

DOUG-LAS!

TSON-DA!

DOUG-LAS!

There are two images that people watching this show will remember. One is Troy Douglas, staring up at the retreating Vashaun, volcanically mad. The other is Chandler Tsonda, first testing the Universal Title to see how it fits around his waist, and then dropping it onto the crumpled form of Devin Shakur. As the chants for the Intense Champion and the Number One Contender ring out through Phillips Arena, the PRIME logo comes up on the corner of the screen, and we fade to the blackest of blacks.