Tonight the aftermath of Colossus will flood PRIME.

It’s a new era.

The TSONDA era.

And who better to shuffle in that new era than…

Bryan Dawkins?


Dawkins strolls his way down the hallway, pineapple in hand. He passes the familiar faces behind the scenes of PRIME. Matt Mills going over his interview notes for the night, Angelica Brooks being her fine ass self, and the stage crew hanging around in their various cliques. Dawkins acknowledges each of them and continues on his way, before he comes up to the doorway leading to Dr. Fihlguud’s trainer’s office. Most wrestlers kn0w this place well, coming here to prepare for their matches, get taped up and whatnot…

…the problem with that logic is that Dawkins’ match doesn’t start for nearly an hour.

Bryan continues on, nodding to the various trainers, before ducking into a side room. Why?

The solution is as simple as one newly crowned PRIME Universal Champion sitting in an ice-bath. Tsonda’s eyes are covered by one of those sleep masks, his torso and arms poking out of the bath. On his right shoulder is a colossal bag of ice, taped in place. The Viet Viper doesn’t yet notice Dawkins’s presence.

Bryan Dawkins: (yells) YEAH BRUH!! UNIVERSAL CHAMP!

Tsonda nearly leaps out of the icebath, pulling the sleep mask off of his eyes. He rubs his eyes as he addresses his young friend.

Chandler Tsonda: Jesus, kid. You got Black Ops training or something? You’re quiet as a fuckin’ mouse.

But the Sultan of Style can’t keep a smile from creeping across his face. He knows that this is a continuation of his moment from Colossus. Tonight, the congratulations will keep trickling in, but not many will mean as much as this one.

Chandler Tsonda: And thanks. Appreciate the love and all. Congrats on taking down that masked limey.

Dawkins smiles and throws the "hang loose" gesture at his mentor.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah bruh, wouldn’t have been able to do it if it weren’t for ya takin’ me under your wing.

Chandler Tsonda: Whatever I did, you’re welcome. Winning matches at the money shows will take ya places.

As he says this, Tsonda shoots a glance over to the PRIME Universal Championship, now hanging over a nearby chair. Another smile flickers across his face; the veteran PRIMEate is, dare it be said, giddy.

Bryan Dawkins: So uh…what’s in store for the new top dog in PRIME tonight? Surely you’re not gonna be sittin’ in here all night, right? Yours truly has a match with Rayne against the Princes tonight.

Dawkins cracks a HUGE smile.

Bryan Dawkins: Wanna hear the name of our team?

Chandler Tsonda: Not as much as you wanna tell me. Shoot.

Now Dawkins is the giddy one.

Bryan Dawkins: THE RAYNE-ING PINEAPPLES! Nice, eh bruh?

Chandler Tsonda: The judges won’t be able to dock you in the creativity column.

Dawkins is absolutely beaming with excitement right now.

Bryan Dawkins: And later, bruh…I’ve got some plans with Devin Shakur that’ll make you proud, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah?

An awkward silence ensues, as both men relive the events of the past weeks. From Dawkins doubting Tsonda, to Shakur’s attempts to turn teacher against student, this subject is a bit taboo.

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t look at me like that, kid. I’m turning over a new leaf now that I’ve got Goldy by my side. (gestures to the Uni belt) A clean slate for everybody in PRIME. So don’t expect me to go chiding you about hanging out with Shakur. He probably needs a shoulder to cry on, anyway.

No, the Viet Viper can’t resist a nice dig at Shakur’s expense, clean slate or no.

Bryan Dawkins: Alright bruh, we cool? It’s not like I’m gonna be listenin’ to him or anything. I’m gonna proclaim all that is good about Tsonda…and, you know, rip on him mercilessly, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: We’re cool. I told you already: I’m pulling a Dusk, becoming a new man and all that. What you and Captain Weepy do up in your treehouse ain’t my damn business.

Dawkins , however, still feels the awkwardness in the conversation.

Bryan Dawkins: Alright bruh, well good luck with your celebration. Take it easy, bruh.

The Universal Champion slides his sleep mask back on, continuing his own brand of "celebration."

Chandler Tsonda: Will do. See y’around, kid.

Dawkins takes this as a cue to leave, but Tsonda takes the last word in this particular conversation.

Chandler Tsonda: And don’t tell anybody I’m back here. Ya know, never let ‘em see you sweat.

The more apt phrase might be "never let ‘em see you, the new champeen of champeens, be seen as so hobbled by your back injury that you can’t get out of your ice bath." But no one’s around to point that out, since Bryan Dawkins has already turned, and Chandler Tsonda has slipped off into La La Land.

"State of the Union," by Rise Against clues everyone in to the start of the show, as if you didn't know.

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 Devin Shakur, 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 Delta Upsilon Iota and Mega Job 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 Xavier Kannon. He raises his forearm, displaying the "PRAISE HUBBARD" scrawled on wrist tape. The lens is quickly diverted away from him as Ellie focuses it on herself and uses it to touch up her blush like it's a makeup compact. After a few seconds of face-time, XK 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 scarred albino visage of Rhett Locke holding it steady. He seems to stare through the lens, into the heart of the viewer, piercing red eyes never blinking.

"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. Tony Davis and Eli VanNess square off throwing forearms. The Princes of New England walk down the aisle, Miranda O'Reily in tow.

"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.

"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.

Troy Douglas vs. Union Jack

Rhett Locke & D.U.I. vs. Dusk & Team V.I.A.G.R.A.

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

The Princes of New England vs. Tyler Rayne & Bryan Dawkins

Jason Natas vs. Xavier Kannon

"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 Cozen steps out of a locker room door. She offers a creepily playful grin before giving a wink and skipping past.

"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, we find Universal Champion Chandler Tsonda holding the belt up to his face, adjusting a few stray hairs for the optimum experience.

"JUUUUUUUSSSSTTT!!!"

Tsonda acts like he just now sees the camera and gives a fake laugh and a wink.

"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 Charleston Civic Center lights up with the kind of West Virginia reception usually reserved for a Mountaineer touchdown. There's no couch burning going on here, though, just a whole arena packed full of frothing, excited, potentially-drunk fans chomping at the bit to see their first ReVolution after Colossus.

Nick: WELCOME TO REVOLUTION ONE-HUNDRED-SIXTY NINE! I'M NICK STUART!

Richard: AND I'M RICHARD PARKER!

Nick: Folks, we are just weeks removed from the biggest Colossus to date, and we are still feeling the aftershocks!

Richard: That's right, PRIME history will be forever changed after what went down in Charlotte!

Nick: No doubt alot of people will have plenty to say tonight! We are kicking off the next tour right with five huge matches, includ-

A crushing series of power chords jar the attention of the crowd, shaking them loose of their hive "OHMYGODMUSTCHEER" mentality and drawing their eyes to the entryway.

Nick: Folks, we're wasting NO time getting started here tonight!

The drums kick in and the power chords give way to a thumping blues guitar riff as The Black Keys' "I Got Mine" rumbles over the PA system. There's no PRIME*View video for the man who strolls out onto the stage, but when the camera pulls in close there's no mistaking. This appearance wasn't unpredictable. But all allegiances and face/heel designations aside, if you were the executive producer of a wrestling company that just put out its biggest show of the year - maybe even in history - wouldn't you want to make the first appearance on the first show?

Richard: Sounds like Cantrell found himself an entrance theme that's going to stick.

Nick: Thank God. I wasn't going to be able to stand another Mr. Silver suggestion. I didn't know a man his age could have a "tAtu phase".

C.P. Cantrell walks casually down the ramp, sporting a kind of glow that he hadn't shown in the months before Colossus. With his ratings up and his priorities realigned courtesy of Nova, the executive producer seemed to be in much higher spirits. He even slaps a few hands on his way to the ring, looking awfully eager to get this show started.

Nick: You can't blame C.P. for being a little giddy. He was brought in to improve PRIME's ratings and he's done just that in less than six months. There was a bit of a learning curve, but he seems to be turning the corner on how to really lead here.

Richard: If by "turning the corner" you mean "going soft", then I agree. He's settling in because he's suddenly backing off on that hardline stance he had with the roster early on. He's becoming Blaine Blair.

Nick: Considering that Blaine is now the top dog in PRIME, that doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

Richard: Sure, not RIGHT NOW, but we'll see...

The executive producer hits the ring and rolls in, not running up the steps like he had before. Bouncing up, he produces a mic and flips it on, waving a hand out to the fans to calm it down a bit as "I Got Mine" dies off.

C.P. Cantrell: Call me cheap, call me selfish, call me whatever you want, but there's no way I was going to let anyone else get away with this...

Nick: ...

Richard: ...

C.P. Cantrell: HELLO CHARLESTON AND WELCOME TO REVOLUTION!

A huge and cost-efficient pop rises up from the West Virginia faithful, who are just plum tickled to be hosting the first show after Colossus, and thank you Mr. Cantrell for your kind welcome.

C.P. Cantrell: Now some of you fans may remember that I came out here two months ago, shortly after UltraViolence, and promised you the biggest summer in PRIME history.

Another short cheer rises up, and C.P. pauses to allow it, never being one to turn down praise.

C.P. Cantrell: I'd like to think we delivered that, but it's not my place to say. The numbers and the fans will tell us how big we were. For now, I'm content to say it was a successful run up to Colossus, one that we can all be proud of putting together. That's why I'm here right now. Once again, we've got some ideas in mind that will make this next stretch bigger and better, all the way up to Great American Nightmare live in our nation's capital, Washington D.C.!

Nick: Big news from the producer - start checking airfare now, fans. Like him or hate him, you know that C.P. can deliver on his promises!

Another cheer rises up from the crowd, and a few make their plans to make the road trip out to D.C. in a few weeks. In the ring, the smile on the producer's face fades slightly as he continues.

C.P. Cantrell: Now, you may have heard some rumors regarding on-air changes from here on out. Well, I'd like to speak about that for a minute...

"Oi. Ceeps. Up here, buddy."

All eyes in the arena turn to the PRIME*View. The screen glows with the radiance of professional wrestling's most infamous smile. It's nothing more than some teeth and a 5 o'clock shadow, but that doesn't stop the Charleston Civic Center from exploding at the very sight of the enlarged expression. Impossibly, the smile grows wider as the camera pans back to reveal Tyler Rayne (as if you hadn’t guessed), boots propped up on a nice oak desk, hands clasped behind his head as he leans way back in a padded office chair.

Tyler Rayne: Nice to see you, too, Charleston.

It’s that easy, kids. Before the first wave of approval has subsided, it roars to an even greater crescendo at his very whim. Sure, he’s had his ups and downs with the fans lately. There’s been a lot of people who haven’t agreed with some of his more recent… and violent… actions. Then again... just look at that irresistible smile. The kind of captivating presence that's enough to (almost) charm the pants off even the Queen of the Ring herself. And if Lindsay Troy can forgive him...

C.P. Cantrell: Rayne, if you don't mind, I was planning on using this time for something important.

Tyler Rayne: Don't get your panties in a wad, Ceeps. The first show of the new tour isn't time to come out and say things like "things are gonna be really great!" It's to make big announcements. And I'll bet what I've got is much more important than what you've got.

The 5-Star Champion rescends from his comfortable position, pulling up to the desk in a much more business-like fashion. He motions toward someone off-camera and a second later a very finely tailored young man rushes up to the desk, depositing a stack of papers thicker than the transcript of War & Peace. The Golden Boy errantly flips through the first few pages before smiling up at the camera.

Tyler Rayne: Had to borrow a few of Tsonda's interns for this one. Now I don't know if you remember, but a few months back I won some match at this pay-per-view... I know, I know. I've won so many matches at these pay-per-views, it gets kinda fuzzy tellin' one from t'other. You might remember this one, though? Seems to be a big of a big deal 'round these parts. Somethin' called the... uh... what was it? Ah. Right. The Dual Halo.

Big cheer from the crowd for the mention. Seriously, it's like shooting fish in a barrel.

Tyler Rayne: Thank ya, thank ya. So... since then, people been wonderin' just what it is I plan on doin' with that pretty lil' Golden Ticket y'all bestowed upon me for winnin' that match.

Another roar pulses through the crowd. Golden Ticket, you say? Why yes, I do suddenly feel the need to cheer. Too easy, drill sergeant. Too easy.

Tyler Rayne: Well...

Rayne holds up the first sheet of paper in the stack. There isn't much to it other than the official PRIME logo, but the sudden change of expression on C.P.'s face implies that he may know a little more than the fans on this one. Rayne begins to examine each page in turn, carefully skimming through paragraph upon pargraph of fine print.

Tyler Rayne: ...this is what I plan on doin'. Or did, actually. I'm sure you're quite familar with the letterhead, Ceeps, but for those not in the know... this here's an official PRIME contract. How official, you might be wonderin'. Well, we got ourselves a crack team of PRIME's finest lawyers on hand to verify it's authenticity.

The Underground Pimp motions over to his right, just off camera. A nice pan will show us a half dozen stiffs in pressed pinstripe suits all sitting in a row, briefcases clutched tight to their laps and brows furrowed in a professional and disapproving manner.

Tyler Rayne: I'm sure you've had a meeting or two with these exciting fellas, Ceeps. Hoyt knows I have. And then behind me here, we have Vice President of Talent Relations or some such nonsense... Ms. Lisa Tyler. Say hi, Lisa.

The camera pans up behind him to show a quick glimpse of Lisa Tyler. If possible, she looks even less amused than the legal team.

Lisa Tyler: Hi, Lisa.

Tyler Rayne: Charming as ever, love. Now, we've all gathered up here in this makeshift office to put our Hancocks on all the appropriate dotted lines. The suits here have gone over the contract with a fine-tooth comb and come out looking... well, like someone shoved a gavel up their ass. However, they seem to be in begrudging agreement that everything is in order.

C.P. Cantrell: Is there a reason you're parading all the officials around to drag this out? Just say what you've got to say, Tyler; I've got a show to put together.

Tyler Rayne: Patience, young one. For all the curious little cats out there been wonderin' just what it is ol' Tyler Rayne is bankin' in his Golden Ticket for... well, this is it. Got myself a bonafide, iron clad, can't be broken, never gonna give you up, signed in blood and bound for life... PRIME contract. A contract, mind you, of my own design. Now, let's see what's in this fucker, shall we?

There's that smile again. There's a smugness to the way he carries himself this evening. Not quite enough to make him unlikeable, but just enough to let you know that there's something up. Like he's hiding a little gem somewhere deep within that stack of contract.

Tyler Rayne: All right, here we go... This contract lasts from here to eternity. Or Eternia. The fine print is kinda hard to read. Anyway. Cannot be broken. Cannot be sold. Cannot be terminated. Tyler Rayne cannot be suspended, fired, or otherwise removed from bookings and appearances, regardless of circumstances permitting or punishments incurred. Equally, he may not be fined or otherwise penalized for the intentional or unintentional injury of a fellow PRIMEate while conducting PRIME business. If a mother fucker is dumb enough to get in a fight with Tyler Rayne... then he deserves to get hit by a car. Fuck him. And fuck you, too.

Rayne looks up at the camera with that smile, cheesing up those last few lines before tossing the page aside. The Tsonda intern scrambles to catch the piece of paper, only to find himself amidst a storm of loose leaf as Tyler proceeds to errantly dig through the contract.

Tyler Rayne: Let's see here... strippers at every event, yadda yadda... merchandising rights... full supply of alcohol for all shows and appearances... blah blah blah... this shit gets really boring at some points... personal jets... finest limousines... paid dinners at the classiest restaraunts... ah, here it is.

The champion makes quite a show of loosing one sheet of paper from the stack. He holds the parchment very firmly in front of him and clears his throat before reading.

Tyler Rayne: From henceforth to the date this contract is voided, (i.e. The unfortuantely sudden but not wholly unexpected death of Tyler Rayne), uh... Tyler Rayne is bestowed all the powers, perks, and authorities of the current on-air figurehead for PRIME and its subsidaries. In this case...

Loose with the smile once more, and a wink directed right at the Executive Producer of PRIME.

Tyler Rayne: ...you. So for anyone who doesn't quite get the joke here... I can do what I want. When I want. How I want. No reprecussions. No consequences. No one to challenge me. Not even you, Ceeps.

C.P. Cantrell: Look, Rayne, I need you to rethink this. I know you don't like me, but clearly things are going pretty well here. You don't want to mess with a leadership structure that works, right?

Tyler Rayne: Good point. It works...but does it work for Tyler Rayne? I'm just saying, maybe you need a few checks and balances here and there...

C.P. Cantrell: This isn't a democracy! Professional wrestling - screw that, TELEVISION doesn't work with group leadership!

Tyler Rayne: You're right. This is a dictatorship, and thanks to this freshly inked manifesto of mine, I'm the new dick.

C.P. Cantrell: But-

Tyler Rayne: Relax. you're still running the show. But the truth is, Ceeps, sometimes I just don't LIKE your ideas. So now, instead of talking Uni or Tink's ear off about why I think you're an uptight pansy douchebag with a "rejected nerd" complex-

He pauses as the crowd roars in laughter at the response. In the ring. C.P. isn't so much mad as just annoyed at the potshot.

Tyler Rayne: -I get to do something about it. First order of business will be to rectify a little mistake from about this time last year. There's a pay-per-view some people might remember... Dice, Dollars, and Tragedy. A clever little acronym for a professional wrestling event and we all have a good little chuckle. So. Last year. DDT. There's this match, right? Some ridiculous concept called The Roulette.

It's written in the very code of wrestling fan DNA that when a wrestler mentions a particular match by name... you cheer. This is how it goes. How it's always gone. Tonight? Right now? No different.

Tyler Rayne: Now last year this match comes around and the dumbasses in charge...

Did you hear that? Sounded like the softest clearing of a throat. Just a tiny little *ahem* Gee, I wonder where that could have come from. Lisa, would you happen to know? No? Oh. Well, then. Moving on...

Tyler Rayne: ...somehow managed to leave me out. Despite the fact that I had beaten three of the ten competitors who were in the Roulette. Joke's on them, 'cause here we are a year later. I'm the hottest mother fucker PRIME has seen since the wrestling deities birthed this place. And those ten competitors? Only half of 'em are still on the active roster, and there ain't a single title 'tween the lot of 'em. Hell, I just trounced the shit out of Sunshine at Colossus. The Universal Championship changed hands yet again, my condolences Emo, and here I am rollin' along a record-breaking title reign. Just cashed in my Golden Ticket for this here contract of unlimited power, so I figure... why not justify a past wrong?

C.P. Cantrell: Tyler, can we please talk about this? I already had some things in the pipe for the big show and I'd rather not-

Tyler Rayne: That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Your main event at the Great American Nightmare will be... The Roulette. Now assuming Tink can hold onto the Universal Championship 'til then, and Hoyt knows the way that belt's been passed around lately we can make no guarantees... we've got at least one entrant in the match. Which leaves a few spots open and waiting for some eager PRIMEates to take their shot at glory. So, if you're sittin' back in the locker room... listen up. Anyone with a pair of tights and a PRIME contract is now officially eligible for one of those spots. However, since I'll be the one booking this baby... you'll need to convince me you're worthy. And since I can't think of a fuckin' one of ya that's on the kind of streak I've been on lately... that's not gonna be the easiest thing to do. Interviews will begin next week in Pittsburgh. Think you deserve a shot? Well come and tell me why. You make a good enough case for yourself... you just might find yourself competing for the Universal Championship. Come to impress next week, boys and girls. You only get one shot at glory.

With a smile and a wink the 5-Star Champion bids adieu to the shocked West Virginia crowd.

In the ring, Cantrell raises the mic to his lips, then just drops it. There's so much he could say, but considering the dual bombs that had just been dropped on he and his plans for this tour, he decided it was best to wait. Besides, Lisa Tyler was backstage, and they had PLENTY to talk about. Slightly defeated but mostly seething internally, the executive producer steps between the ropes and out of the ring, planning what happens now.

Just when you think it's over... the PRIME*View blinks back to life.

Tyler Rayne: Oh, there was just one more thing. Sunshine? You're not eligible. So don't bother. The rest of ya... good luck. You'll need it.

The 5-Star Champion disappears from the PRIME*View once again. For realz this time.

A briefcase...

Not just any briefcase, but THE briefcase.

A large hand about the size of a brisket holds onto the handle. This hand sticks out from the end of a navy blue suit with royal blue pinstripes. This suit is draped over the broad chest of a barrel of a man with pitch black sunglasses over his eyes. This man with sunglasses has his head shaved cleanly, and even with the collar buttoned up appears to have no neck.

But what does this all mean?

"I want you to be careful with that, you hear me?"

The large man nods his head, but the much smaller man that goes by the name of Tony Gamble doesn't let him answer.

Gamble: You know, I figured there would be a bigger reception scheduled for my arrival.

Tony looks around the entrance to the arena, a lone security guard his only source of fan fare. Well, it would be if the security guard gave a damn about his accomplishments or titles, or lack there of at this moment. Still, Tony walks up to the older gentleman as if he has known him for years.

Gamble: Hey Sam, how's the wife and kids?

The security guard glances around to be sure Gamble was talking to him, since his name is not Sam and he has been divorced for eight years now.

Sam: Excuse me?

Gamble wraps an arm around – well, we know his name isn't Sam but what else should we call him – Sam's shoulders.

Gamble: So, tell me the truth, is Cantrell waiting for me behind that door with a high school band and enough decorations to put a parade out of business?

Sam looks puzzled.

Gamble: Damn, you're good. I was sure you'd spill the beans.

Tony glances back over his shoulder at the large Italian man and cracks a smile.

Gamble: Don't get scared when everyone screams surprise when we walk through these doors. It's something you'll have to get used to walking around with a champion like myself.

Tony rolls his shoulders, craning his neck from left to right as he mimics a boxer the way he shifts from one foot to the other while hopping in place.

Gamble: Alright, Sam. I'm ready.

The older man shakes his head, not really giving a damn when Tony grabs both handles of the door and yanks them toward him in a violent jerk. Unfortunately, unless the crickets happen to be chirping the instrumental version of 'We Are the Champions' by Queen, there is no fan fare for the Clown Prince of PRIME.

Gamble: Well I'll be damned. You believe this?

He switches his attention back and forth between Sam the security guard and his hired help, Franco Piniocce.

Gamble: You would think this place could figure out how to welcome a new champion. I'll bring it up with Cantrell later. Right now, my friend, we need to hit the locker room so I can get ready for my match.

He pats the briefcase a few times.

Gamble: I'm just glad my baby's not on the line.

He fishes in his pocket for some change and flicks whatever he pulled out toward the guard.

Gamble: Hey, thanks for your help, buddy. I'll be sure to mention it when I'm chilling with the suits.

Franco holds the door open for Tony, the precious suitcase still in his hand.

Nick: We’re ready to kick things off in the ring here on ReVolution, as two men coming off tough losses at Colossus –

Richard: Hey, no rhyming!

Nick: -- look to rebound on the road to Great American Nightmare. Union Jack was toppled on Night Two by Bryan Dawkins, one night after Troy Douglas lost the Intense Title in an absolute WAR with Kaiser Vashaun.

Richard: Which is why I’m questioning Douglas for even coming out here tonight. Dude BROKE at CV. You know it, I know it, and the American people know it.

Nick: Thanks for that dated reference, Mr. Perot. Let’s go to Vince Howard!

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first…

‘The Sovereign of PRIME’ emerges onto the entrance ramp way, his own personal security detail leading the way, with his ever-faithful butler, Jeeves walking right along side him and two orange-tanned and white teeth brunettes following him along, both holding onto the end of his sequined Union Jack cape.

Vince Howard: From Manchester, England … standing six feet tall and weighing in at 220 pounds … UNIOOOON JAAAACCCKK!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Union Jack makes it to the ring, his security details making sure that his opponent remains on his own side of the ring, whilst Jeeves has a few words with the referee. The girls disrobe their sovereign in one swift movement and as all of Union Jack’s minions evacuate the immediate area.

Vince Howard: His opponent…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

END.

OF.

THE.

ROAD.

Earth-shattering explosions segue into the chorus of Chris Cornell’s "You Know My Name", and the former Intense Champion, heavily bandaged, makes his way down the ramp.

Vince Howard: From Greensboro, North Carolina … standing six feet, five inches tall and weighing in at 260 pounds … TROOOOOY DOOOOUGGGLAAASSS!!

Wesley James steps between the two and calls for the bell to the roar of the crowd. Douglas bounces on his feet for a moment to try and shake off the cobwebs, then steps in to lock up with Union Jack and grimaces, mustering the strength to power the Brit into the corner. James calls for a clean break and Troy complies, but quickly follows up with a nasty chop right to UJ’s chest!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The two lock up again, but this time it’s Union Jack who leverages his larger opponent into the corner. After a break, Union Jack responds with a strike of his own, but opts for the old fashioned slap to the face route.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: Well, he’s a British gentleman. He’s got to issue a proper challenge for a duel.

Nick: Yeah, that’s it.

Douglas goes to tie up one more time, but Jack slips behind and drives a shoulder into Troy’s back, causing the former Intense Champion to shout in pain. Troy grits his teeth and tries to work through it, but UJ drives the shoulder into the back one more time before whipping Douglas off the ropes. However, Jack telegraphs a backdrop and Troy kicks him in the face before catching Union Jack with a gorgeous standing dropkick!

Nick: Douglas gritting it out through the pain that Kaiser Vashaun induced and managing to pull out a textbook dropkick!

Richard: He’s had, like two weeks to recover, and he hit a DROP KICK. Yeah, let’s give him a medal. Of course, they’re giving out medals in walking and rhythmic gymnastics, which tells you a little bit about the state of the modern Olympics.

Nick: You’re only mad because it’s summer and there’s no ice dancing.

Richard: Damn straight.

Union Jack quickly regains his footing, but Douglas gets right on him with a hard forearm strike. Two more back the Sovereign of PRIME into the corner, and the former Intense Champion follows by whipping his opponent across the ring. Troy then takes charge and launches himself into Union Jack with a body splash before pulling UJ out of the corner and tossing him overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex.

Nick: Huge belly-to-belly from Douglas, and he seems to be working the kinks out just fine!

Richard: I’m just going to avoid all the openings you just gave me on that one.

Nick: Troy hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick: Not enough to put Union Jack away just yet!

Richard: Pardon the blatant 90s cliché, but … DUH.

Troy rolls Union Jack off the mat and continues teeing off with a few jabs to back the Brit against the ropes. Troy whips him off and catches him with a back body drop, but Union Jack manages to shift his weight in midair and roll through, catching Troy in a sunset flip!

ONE!

TWO!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: A beautiful counter from the Sovereign of PRIME, but Douglas was able to kick out in the nick of time!

Richard: Well, he’s frikkin’ ROYALTY, for Hoyt’s sake, so his wondrous mastery of the noble grappling arts is not to be underestimated.

Nick: Stop reading a thesaurus under the desk, Richard.

Douglas tries to roll free and head back on offense, but UJ quickly cuts him off with a drop toe hold that smashes Troy’s face against the middle turnbuckle. Jack then charges at Douglas and takes flight, driving both knees into the small of Troy’s damaged back and crushing his face against the turnbuckle.

Richard: Well, never seen that one before.

Nick: A brilliant piece of creative offense from Union Jack, punishing that notoriously bad back of Troy Douglas AND doing a little damage to a face that was busted open at Colossus!

Richard: He’s a multi-tasker, Nick. A regular Union Jack of all trades.

Nick: I thought the ban on puns was still effective.

Richard: Well, you were wrong then, weren’t you?

Union Jack scrapes a groggy Douglas out of the corner and delivers a pair of sharp headbutts, then hooks Troy’s head and spikes him off the mat with a diving inverted DDT before hooking the leg for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Close once again, and Union Jack has really taken control of this one.

Richard: Well, he’s great and all, but the whole fighting a dead guy thing doesn’t hurt.

Nick: And now Union Jack’s trying to completely squeeze the life out of Troy Douglas, planting a knee against the small of his back and pulling back in a surfboard.

Richard: This can’t be fun for the guy with the surgically repaired SPINE.

Wesley James comes in to check Douglas, but the former Intense Champion indicates that he’s not ready to give in yet.

Richard: Aww, big baby gonna pass out again?

Nick: The man was in that hold for a long, long time at Colossus, Richard. The fact that he’s even competing here tonight is an accomplishment in himself.

Richard: Yeah, and I’m sure whoever makes the acceptance speech for him at the Darwin Awards will be very proud.

Your Sovereign continues to pull back on Troy’s arms, putting even more pressure on his back, but Douglas grimaces against the pain and begins to turn to his left. Slowly, surely, he begins to turn the hold around, before finally prying Jack’s knee from his back and reaching his feet. Douglas follows up with a series of shoulders to the gut, the crowd gaining anticipation with each, but Union Jack cuts him off with an uppercut, a running knee and a brutal roundhouse kick to the head!

Nick: Union Jack showing shades of Devin Shakur with that perfectly placed kick!

Richard: See, he’s awesome enough to assume the awesomeness of other awesome people.

Nick: Quiet you.

Richard: YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!

The kick didn’t floor Douglas like the Good Times, Painful Memories might have, but it still wobbled the former champion, giving PRIME’s Sovereign the opportunity to hook Troy around the waist and send him spinning to the mat with the Royal Revolution!

Nick: Tremendous show of strength by Union Jack, slamming down a man who outweighs him by 40 pounds!

Richard: Hey, if you convert that to metric it’s only … aw, crap, I dunno.

Nick: Tremendous show of strength by Union Jack, slamming down a man who outweighs him by 40 pounds!

Richard: Hey, if you convert that to metric it’s only … aw, crap, I dunno.

Nick: Tremendous show of strength by Union Jack, slamming down a man who outweighs him by 40 pounds!

Richard: Hey, if you convert that to metric it’s only … aw, crap, I dunno.

Nick: Union Jack with the cover…

OOOOOOONNNNNNEEEEE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWOOO!

THRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: So very close, but Douglas still has enough left to kick out!

The nearfall surprises Union Jack, but, still thinking he’s got the match well in hand, he takes a momentum to bow regally to the crowd, drawing a chorus of boos. As Douglas pulls himself to his feet, UJ snaps back to action, hooking Troy’s head for the British Bulldog!

Nick: Trademark bulldog coming up … Douglas shoves Union Jack away, and PRIME’s Sovereign goes face first into the turnbuckle!

Richard: This guy’s kinda like the Energizer bunny, if the Energizer bunny was a boring guy with a bad back.

Troy manages to find a burst of energy, charging at UJ and rolling through with a reverse cradle before popping to his feet and absolutely launching the Englishman across the ring with a release German suplex!

Richard: And now I’m dizzy.

Nick: HYOOGE rolling cradle into a German from Douglas! Union Jack staggers to his feet … but Douglas tosses him into the air … EUROPEAN UPPERCUT!

Richard: Hey! No stealing moves from other continents!

Nick: Douglas hooks the leg…

OOOOOOONNNNNNEEEEE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWOOO!

THRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Douglas rolls through the kickout and locks in a double underhook for the End of the Road ‘08, but UJ alertly bulls Troy into the corner to break the hold. The two trade uppercuts, but it’s Douglas who gains the advantage, nailing three straight before scooping UJ up into a devastating half nelson backbreaker!

Nick: And Douglas turning the tables on Union Jack, putting some pressure on the Brit’s back!

Richard: Yay for him.

Troy opts to let UJ reach his feet, but when he does, Troy lets out a mighty shout and absolutely CRUSHES the Brit in the side of the head with a Roaring Elbow! The impact causes Union Jack to stumble backwards, knocking Wesley James into the turnbuckles before he flops to the mat!

Richard: Clumsy ass needs to learn where to be at the right times.

Nick: Referee Wesley James got shook up by that, but Troy Douglas is setting to cinch in the Scorpion Deathlock!

However, he never gets the chance, as Union Jack takes advantage of Wesley James’ distraction to soccer kick Troy in the groin!

Nick: Oh, come on!

Richard: I call shenanigans. AWESOME shenanigans.

Nick: Union Jack rolls him up…

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEE!!!

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick: He’s got the tights!

THRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Nick: And Union Jack just STOLE a victory from Troy Douglas!

Richard: I know. Isn’t it wonderful?

Vince Howard: The winner of the match by pinfall … UNIOOOOOON JAAAACCCCKKK!!!!!

From under the Limo’s door, a pair of blue jewelled Jimmy Choos emerge, the wafer-thin ankles atop them carrying their owner from the luxurious interior and out into the rather-less-glamorous wrestlers parking lot. Emerging from behind the door’s screen, a mane of platinum blonde hair catches the light and almost blinds the cameraman.

"Booooooooooo!"

From inside the Civic Center, the PRIME crowd treat the arrival of Eleanor Kannon-Hall with disgust. While Ellie commandeers the Limo’s wing-mirror to check her sharp fringe, her travel-buddy exit’s the showy ride.

Vivid red hair, tattoos snaking up each toned arm, a smug, self-satisfied smirk across their lips… the SCCW Universal Championship.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The ferocity with which the crowd packed inside the Civic Centre greets Amy "Aimz" Campbell makes Eleanor’s reception look positively joyous. Full to the brim with mischievous energy, Aimz eagerly hops on the spot, loosening her body after the long ride.

Swinging her mismatched blue and brown eyes round to Ellie, the Red Raver/Controversy Craver appears to be checking out her ass as she leans down to the wing mirror. Instead, the inked Sinner picks out the tattoo that peeks out from Ellie’s lowlowlowlowlow-slung jeans.

Aimz: Nice tattoo, Goldielocks. Mean anything?

Finally happy that every strand of her fringe is in its designated position, Ellie straightens herself back up, turning to the Red Raver as if she’d just asked her what one plus one is (and Ellie had a calculator).

Eleanor: Um, yeah. It, like, totally means that Dolphins love jumping through hoops of flowers.

Aimz: That's... pretty much what I expected.

The small talk between the two women who make Google image search the most popular website amongst teenage wrestling fans is then drowned out by an almighty, hate-drenched roar.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Oozing out of the Limo and into the parking lot is Xavier Kannon, breathing in the vitriol that radiates from the arena up through his nostrils, then releases it with a satisfied, "Ah!"

Kannon: I take it they’re still not over the whole Rhine thing then.

Tucking the strap of her lavish SCCW belt through the rather less shiny one holding her pants up, Aimz stands side by side with the Gold Patron Meritorious, an evil axis between PRIME and Sin City that should make both promotions nervous.

Aimz: Okay, this whole giving you a louder jeer than your guest thing? That’s just rude. Way to make a bad girl feel special.

The trio may attract scowls and sneers from any who spots them, but with a single clearing of Kannon’s throat, enough wannabes and lackeys to carry all their baggage descend upon the Limo dutifully.

As Kannon takes Ellie’s arm, wrestling’s newest power threesome make their way to the entrance, the aura that they own the place oozing from every pore.

They’re about to come crashing down to earth.

Security: Sorry, Mr Kannon, but she’s not allowed in.

Holding up a hand to Amy to say he’s got this, Kannon saunters up shoulder-to-shoulder with the security guard.

Kannon: Now, since there’s a camera on us, I’ll try and spare you the embarrassment of grovelling to me in front of millions, begging me to forgive your petulance. So, how about you pretend you didn’t just talk to my guest that way, straighten that collar, and welcome us in.

Security: She’s not allowed in, Sir.

Looking down and away, pursing his lips as he takes a second to compose himself.

Kannon: Who exactly is going to stop me dragging yo-

"Dat’d be me."

Stepping in for the harassed security guard, Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas fills the doorway… literally.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Word from da boss. Muh boss, yuh boss.

Kannon: Um, then maybe you remember your boss issuing an open invitation to any wrestler from any promotion to come to ReVolution? If it’s easier, I can draw it in crayon for you.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I remembuh. Dat don’t apply t’her tho.

Looking down his nose at the Red Raver, Dam’s tone in addressing Aimz puts her somewhere just below what he had to scrape from the treads of his sneakers once Ceepers had worked out where the stink in the executive Limo was coming from.

Aimz: 'Her'? I get canned from this place, blacklisted all through the industry by your mudslinging superiors, work my way back up from the bottom and win your biggest competition's Universal title -- TWICE -- and I’m still just a ‘Her’ around here?

Kannon: She’s right, Dam. That’s no way to treat our guest.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Ain’t no guest. Name’s not on da list.

Despite giving up over a foot and a step to Ceeps’ muscle, Aimz gets all up in his… torso, Dam barely able to see her past the horizon of his barrel chest.

Aimz: Listen, Bubba. This isn't like standing in line for some tacky club where you can take some skanky jailbait round the alley to give you a braces-blowjob if you’ll open the rope for them. I’m the champion of the only thing giving you saps a run for your money, and I’m here as the guest of the man who just brought in the pay-per-view buyrate that'll pay your peanuts salary until Cantrell can get a monkey trained up to make coffee as good as yours. So, if you don't mind… disappear.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Yeah, dat ain’t happenin’.

Snarling and hissing like a territorial cat, Kannon oozes between Dam and Aimz, stepping right up into his face, toe to tip-toe.

Kannon: Do I need to remind you what happened to the last guy who crossed me? I’ll give you a clue; he doesn’t need to shut one eye to look through a telescope.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: An’ I’ll remind yuh that muh surname is what uh do tah skinny white boys dat threaten muh.

As Kannon realises that getting into any physicalities with Dam less than two hours before taking on Jason Natas might not be the wisest of moves, Ellie looks a little perplexed.

Eleanor: Fewkye… Fukiawy… I don’t get it.

Pacing away from the steps, disguising the fact he just backed way, way down from Fuqueiawytas, Kannon throws his hands up in the air and vents.

Kannon: Who’d have saw this coming, huh? Ever since I stopped being Xavier ‘Fake Smile’ Kannon, ever since I stopped being a walk-over, Cantrell has had it in for me. Weapons matches, Hell in a Cell matches, War Games matches, Last Man Standing matches… and, to think, I had the nerve to go and win them all. My reward for all that, for emerging undefeated from months of brutal, gruelling bouts? Do I get a shot at the Intense Title? No, you apparently have to have not had any matches to get one of them. Do I get a 5-Star title shot? No, because Hubbard forbid they throw someone against Rayne that could actually beat him.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Take it up wit da boss.

Kannon: While you’re fetching him his paper and slippers, how about letting him know that if my guests from Sin City aren’t welcome here, then I’ll have to accept a few more invites to go over there…

He jabs a thumb back to the plate of the belt that Aimz has now slung back across her shoulder.

Kannon: …where it looks like they actually appreciate talent and dedication. Oh, and also tell him that so long as Aimz is barred from this arena, then I’m going into self-imposed exile from it myself. Get someone to knock on the Limo’s window when it’s time for me to Hallmark the Marlboro Man’s neck into a million cancer-ridden pieces.

While Kannon engages Dam with a fierce stare, the rotund PRIME staffer simply gives a nonchalant nod of the head as if to say, ‘you go do that’.

As the trio return to their Limo, the Red Raver can’t resist dropping in a little recruiting spiel, striking while the iron is hot.

Aimz: Y'know, show after I beat Rhine, we pretty much roped off a whole section of the arena for my crowd, and my locker-room had half a liquor store sitting in a bathtub of ice. Just saying…

Devin Shakur isn't feeling particularly good this evening. He has just come off the highest mountain conceivable in wrestling: Holding the Universal Championship, headlining the biggest card in the history of the federation, and being able to do all of this in his home state. Needless to say, if he were able to achieve victory in that scenario, his stock would be so high that not even God could pull him back to reality.

Unfortunately, Chandler Tsonda had other plans and now Shakur is empty, a desolate soul forced to walk the hallways and endure the hazing from his fellow roster mates. TEAM Viagra left a care package at Shakur's locker room door shaped like a viagra container. Items inside included a tape of Dusk's greatest matches, a fake toy Universal Championship, with the name Tony Davis crossed out in Sharpie on it, directions to a bazooka and an itinerary of Chandler Tsonda's day to day activities, and a single viagra inside a baggie with a note that said "Use wisely". Tyler Rayne delivered an entire folder of pictures which featured women not of the attractive variety and left a note which said, "I've given them all your locker room number and backstage passes." Dusk left an audio recording from the old alligator bashing arcade game which said, "TRY HARDER"

Ok, no, he didn't, but that game was fun, right?

Shakur continues his moping fest and reluctantly steps out into the hallway where he is sure to endure more ridicule from his fellow roster members. Low and behold, it isn't six steps before the first PRIME superstar walks into his path.

Tony Gamble: So I says to the guy... I'm the PRIME Universal champion, you better have my apple juice!

Tony Gamble is flanked by the large Italian man who doesn't speak. His eyes lift away from Gamble and focus on the former Universal champion. That draws the attention of the most awesomest Universal champion to never hold the belt, and as if someone flipped a switch in his back, Tony completes his smile.

Tony Gamble: Dev... Dude, did you get to see the pay per view? Man, I kicked so much ass Chuck Norris called me and told me to stop taxing his gig... I told him he had the wrong number and hung up, so if you see him text me...

It is at this time that he notices the not so happy demeanor of his partner in crime, the yin to his yang, the CHO-CO-LATE to his peanut butter.

Tony Gamble: Why the sour puss, Gloomy Gus?

Devin Shakur: You really gotta ask that Gambs? I no longer have what makes me who I am.

Shakur looks up and notices the large Italian man.

Devin Shakur: Did you pick this guy up off the set of the Sopranos?

Tony reaches up and pats his new associate on the back.

Tony Gamble: Nah, this is my cousin's sister in law's nephew's baby brother's best friend's older brother's roommate's neighbor's grandson's milk man. He happened to text me by accident looking for this dairy farm out in Cambodia, and we've been friends ever since.

The big man nods, the suitcase from earlier still firmly in his grasp.

Tony Gamble: And I'm real sorry you lost your 30 Seconds From Mars fan club membership, but you can find something else to define you.

Devin Shakur: Fucking tragedy I tell you. I mean sure I clocked Leto in the head with a belt back in the-NO! I mean the Universal Championship you dingus, or did you not stay around for that since you were probably already out getting crunk with milk man over here?

Tony Gamble: I thought the show ended right after I beat Rolo for the Universal title... I mean, what coulda topped that?

Tony shrugs his shoulders, his lips curling down into as much of a frown as he can muster, while Devin groans and drops his shoulders.

Devin Shakur: No, there was an entire second night.

Tony Gamble: Really...

Tony throws up the confused look like Paul Wall chunking up a deuce with Lil Keke. If you don't know what I mean, look it up. I mean, really.

Really.

Tony Gamble: I'm guessing by your silence that you're serious. Did you have a match or something, because I pretty much soaked in the moment like an old dirty sponge on the side of a sink the second I heard them announce my name as the new Universal Champ. I know you'll never understand what it feels like to be in that position, but let me tell you...

Tony inhales deeply, the task lasting more than half a minute.

Tony Gamble: It's refresh- Hey, where are you going?

Devin lowers his head and skulks off, the sound of his feet shuffling on the ground as his lower lip figuratively hangs an inch off the ground.

Tony Gamble: Dude... Dev! I'm sorry.

He calls out to his friend, his arm outstretched toward him very dramatically as he whispers the last few words as if he truly regrets them.

Tony Gamble: It's not my fault I'm so talented.

Shakur decides that it would be better to just leave Gamble hanging rather than make an attempt at stopping him. Moving out into the main corridor, Shakur makes his way to a predetermined location for two segments that he's really not looking forward to. He agreed to participate in something with Bryan Dawkins prior to Colossus, believing that he would beat Tsonda and get to rub the win in the youngster's face. Instead, he's now going to have to eat a lot of crow.

Rounding the corner, Shakur can see Dawkins sitting in a chair a long distance away and he grumbles. Unfortunately, his night is about to get a lot worse. Surrounding him are the three members of Mega Job all with happy looks on their faces.

Beef: Hi, Devin.

Devin Shakur: (deadpan) I don't have any waffles for you today, Beef.

Beef: What? You don't give us the waffles. Our contract does!

El Janito: Yes, Beef. A walking piece of paper walks up to us each week and gives us waffles.

Devin Shakur: In your dreams that probably happens. So what can I do for your gentlemen today or did you get left out of the kickball game again?

El Janito: You have a dilemma.

Beef: A big one.

El Janito: Let's face it, it's so big that we could drive the Jobmobile through it.

Beef: Not that we'd try.

El Janito: Mostly because neither of us actually have a valid driver's license.

Beef: Mostly because one of us might have accidentally driven the Jobmobile off a cliff once.

El Janito: That was YOU.

Beef: Yeah. So, needless to say, we can't drive.

Steve tugs at El Janito and Beef to get their attention.

Steve: POINT

Devin Shakur: Yes get to it, I really would like to get this evening over with as quickly as possible.

Beef: You need LACKEYS.

Shakur looks at Beef and El Janito like they are insane. Probably because they are but nobody will tell them.

Devin Shakur: I need lackeys? Why on Earth do I need lackeys?

El Janito: Look, you have a perfectly good lackey model already hanging around the midget.

Devin Shakur: Steve?

El Janito: Gamble.

Devin Shakur: Ah.

El Janito: But... you need someone more pathetic.

Beef: Cannon fodder is the proper term.

El Janito: Yes. Sorta like how Grundle is for us.

The camera pans to Grundle McMiles, the only man so low on life's totem's pole that he's BEEF's assistant, who is eating a donut and talking to one of the Enemigos.

Grundle McMiles: One day, Beef hit me over the head with a pillow. I was in a coma for a week.

Beef: You need people like US.

El Janito: Plus, Steve hangs out with you more than he hangs out with us. We want to know what makes you cool.

Shakur "thinks" the proposition over for a moment in his head. He deduces that in order to eliminate any further conversation, he needs to give a satisfying answer which won't merit said conversation.

Devin Shakur: If Steve can be my bodyguard, yes you can be my lackeys.

Beef & El Janito: Deal!

Steve looks up at Devin Shakur and shrugs.

Steve: BENEFITS?

Devin Shakur: You will get to clothesline far more people in the balls than usual and probably Dusk on a regular basis.

Steve: DEAL.

With a long sigh, Shakur parts in between Mega Job and continues on about his walk toward Bryan Dawkins.

Inside the Charleston Civic Center, the PRIME*View goes blank, and in the homes of all who have tuned in to the 169th edition of PRIME’s ReVolution, television screens have gone black as well. But fear not, PRIME fans, we’ve got quite the treat for you all.

The PRIME logo flashes on the screen, accompanied by a noise so weird and indescribable that not even Lindz, Dippy, and EmoChris could come up with a suitable way to describe it. It is followed by three simple letters that most avid sports fans should know all too well.

P T I

The camera switches to a depressed Devin Shakur who absentmindedly flips papers over his head. He's going to wing this one, kids.

Devin Shakur: (deadpan) Pardon the Interruption but I'm Devin Shakur...Hey Kornheiser, Colossus just happened...woo

The camera cuts to PRIME’s Resident Hawaiian, Bryan Dawkins, who is all smiles.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m Bryan Dawkins….AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU LOST! HOW YA FEEL ABOUT THAT, BRUH?!

Devin Shakur: This is pathetic. You are a waste of human space.

With that, the camera cuts to a bastardized version of ESPN’s PTI intro piece, with the only modifications being the replacement of anything "ESPN" with "PRIME," accompanied by the very same music from the program. Lawsuit, anyone? The camera again cuts to an overhead shot of the two hosts, and slowly swoops in to catch a glimpse of the PRIME PTI set.

An oddly-shaped table is the centerpiece, with Dawkins and Shakur sitting on either side of it. There are high-definition televisions affixed to each side of the hosts, as well as one larger one between the two of them. Behind them, a montage of PRIMEate headshots decorate the wall, highlighted by shots of Chandler Tsonda, Tyler Rayne, Xavier Kannon, The Princes of New England, Jason Natas, and more.

The shot focuses on Dawkins, who is chuckling over Shakur’s emo demeanor.

Bryan Dawkins: Welcome to PRIME PTI, bruhs and girls. On today’s Post-Colossus episode, Devin Shakur goes back to the emo life, Xavier Kannon disposes of the One-Eyed-Rhine, and we’ve got PRIME Executive Producer C.P. Cantrell in to take Five Good Minutes with us.

Devin Shakur: Maybe I can talk to him about getting a rematch. I can't help it if I got Tyler Rayne Disorder and was distracted by a hot woman's rack in the audience.

Cut to Dawkins, who’s barely holding back his laughter.

Bryan Dawkins: But we’ll begin today with the big story from Colossus, bruh. Believe me, Shakur, you should know ALL ABOUT this one, bruh. I mean, you were there!

Devin Shakur: Actually I haven't been there yet, seeing as how I haven't gotten through 167 yet.

Dawkins peers at the Commie Emo and shrugs.

Bryan Dawkins: Anyway, bruh, on Night Two of Colossus, MY BOY Chandler Tsonda defeated YOU for your Universal Championship! I mean, it was nice of Tsonda to lead you on like you were actually gonna retain the belt, but c’mon, bruh. Gotta be realistic. After reviewing the match a couple times, it becomes obvious that ya just didn’t have it in ya anymore, bruh. Your thoughts?

Shakur looks over at Dawkins and points a finger directly in his face.

Devin Shakur: ...Let me explain something to you, you lowlife piece of midcard. I sold that place out. SOLD IT OUT. My entrance was longer than your match and everybody soaked it up. The only people who are even gonna SLIGHTLY remember your match are Jimmy Buffett and all those clowns wearing novelty Hawaiian shirts and flip flops to a wrestling event. By the way, if you see any of those people, GIVE THEM THE WILBRUH-

Shakur pounds his right fist into his left open hand

Bryan Dawkins: Hey, gimmick infringement.

Devin Shakur: SHUT IT! THE WILBRUH BEATDOWN SPECIAL! And by the way, this is a message to you, Tsonda. Yeah, you beat me, everybody gets lucky once in a while but we all know it's not gonna last. You are a fraud for a Champion and the entire federation knows it. You aren't cut out for being Universal Champion. Why? BECAUSE YOU AIN'T FEMININE ENOUGH! The last three Universal Champions have all had an immense amount of feminine qualities and you? YOU ARE JUST A-

Steve the Rambling Communist walks into the picture and points to the camera.

Steve: HOMOSEXUAL!

Devin Shakur: So shine that belt up real nice, put some Vietnamese flowers on it, only thing you can do good is decorate anyway you fairy, I'll be coming back for that belt sooner rather than later.

Dawkins simply smiles.

Bryan Dawkins: And my money’s on the fact that he’ll beat you…again, bruh.

DING!

Devin Shakur: Did I really just say that he wasn't feminine enough to be Universal Champion? Good God, I need a drink, the strongest thing in this building.

Dawkins reaches off camera and locates a coconut glass, complete with a tiny drink umbrella and FEMININE neon pink straw.

Bryan Dawkins: You rang, bruh?

Groaning, Shakur takes a sip from the glass, hoping for something sweet inside. Instantly, he spits to the side and tosses the drink over his shoulder.

Devin Shakur: Thank God I always come prepared.

Shakur reaches into a bag and pulls out a Wade Elliott size flask (100 ounces) full of vodka.

Devin Shakur: Oh yes, now we are in business. So another title loss that happened at Colossus was the guy who lives in a house that is shaped like a question mark, Troy Douglas, losing to what appears to be Chainz's Tuesday night play toy, Kaiser Vashaun. I didn't watch this match because I'm too cool to hang out with those clowns, and I beat them both before Colossus, so I'm going to throw this to you since the midcard ilk is up your alley more than it is mine.

A piercing gaze is shot at Shakur before Dawkins throws in his two cents.

Bryan Dawkins: HILARIOUS, bruh. Kinda like your pitiful excuse for a title defense.

OOH.

Bryan Dawkins: But on the non-emo side, Douglas is a tough bruh. I’ve teamed with the dude a couple times since we came in here after the Halo, and he’s definitely capable of carryin’ his own weight around here, bruh. This loss only gives him an opportunity to jump up the ranks and go for Rayne’s 5 Star Title, as I see it.

Dawkins takes a sip of his own pineapple juice (who knew?) and continues.

Bryan Dawkins: As for Vashaun, this bruh’s been on a rampage since he came here, and I know that I’m not lookin’ forward to gettin’ in that dude’s way any time in the near future. That’s like career suicide, bruh. You’d be better off changing your name to "Dusk."

DING!

Devin Shakur: Changing your name to Dusk...Are you out of your...Do we get mute buttons on this show?

Dawkins interrupts.

Bryan Dawkins: No, we don’t, so shut up and deal with it, bruh. Amidst all of the title changes throughout the two night mega-event that was Colossus, Team VIAGRA was able to take care of Connor O’Reily and Simon Knox, collectively known as the Princes of New England, keeping their hands on the Tag Team Gold for at least one more week. Now, I’m not gonna be biased or anything ‘cuz the Princes are facing the newest tag team to hit PRIME…

Cue dramatic music.

Bryan Dawkins: …THE RAYNE-ING PINEAPPLES! But I wasn’t surprised to see VIAGRA retain here. You know what they say about that stuff, though, right Emo? You gotta swallow it quickly or you’ll get a stiff neck.

Insert cheap drum solo here.

Devin Shakur: Wait just a minute...Rayne-ing Pineapples? Well, at least it isn't as bad as Jewel Halo. Although, let me ask you fruit cups a question...Did you remix The Weather Girls song "It's Raining Men" to "It's Rayne-Ing Pineapples" for your entrance music? Because that'd be about as stupid as...I got nothing here, help.

Steve: DUSK.

DING!

Devin Shakur: Thanks.

Bryan Dawkins: Finally, in the Main Event of Night One, Xavier Kannon defeated Jonathan Rhine in the culmination of a brutal feud that saw Rhine LOSE AN EYE. Aside from seeing ya lose your title to Tsonda, this was probably my favorite match of the weekend, bruh. Kannon is probably the Number One Contender to Tsonda’s Uni Title now, and he’s gonna give my mentor a run for his money I’d think. What’cha think about the Firecrotch takin’ out the One-Eyed-Rhine?

Devin Shakur: Firecrotch? Since when did Kannon take Lindsay Lohan's nickn...Wait, that's actually a meeting I probably don't want to envision.

Shakur takes a swig from his oversize flask.

Devin Shakur: Ok, Kannon is good for this business because he presents an alternative lifestyle that is in the mainstream news like yours truly does. I can get behind someone like that for Universal Champion because he puts asses in the seats and can start a riot just by clearing his throat. I can definitely see him riding the Scientology wave to the Universal Championship...BEFORE I SWEEP THE RUG OUT FROM UNDER HIM BY HITTING HIM IN THE HEAD WITH A DINOSAUR BONE AND DECLARING EVOLUTION THE KING! EAT IT!

DING!

Devin Shakur: We're not taking a break because PRIME never has commercial breaks. UP TOP!

Dawkins surprisingly engages Shakur in a high five.

Devin Shakur: So instead we're going to have someone who has been very successful ever since taking over the reigns of PRIME some months ago to be our guest here and give us Five Good Minutes. He is the Executive Producer of PRIME, C.P. Cantrell. How are ya C.P. and I think the more important question is...When the hell am I getting my rematch?

Bryan Dawkins: Don't answer that, bossbruh. What's this we hear about the mysterious 'notes' the Board of Directors gave you at Colossus V?

Cantrell shuffles nervously, loosens his collar, and swallows before giving an answer.

C.P Cantrell: Well, as far as that go—

A familiar voice interrupts PRIME’s Executive Producer.

"Who the fuck even gives a shit? What kind of half-assed interview is this, Hawaii? You start talkin' about Colossus V... you better be talkin' 'bout me."

Cue the screaming ladies in three... two...

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

5-Star Champion entering CP's office say what.

Bryan Dawkins: Well if it isn’t the other half of the RAYNE-ING PINEAPPLES!

Again, cue the screaming ladies in three…two…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Granted, they’re mostly for Rayne, but we won’t spoil the Hawaiian’s dreams. Plus, he’s got a fiancée already. His fun is over.

Devin Shakur: Oh God, now I gotta put up with this for five more fucking minutes.

Shakur hard chugs from his Wade Elliott sized flask.

Devin Shakur: So douchebag, the world has got to know...Did you give Craig a Baby Dusk plush doll autographed that said "thanks for the memories, asshole. Heart Ty" on the tag?

Tyler Rayne: Fuck that. I'm not wasting a potential cash cow like the Baby Dusk plushies on some no talent shit brick like Sunshine. Hoyt knows the kid hasn't drawn a dime since the Nixon administration.

Devin Shakur: Dude, fuck that, he never drew a dime in that administration. Dusk drawing is like one of those urban myths. The Blair Witch Project, Bigfoot and Tom Hanks for example.

Dawkins takes a sip of his pineapple juice and stares blankly at his co-host.

Bryan Dawkins: …Tom Cruise? Eh, whatever bruh. So Rayne, whaddaya think about teamin’ up with yours truly to form the RAYNE-ING PINEAPPLES!?

Cue the screaming ladies yet again in three…two…

Actually, no, it’s just Dawkins.

Tyler Rayne: The name could use some work, but I like the enthusiasm. Young and enthusiastic is the best way to go. Always down for anything...

Devin Shakur: Rayne-ing Pineapples? Sounds like the punchline of a Jay Leno joke and those went out of style in 1963.

Dawkins shoots a look at Shakur, who isn’t paying attention.

Bryan Dawkins: Hey Emo, ya better watch what you’re sayin’, cuz I won’t hesitate to Kimbo Slice you, bruh.

Tyler Rayne: Kimbo? Really?

Devin Shakur: You mean you'll be all hype from YouTube videos only to flame out, getting beat by a fucking tomato can before getting saved by the referee because you are a drawing commodity and nothing more?

Steve: BURN.

Tyler Rayne: Quiet, Emo. Hawaii's my partner tonight, so no walking over his jokes. Even if they are lame as shit. One more peep from you and I'll have to walk over and smack the guyliner off them pretty, pretty eyes o' yours. Seein' as you no longer have a pretty, pretty belt for me to take...

Dawkins burst out laughing.

Bryan Dawkins: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Devin Shakur: Oh yes, I must really suck. Let me ask you something...Either of you knobs ever Main Evented a Pay-Per-View? No, what about four? Yeah, that's what I thought, shut the fuck up assclowns. You have to resort to manipulating a fruit just to get over and you, Rayne, are feuding with Dusk in 2008. 2008! What the hell? Yeah, you should be real proud of yourself for facing TOUGH competition. Assbags.

Dawkins smiles.

Tyler Rayne: You know, Emo... ya got me there. You're right. I haven't main evented a pay-per-view. Unless you count the Dual Halo. You remember that, right? Silly little match where I beat EVERYONE ON THE FUCKING ROSTER. Not that it matters, seeing as I've never even gotten a shot at the Universal Championship, which means all my accomplishments are moot. That's a very excellent point. It's just too bad I've been stuck with this 5-Star Championship for the whole of this year because NO ONE can manage to pry it off my shoulder. Could you remind me how long your Universal Title reign was? Because I think I fell asleep during one of Kannon's promos and missed it.

Devin Shakur: Longer than Cozen's and Troy's second. So unless you fell asleep for 77 days, you are just trying to make yourself feel better.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, that's it. Feel better. Seventy-seven days? Wow. You work your way up to about seven months, Emo. Then we'll have another chat.

Devin Shakur: Hand me the Five Star belt and I'll do that. Best competition you are getting is fucking Dusk and some Hulk Hogan Mr. America reject. Pfft, please.

Tyler Rayne: Didn't you feud with Dusk for like, a year or something? I mean, at least people know Sunshine doesn't have a snowball's chance in Britney's cooch of beating me. When you were fightin' the kid, for the INTENSE TITLE, weren't you like... the underdog or some shit?

Devin Shakur: Actually I was considered the favorite against those three douchebags because I had to carry them. You think a feud with that little shit Dusk is bad, oh God try carrying Winters and him at the same time. Lavelle was a good boy, playing PSP all the time, thanks for helping out a bit, by the way.

Tyler Rayne: No problem. Making you look good and improving your ratings is one of the things I do best. That and fucking. I'm pretty good at fucking.

Devin Shakur: Alright, thanks for that Rayne. We'll be back in a little while with the second half of this disaster in progress. Until then, let's toss it up to Sports...Whatever shit we have going on elsewhere.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall…

The crowd ripples with anticipation as Metallica’s "Master of Puppets" kicks in with full force. As the lyrics begin, Hank Cobb and Colby Korver burst onto the arena stage, playing to the cheering crowd as the steady thrash metal rhythm pours from the speakers.

"End of passion play, crumbling away,
I'm your source of self-destruction!
Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear,
Leading on your deaths construction!
Taste me you will see,
More is all you need,
Dedicated to,
How I'm killing you!"

As they make their way down to the ring, Cobb stops to slap hands with several excited young fans, while Korver gravitates toward hugs and photo opportunities with aesthetically-pleasing female fans.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Orlando, Florida and Winston-Salem, North Carolina! Weighing in at a combined weight of 650lbs… the team of COLBY KORVER and HANK COBB… DELTAAAA UPPPPSSSILLLOOOOON IOOOOOTTTTTTAAAAA!

Nick Stuart: 6-man action coming up here on ReVolution! The team of DUI and Rhett Locke going up against the PRIME Tag Team Champions, Team VIAGRA, and Dusk!

Richard Parker: Yes, the man who got his ass handed to him by Tyler Rayne and the team that should’ve lost their titles to the Princes of New England!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Dusk got his ass handed to him in that brutal and physical confrontation. In Team VIAGRA’s case, they had a tough match, but ultimately pulled out the victory and that’s all that needs to be said about that.

Vince Howard: And their partner…

Then, "21st Century Pop Song" by Hymie's Basement rips through the arena as out comes Rhett Locke to a bevy of cheers before walking down the ramp to join DUI in the ring.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at 225 pounds and standing at 6 feet tall, he is the UNDERDOG! RHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET! LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Nick Stuart: And this could be a huge step for Rhett Locke and DUI if they can pull off what would have to be considered an upset over Team VIAGRA and Dusk!

Richard Parker: At the end of the day, Nick, I just hope they all die tonight from the result of the roof collapsing on their heads.

Nick Stuart: First off, Richard, you’re just a sick freak. Second of all, if that happens, I’m certain you’re going down with them.

Richard Parker: Oh… yeah.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…

"I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang starts playing in the arena as the fans immediately pop for the reigning PRIME Tag Team Champions! High Flyer and Tony Davis walk out from the back with Mary-Lynn Mayweather by their side. High Flyer immediately starts playing to the crowd while Davis is lost in a completely different world playing his Nintendo DS.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at a combined 458 pounds, they are the reigning PRIME Tag Team Champions… the team of HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYER and TOOOOOOOOOOOONY DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS! TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM! VIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

They walk down to the ring before waiting right outside of it as they eye their opponents. It’s only a moment before fireworks explode all around the arena.

#Th-th-that that don't kill me
#Can only make me stronger

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Then from the back comes the Lost Soul himself, Dusk to a huge reaction from the crowd! Dressed in his traditional blue jeans and black boots with his black trench coat flowing behind him, his eyes are intense and focused as he stands at the top of the ramp, hopping from foot to foot.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at 250 pounds and standing at 6 feet 4 inches, he is the LOST! SOUL! DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSK!

With that, he explodes from his stance down the ramp. His face is still slightly bruised from his encounter with Rayne at Colossus V, and as he reaches High Flyer and Tony Davis, he slides into the ring with VIAGRA right behind him! Dusk wastes no time as he goes right after Hank Cobb and knocks him down with a straight right to his jaw! Cobb doesn’t stay down for long as he gets back up only to be met with a kick to the midsection and then a Russian Legsweep! Meanwhile, High Flyer goes after Colby Korver as the two start trading punches with one another, each shot stronger then that last. Finally, Rhett Locke is taking it to Tony Davis as he whips Davis into the ropes and nails him with a dropkick that plants Davis onto the ground!

Richard Parker: Come on ref, get some kind of control of this match!

Nick Stuart: This match has started off with a huge explosion as Dusk wasn’t willing to wait to get back into that ring, obviously not happy with the result of his loss against Tyler Rayne.

Richard Parker: Oh, get over it you big baby!

Nick Stuart: And now the referee is starting to take control of the ring as he is separating the men from each other and demands that they have a match, and not a brawl.

Richard: He might want to make sure he draws a diagram for Dusk.

DING! DING! DING!

As the bell goes off, High Flyer steps in for his team while Colby Korver comes out for his team. The slightly larger Colby takes control after an early collar-and-elbow tie-up that leaves Flyer in a headlock. Flyer tries his best to fight Korver off of him, but it’s no use as Colby uses his hip to flip Flyer to the ground. Korver then bounces off the ropes as Flyer gets back up to his feet and nails a shoulderblock to Flyer that sends him back to the mat! Korver then bounces off the ropes again as Flyer gets back up to his feet, and goes for another shoulderblock, but High Flyer slams his knee into Korver’s gut before connecting with a snapmere suplex! As Colby sits up, he cringes as High Flyer nails a spine kick on his opponent.

Nick Stuart: And High Flyer getting the early advantage for his team as he walks over and tags in Dusk who walks into the ring with a fire in his eyes.

Richard Parker: He must have gas or something!

Korver begins to get up to his feet, but is met with a forearm to his jaw for his troubles! He clutches his jaw as Dusk pushes him into the corner before slamming his elbow into Colby’s sternum that sends one half of the team of DUI stumbling out of the corner! Dusk quickly bounces off the ropes and nails a bulldog on Korver as Colby smashes into the ground in a world of pain. Dusk gets back up to his feet and begins dragging Korver up with him before nailing him with an uppercut. Not having much fun getting attacked, Korver retaliates with a knee to Dusk’s midsection before he lifts Dusk up into a Fireman’s Carry. However, the Lost Soul has different plans as he slips out before wrapping his arm around Colby’s neck and nailing him with a reverse DDT!

Richard Parker: And looks at Dusk, thinking he’s doing something because he’s beating up on Colby Korver. He might of wanted to try and do that against Tyler Rayne.

Nick Stuart: Dusk is just looking to get back on the right road here after a great first-half of the year where he came in the 5th in the Dual Halo and won the Intense Title.

Richard Parker: He’s stuck in that bracket of being a nobody, and the sooner he learns that the better for the rest of us.

Dusk then pulls Korver up off the mat and whips him into the ropes…

SLAP!

And connects with a spinebuster that flattens Colby into the mat. However, what he doesn’t realize is Hank Cobb climbing up to the rope while he’s getting back up to his feet, and as he turns around, he’s met with a flying clothesline that sends Dusk crashing to the ground!

Nick Stuart: And Dusk never saw the tag that Cobb made to save his tag team partner from more punishment.

Richard Parker: You might’ve missed the part where Korver became one with the mat just a few moments ago.

Nick Stuart: Well, sure, but now he’s good to go!

Cobb begins pulling Dusk up to the mat and slams his elbow into Dusk’s face as the Lost Soul cringes from the pain. As Dusk tries to walk away from him, Hank grabs Dusk and puts him into a Full Nelson before slamming him to the mat! The Lost Soul’s head bounces off the mat as he grabs his head in pain. Cobb goes to pick him up again, but Dusk slams his foot into Cobb’s gut that causes Hank to double over. Dusk takes the opportunity to roll over and tag in Tony Davis who looks at Cobb with no fear in his eyes as he climbs the ropes and connects with a missile dropkick on the stunned Cobb! Davis then gets up off the mat before bouncing off the ropes and nailing an elbow to Cobb’s sternum!

Nick Stuart: And a good start here for Tony Davis, as his entire team has been in control most of this match.

Richard Parker: Good, now end it so we can get to some good wrestling. We need more Shakur and Rayne, less of these nobodies.

Cobb slowly starts to get up to his feet and as he does, Davis meets him with a boot to the side of the head. However, that doesn’t do much to phase Hank as Cobb slams his fist into Tony’s gut before getting up to his feet and slamming him to the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex! Davis arches his back in pain as Cobb gets back up to his feet, drags Tony up with him before whipping him into the ropes and putting him back down on the matt with a sidewalk slam! With Davis laid out in the middle of the ring, Cobb rolls over to his corner before tagging in Rhett Locke who comes in red hot! He rushes over to Tony and begins stomping away at him before pulling him up off the mat and nailing a roundhouse kick to the Tag Team Champion!

Richard Parker: And new PRIME superstar, Rhett Locke, is showing what he’s made of here!

Nick Stuart: He’s got to as he comes in as a bright rookie here in PRIME, and wants to prove that he belongs here.

Richard Parker: Well, eventually he’ll just break his neck on one of those crazy high flying moves, and we won’t have to be burden with him any longer.

Nick Stuart: Real classy Richard, real classy.

Back in the ring, Rhett is meeting the rising Davis with a knee to the chest and follows that up with a stiff fist to Davis’ jaw! Tony stumbles into the ropes and Rhett quickly bounces off the ropes before connecting with a clothesline that sends Davis to the outside! Noticing the advantages he has, Locke then bounces off the ropes again before leaping over the top rope and connecting with a suicide dive that gets a pop from the crowd! Locke is on a roll as he gets up and starts punching away at Locke! With the fight taken to the outside, Hank Cobb and Colby Korver decide they’re going to do what they do best as they come come to help out Rhett!

Nick Stuart: Oh no… I think things are about to get out of hand again.

Richard Parker: Always happens when you have this many people competing in this kind of atmosphere.

Nick Stuart: And here comes High Flyer and Dusk to the aid of their teammate as Korver and Cobb are pounding on Davis!

Dusk runs along the edge of the ring before flying right at Cobb and Korver and connecting with a corkscrew plancha that sends the three of them crashing to the mat! As Locke tries to pull Davis up, High Flyer comes up behind him and nails him with a Jericho Leaping forearm that sends Locke and High Flyer down to the ground! Dusk is starting to get up to his feet while Cobb is doing the same thing, and Dusk takes it to the big man, not backing down an inch as he connects with fist after fist to Cobb’s jaw! As he does so though, Korver comes up behind Dusk and nails him with a release German Suplex that sends the Lost Soul crashing into the ground in a world of pain!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s what Dusk had in mind!

Richard Parker: I don’t care because I loved it!

Nick Stuart: You would love it.

Meanwhile, High Flyer is getting back up to his feet and notices what just happened to Dusk as he comes running full speed at Korver before nailing him an elbow to the back of the head! High Flyer then slams his foot into Cobb’s gut before connecting with a double arm DDT that plants Cobb into the ground! Locke comes up behind High Flyer, but Flyer is ready for him as he connects with a foot face twist before hopping onto the barrier and nailing a somersault legdrop across Locke’s throat! Davis starts getting back up to his feet as he’s met with a fist from Korver as the two start battling back and forth before Korver with a knee to Davis’ midsection, and then plants him on the ground with a jumping piledriver!

Richard Parker: Just pure mayhem out there! It looks like a car crash with all of those bodies strewn about like that!

Nick Stuart: These guys are nothing short of crazy and willing to go 120 miles an hour at every possible second!

Richard Parker: And Dusk is back up and Korver and Dusk are back at it!

Nick Stuart: These men will not stop and the referee is just kind of powerless!

Dusk whips Korver into steel post before nailing a German Suplex of his own that leaves Korver in a mess of his own! High Flyer is starting to get back up to his feet with Locke not far behind him! As Locke gets up, Flyer goes for a clothesline, but Locke ducks it before reaching backwards and grabbing Flyer by the neck and nailing him with a neckbreaker! As Dusk goes after Locke, he’s met with a knee from Cobb who then tosses Dusk into the ringside barrier as Locke grabs a rising Davis and rolls him back into the ring! As Davis gets back up to his feet, he’s met with a stiff kick to the midsection before being met with the Truth or Consequences!

Nick Stuart: That could be it as Rhett just connected with the Ace Crusher on Davis!

Richard Parker: If Dusk can get back in that ring, things might continue on though!

Outside of the ring, Dusk slams his elbow into Cobb’s face before he backs up and blasts Hank in the face with the superkick! Cobb goes down in a mess as Rhett goes for the cover on Tony! Dusk looks around and notices what’s going on as the referee begins to count!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!

He begins to rush towards the ring, but as he does, his ankle is grabbed by Korver who has got enough sense to him!

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Dusk then slams his foot into Korver’s face before turning around and going for the ring…

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

Nick Stuart: And Dusk couldn’t make it in time! It looked like he was, but he just couldn’t!

Richard Parker: HAHAHA!

Nick Sutart: Oh, you’re just an asshole.

Vince Howard: Your winners… the team of DUI and Rhett Locke!

As Howard finishes his words, "21st Century Pop Song" begins playing in the arena again as Locke rolls off of Davis, thrilled with picking up the victory!

Richard Parker: A huge win for Locke as he carried his team to the victory.

Nick Stuart: And a heartbreaking loss for VIAGRA and Dusk.

Richard Parker: Now, can we move on?

Jonathan Rhine didn't really see this coming. That wasn't the setup for an awesome joke about partial blindness, but damn, looking back I really wish it was.

Just weeks removed from main-eventing two pay-per-views for two different national wrestling companies in the span of a few days, Rhine thought his days of double-duty had come to a bittersweet close, thanks to his dual nemeses, Xavier Kannon and Amy Campbell. But here he was, sitting in the office of PRIME executive producer C.P. Cantrell, answering a special invitation that had been extended to him shortly after Colossus V. Yet, for the life of him, The New Life couldn't figure out WHY he was here. Well, besides the enlightening discussion with a certain Head of Security/Renaissance Man.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Just sayin, Boss, dis ain't Thunderdome. Ain't even that California Love video. Eye-patches be out.

Jonathan Rhine: I didn't know they were in.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Shit's like dat Swedish folk trio, dat um…dat um…dat Ace of Base. Every few years it gets one of them revivals.

Jonathan Rhine: But apparently I just missed that turn of the carousel.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Lotta pressure to stay trendy, Boss. Well, unless your lady into some pirate-ass shit.

Jonathan Rhine: I don't want to tal-

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Me neither, Boss. Just sayin.’

Rhine sighs a little and turns his attention across the desk. There, Cantrell is neck-deep in a discussion with Lisa Tyler, lead talent-relations representative and yet another guest of honor this evening.

Lisa Tyler: Look, it's all my fault, Chad.

C.P. Cantrell: C.P.

Lisa Tyler: Sorry. Anyway, the personnel file got buried on the "indefinite hiatus" list and lost during the restructuring. I only came across it when we were completing the paperwork after Logic's injury.

C.P. Cantrell: Don't get me started on that - a year on the shelf and we're paying his medical?

Lisa Tyler: We don't have to go Nitz Donnelly on everyone who busts a knee. For one, it's bad PR and it gets us closer to a unionized state. For another, we can benefit from having a man like Logic around - he was a great spokesman during the steroid blitzkrieg.

C.P. Cantrell: I just think that's a long time to pay a wrestler who isn't wrestling.

Lisa Tyler: Which is why you produce the shows and I handle the contracts. People aren't as expendable as your previous jobs might have led you to believe.

The Executive Producer gives a mock eye-roll and a slight smirk to show Tyler that the point found its mark. Then he shakes the paper in his right hand and the smirk breaks into a full-grin.

C.P. Cantrell: This from the woman who just told me we've had a guy under contract who hasn't wrestled here for 18 months.

Lisa Tyler: I said I was sorry. Besides, a couple months ago you made a stink about wanting big names.

C.P. Cantrell: Yeah, and look where that got me. Finally got rid of those two, but...

He pauses and his eyes drift across the table to Rhine. Instantly, he realizes his mistake and tries to backtrack.

C.P. Cantrell: Well, I mean-

Jonathan Rhine: (tapping his eye-patch) Hey, I think I got the worse end of that deal.

C.P. Cantrell: Touché, salesman.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Pfft. Wait 'til my man get one of them glass eyes. Then he be all Tiny Lister badass and shit.

Jonathan Rhine: I'm pretty sure that's not a glass eye.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I'm pretty sure you got half the perception of a motherfucker like me...no offense.

Jonathan Rhine: How do I NOT get offended by that?

C.P. Cantrell: Alright, guys. Jon, there's a reason I asked you to be here.

Jonathan Rhine: And it wasn't to talk about how I could rock the Deebo look?

C.P. Cantrell: No...not entirely. I wanted you to meet Lisa...and I wanted to see if you're interested in joining PRIME full-time.

Jonathan Rhine: I...huh?

Cantrell leans forward and folds his hands on his desk. Lisa stands back, one hand on the producer's chair, and picks up what he's putting down.

Lisa Tyler: Jon, the buy-rates for Colossus were amazing. As soon as the Board of Directors saw the overnights for Night One, they told Blaine one thing: Get Rhine signed to a deal.

C.P. Cantrell: We've got the cash and we've got the roster spot...even with this surprise new guy Lisa dropped in my lap.

Lisa Tyler: Hush.

Rhine fidgets in his seat uncomfortably, looking back and forth between Lisa to C.P. The reaction is somewhat less than maybe what they had expected.

Jonathan Rhine: Guys...Thanks, I really mean that, thanks. I just don't know...SCCW has really been home to me.

C.P. Cantrell: A broken home, if you ask me. Lisa tells me that Smitty was a PRIME guy once, and he and the folks over there really built it up to be a powerhouse. But in the short time you and I have known each other, SCCW's treated you like shit.

Jonathan Rhine: Not SCCW. Desade. Aimz.

C.P. Cantrell: Neither of whom have full-time deals with PRIME on the table.

He slides a stack of paper - a contract, presumably - across the desk to The New Life.

C.P. Cantrell: Unlike you.

Rhine picks up the contract and scans the top sheet. The opportunity to leave his non-stop torture at the hands of the Dead Man's Hand was worth consideration, but he knew better than Cantrell - such an escape was a pipe dream.

Jonathan Rhine: Look-

"BOOOOOOM~!!"

Everyone whips their heads around as the hinges of Cantrell’s office door explode without warning. The slab of knobbed oak falling forward with an air of theatricality to reveal the formerly absent, more volatile elements of PRIME Mgmt.

Three things instantly incriminate the Admin Star: 1) his extended bare foot; 2) the cases of beer in his arms; 3) Sonny’s finger jabbing at the side of his head, the Sports Entertainment Liaison’s face awash in blame.

Nova: HAHAHA!! "BOOOOOOM~!!" Love how it…how it does…that…

C.P., Tyler, Dam and Rhine stare at him blankly.

Nova: Oh come off it, I’ve had a bit to drink. Chuck, your door’s having some problems.

C.P. Cantrell: So I saw. We’ve got serious business to handle in this room, Nova. (Shifting eyes to Sonny) Mr. Silver. Do you boys think you…

Nova: Saynomore, saynomore!

The Admin Star spins on a heel, cracking his neck and straightening the tie of his seersucker suit.

Nova: (To Sonny) How do I look?

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: Lookin’ good.

Nova: FEELIN’ good.

Nova plops down into one of the chairs at the small conference table on the other side of the office from C.P.'s desk. He pops open a beer bottle via the underside of the table, holds out his arms and stares up at C.P. with his best-mustered sincerity as Silver tosses Dam a beer in the background.

Nova: All business, baby. All business. Talk to me.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Don’ really drink much, Boss.

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: You open that before I start pelting you with them.

C.P. Cantrell: (Turning to Sonny, gesturing at Nova) *Sigh* Guess there’s no chance that after we slap you in the Hall of Fame you disappear for eight or nine months like he did, huh?

The loud, lip-rippling belch Silver offers after a swig of his brew is a sufficient, if coarse, response.

C.P. Cantrell: You got some…suds in your beard, there…

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: Speaking of, No-Beard, you want me to beer you?

Jonathan Rhine: (waving him off) I'm good.

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: Too good, that's why...

He trails off and taps under his own good eye, letting out a low whistle. Cantrell and Nova both cringe slightly...then look to Rhine for a response.

Lisa Tyler: Ohmigod, is the whole lost eye thing taboo to NO ONE? Jon, I'm sorry-

Jonathan Rhine: I spent a month feuding with Xavier Kannon. None of these guys can sink lower.

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: Is that a challenge, Mr. Hates Left Turns? (to Cantrell) Why is he still here?

C.P. Cantrell: I was thinking the same thing about yo-

Nova: Nevermind WHY, let's get down to brass tacks. (Lighting a cigarette) This eye-patch thing is tooooooooootally out. You need to think about a glas-

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Already hit him, Boss.

Nova: You name-drop Tiny?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Mama F ain't raise no fool.

Nova: FUCK YEAH! ZEUS that shit!

The Admin Star and the Head of Security exchange a high-five, and the Admin Star instantly recoils, dropping his cigarette on the table as his free hand hovers delicately over his right shoulder blade.

Nova: (Air whistling through his teeth) Sorry...tattoo's still a little sore.

The room falls silent as attention goes to the former Universal Champion...no, not him, the other one...no, the OTHER one. As Nova removes his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, the rest of the Cabinet - along with their guests - exchange uncomfortable looks.

C.P. Cantrell: You...you actually got the tattoo?

Now Nova's eyes grow as wide as everyone else's and recognition sets in.

Nova: You guys didn't?

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison To PRIME: Dude... tattoos are for, like, metrosexual boy band kids and atypical OVW wrestlers. Don't you think we all would have gone to the same parlor?

Nova: I thought we WERE at the same parlor. (Looking wide-eyed to Dam) YOU were there. (Turn to CP) YOU were there. (Now Sonny) YOU were there. (Back to Dam, whispering and pointing at Lisa) She was DEFINITELY there.

*LOW FIVE*

*LISA TYLER HEEL STOMP*

Nova: HOOOOOOOWWWLL!!

Jonathan Rhine: That was…actually the first "howl" I’ve ever heard that sounded the way it’s spelled.

C.P. Cantrell: *Sigh* PRIME Management…the best and the brightest.

Nova: SHE DREW BLOOD! (Glaring at Lisa) I’m barefoot, you crazy bitch!

Lisa Tyler: Believe me, I smelled as much as soon as you walked into the room. You gonna show us what the hell you did to yourself after the show in Daytona?

Nova: FINE. You’re a frosty one, LT. Ohhhh, but you are a frosty one.

The Admin Star finishes removing his shirt and inspects the bandage on his shoulder. It's hanging off by a few corners of adhesive, so he mans up, bites his lip, stares up at the ceiling, and pulls the whole thing off with one swift movement.

Nova: Sheeeeaaahhhhhh...so...how does it look?

He turns his back to the crowd so they can see the body art, and once again eyes around the room go wide.

Lisa Tyler: Uh...what exactly did you ask for?

Nova: HA~! Someone give the Rhodes Scholar here a book of MYTHOLOGY. Those are Centaurs, Leese. Half-man, half-horse, the best halves of each! Totally ILL. Yeeeah. And they’re on my back FOREVER! HOOAH!!

C.P. Cantrell: Ahhh…Nova?

Nova: I FUCKING LOVE CENTAURS. OH YEAH!

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: Hey, Nov…

Nova: Fuck a satyr! Fuck a Minotaur! It’s goin’ DOWN in Fantasy Lan-

Lisa Tyler: I know what a centaur is, you buffoon! And I don’t see any on your back.

Nova: Yeah? Well, there’s a LensCrafters two blocks over, LEESE. Get packin,’ ha, ha, ha! Sonny, how is it? Is it sweet?

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: I…ahhhh…hmmm…it’s…not really…

Nova: (Sweating) What? WHAT THE FUCK, MAN? TALK TO ME.

Suddenly Nova has a flashback.

A fat white man with long curly black hair sits on a stool next to the chair, a drawing needle humming in his hand.

Tattoo Artist: Ummm…are you, like, sure you’re not too drunk to do this?

Nova is passed out in the chair face-down and shirtless, snoring loudly, one arm hanging down to the floor clutching an empty plastic cup. His other hand grips a wad of bills. The tattoo artist looks him over, shrugs, and goes to work.

Lisa Tyler: I’m gonna level with you, Nova. It looks like you have a vagina tattooed on your back.

Nova: WHAT?!!

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: You have a pussy on your shoulder, bro.

Nova: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME: I wanna have sex with your shoulder, is really what I’m getting at here.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I’d hit it.

Nova: I…WHAT THE FUCKING…

C.P. Cantrell: Nova, put your shirt back on. Jesus.

Nova: But…THIS IS NOT OKAY!!

C.P. Cantrell: Just…put your shirt back on.

The Admin Star quickly pulls his undershirt over his shoulder. Panicked, he looks around the room for support and finds none. He turns his back to the crowd to button up his dress shirt...then realizes that's a bad approach and turns around to face front. Once again, all eyes snap from his shoulder to his face, then awkwardly around the room. Trying to change the subject to something more palatable, Lisa turns back to Rhine.

Lisa Tyler: So listen, Jon, if you have any questions about that contract-

Jonathan Rhine: Yeah, I've got a question.

He pauses, eyes...er, eye - alternately blinking or staring at Nova.

Jonathan Rhine: If you THOUGHT you were asking for a centaur...what could you possibly have said for the guy to think "vagina"?

Nova starts to say something, then stops, suddenly contemplative. Everyone else in the room has the same reaction, thinking they had the right answer and simultaneously realizing they didn't. As the entire room is in awed silence, we quickly cut away, leaving the audience to ponder the same question.

Earlier today...

Miranda O'Reily is often a busy woman.

Despite being the second-youngest member of the roster (her brother, Connor, was born shortly after she was), she is commonly seen working harder than a lot of people. Mostly, this is because Miranda is having to keep tabs on the two members of the Princes of New England at most times. Fortunately for her, she got a bunch of Enemigos to keep an eye on the Princes while she runs a quick errand back to the car in order to find Connor's ring gear, which he apparently left in there.

Idiot.

Miranda often wonders if what she does every day could be considered slave labor and if she could get her brother locked up for it, because at least he wouldn't be in near as much trouble in prison as he would be out of prison and without supervision. Sure, she gets paid enough to make pretty dresses and show them off to people, like the flowy pink and purple one she's wearing right now, but she often hates the demeaning parts about her job.

Today isn't going to be much better.

"SIR, I ASSURE YOU, I HAD THAT CANADIAN FILTH WHERE I WANTED HIM! HOW MANY TIMES CAN I APOLOGIZE TO YOU?!"

Miranda O’Reily stops in her tracks when she overhears the unmistakable patriotic voice of PRIME’s own Captain Justice still begging for forgiveness. Around the corner, she spots Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME calmly taking in everything the Americanimal can say. Letting out a huff, and sporting a manila folder in his hand, Silver sighs.

Silver: Captain, I laid the groundwork for months. You hung Killean Sirrajin like the criminal he was. You spent too much time NOT working over that throat of his at Colossus and gaining the victory!

Captain Justice: Sir… I shan’t make excuses anymore. I know where I failed, but I assure you, Mr. Silver… there won’t be a next time for failure.

Silver: Oh, you’re very right, Captain. There shan’t be any more next times.

Miranda shrugs her shoulders, but realizes she'll have to walk past the two of them to get to her destination. Trying not to make a spectacle of herself, Miranda approaches the two of them and attempts to walk past.

There is no walking past Mr. Silver, Sports Entertainment Liaison Of PRIME, without getting noticed.

Silver: Ah, Ms. O’Reily!

She snaps her head in the direction of The Sports Entertainment Liaison of PRIME, who smiles at his charge.

Silver: See, Captain Justice, I am not a man that harbors grudges. I’m not a man that hangs onto the past. I let things go, and move on, simple as that. Colossus V simply wasn’t your night. But, sir, I’m afraid you’re in dire need of some direction.

Even masked, it’s clear to see that Captain Justice doesn’t understand.

Captain Justice: Sir, speak sense.

Silver: See, you need some new motivation. Motivation I can’t give. See, as of this weekend, I’ve become a Hall of Famer. I’ve transcended this business and now, I’ll be remembered forever as the immortal entity that I am. So what I’ve went ahead and done is given you new direction.

Captain Justice: I don’t understand.

Miranda O’Reily: And how does this involve me?

Silver: Because, my dear, Miranda…

He forcefully puts the manila folder in her hands, nearly knocking her back a foot or two. Stumbling backwards, she looks inside as Captain Justice raises his hands in confusion.

Silver: …as of this moment, you, Ms. O’Reily, are Captain Justice’s new manager.

Miranda and Captain Justice: (exchanging glances): WHAT?!

An evil smirk crosses the face of The Eighteen Million Dollar Man.

Silver: Captain, as I’ve said before, you need direction. You, Ms. O’Reily, need more thoroughbreds for your stable of athletes. I’m sure that you, Captain, Miranda, Connor and Simon Knox will all be one, big, HAPPY family. Ta!

Still in pure disbelief, CJ extends a hand as his now former mentor turns around the corridor without so much as another word.

Captain Justice: Wait, sir! This is a MISTAKE! A MISTAKE! YOU CAN’T PAIR ME UP WITH THEM!!! THEY’RE LOSERS!

Mr. Silver, however, either can't hear Captain Justice's pleas or won't hear them. Miranda O'Reily sighs and stares long and hard at the manilla folder now in her hands, before looking up at Captain Justice.

Miranda O'Reily: This is unexpected.

Then she heard a strange sound from Captain Justice, a sound she once swore up and down that he'd never make. She looks at him oddly.

Miranda O'Reily: Are you... crying?

Captain Justice: (clearly crying) I'm not crying! Idiot!

* . *

A little later in the day, but still before the show starts...

Simon Knox and Connor O'Reily couldn't be happy at all tonight. Just two weeks removed from Colossus and they still have yet to prove their superiority over the tag division. In point of fact, they had been expecting to make a huge victory speech tonight, and instead, they look as they had been before Colossus: Without gold around their waists.

So, needless to say, they're unhappy.

Thankfully, that makes them kinda quiet today. Perhaps they've been humbled in some way. Perhaps they see the error in their ways, and are now ready to see the glorious light of being on the side of good, justice, and not being total pricks.

Simon Knox: I hate West Virginia.

Maybe not.

Connor O'Reily: Why's that?

Simon Knox: It's like... Virginia, but it wants to think it's too good to be PART of Virginia. So they broke off, and nobody has the brain cells to name it something cool, like "Xanadu" or "Celticland", so they just call it "West Virginia" like a bunch of dumbshits.

Connor nods, he doesn't exactly seem like he's in the mood to be as bitter about everything as Simon clearly is. After all, the duo known as the Princes of New England actually have more important things to worry about than lamenting on their collective antipathy for all things not New England. For one thing, they have a match with Tyler Rayne and some nut with a pineapple fetish. For another thing, they feel they have to win said match if they want to gain another title shot against Team VIAGRA.

So, needless to say, what happens next sort of throws the whole thing for a loop.

Miranda O'Reily walks into the Princes' locker room, a small bag slung over her left shoulder and a manilla folder in her right hand.

Miranda O'Reily: You two aren't going to BELIEVE what just happened to me.

Simon Knox: VIAGRA didn't drop more tar on you, did they?

Miranda O'Reily: No. Why would you think that first?

Simon Knox shrugs. He's sort of reaching for any excuse to go punch High Flyer in the mouth.

Miranda O'Reily: I ran into Mr. Silver, and... well... he gave me this.

Miranda holds up the folder. Connor, curious as to what it is, quickly takes it from his twin sister's hand and examines the contents for a second. His expression turns white, he has this amazingly speechless look on his face, and after a pause, he looks over at Simon in particular.

Connor O'Reily: It's... it's a contract.

Simon Knox: You didn't sign on for the epic revival of the PRIME Undisputed Amy Dumas Memorial Jizzbang Championship of the World division, did you?

Connor O'Reily: Dude. It's Captain Justice's contract.

If it's at all possible to do a spit-take without even drinking anything, Simon Knox just did it.

Simon Knox: What? How? When?

This is about when Captain Justice sheepishly walks into the Princes' locker room, looking like a lost puppy who's been abandoned by his master and is being taken in by a newer, much kinder owner who happens to also have asshole dogs. And yes, we are comparing everybody here to dogs. Except Miranda. She's sweet. Anyway, Captain Justice looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

Simon Knox: Why the hell did you take his contract? There's perfectly good garbage bins for that! Here! Let me show you!

With that statement, Simon Knox takes the folder from his tag team partner, marches straight to the garbage can in the corner, and dumps the folder in there. Captain Justice sees this and runs epically towards the trash can as if he's going in slow motion.

Captain Justice: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Justice reaches the trash can and manages to pull the manilla folder out.

Captain Justice: No! Stay together! Don't succumb to the Mountain Dew! It's toxic, but nothing you can't handle!

Simon Knox stares at his older brother as if he's on drugs, and then looks at Miranda O'Reily.

Simon Knox: You're serious, aren't you?

Miranda O'Reily responds by walking over and taking the folder from Captain Justice's hands. She breathes a sigh of relief when she notes that there really isn't any Mountain Dew on the folder and that her new charge is, in fact, going crazy from the sudden change in managers. She sighs and looks at the two brothers, while Connor O'Reily simply relaxes back and watches the fireworks.

Miranda O'Reily: Very serious.

Simon Knox: You expect me to work, in some way, with this gimp? Come on, Miranda. He wears an American flag on his head. No sane person does that.

Captain Justice: You k--

Miranda O'Reily: (interrupting) Yes, Simon! I expect you to work with him, because I'm fairly certain I'm going to be the only person in this roster who'd take Mr. Justice's contract! You know the number of people who trusts Sonny S--

Richard: MR. SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIAISON OF PRIME!

Miranda O'Reily: (not skipping a beat) --ilver can be counted with one hand, he should be lucky that I'm nice enough to take his contract at face value!

Captain Justice: Which I appreciate, bu--

Simon Knox: (interrupting) Do you know how many times I've argued with this clown now, since we got onto the roster? Countless times. The only reason why I haven't snapped yet is because I didn't see him often enough to snap. Now, I'm gonna see him so many times that I'm gonna see this motherfucker in my dreams and he'll STILL suck. Thanks a lot, Miranda! Thanks a god damn lot!

Captain Justice: I think you're overrea--

Miranda O'Reily: (interrupting) What? You think you're the only person on the roster with family problems? I have to look out for my brother, on top of making sure you're not being a horrible influence on him, and I figure somebody who's actually responsible, like Mr. Justice, can help with that.

Captain Justice: Wait, are you hiring me to babys--

Simon Knox: (interrupting) Are you hiring this guy as a wrestler or as a fucking babysitter?

Captain Justice: I was going to say th--

Miranda O'Reily: (intterupting) Right now, I'm just content on having him help me! Something you two should think about when you send me on freaking errands to find things that are actually important for this profession!

As if making a point, Miranda flings the bag containing Connor O'Reily's ring gear at him, forcing him to dodge it by falling out of his comfortable position and looking like a total idiot doing so.

Captain Justice: He actually left his ring ge--

Simon Knox: (interrupting) Hey, it's not *my* fault that Connor left his ring gear, don't take it out on *me*.

Captain Justice: But you could have remi--

Miranda O'Reily: (interrupting) *YOU* could have gone to get them! Or better yet, the moron who left them in the first place! But you sent ME! And I got a contract out of it! Maybe Connor should leave things behind more often! Maybe I'll end up with the whole freaking roster under contract to me by the end of it!

Captain Justice: I don't think you could financially support more than just u--

Simon Knox: (interrupting, looking at Captain Justice) Jesus Christ, would you shut up? I'm trying to have a conversation here.

Captain Justice: A losing one, like usual?

Simon Knox: Exactly how much canvas did you kiss after you lost to Killean?

Captain Justice: No more canvas than you kissed in your unsuccessful venture in the tag ranks.

Simon Knox: Yeah? We'll see about that after I kick the crap out of Tyler Rayne and the pineapple freak later tonight.

Captain Justice: Rayne? Pfft. Been there, done that.

Simon Knox: And gassed out when it mattered.

Captain Justice: Are you batting .500 yet? I can't tell because of all of the sucking you tend to do when I'm not around to carry you.

Simon Knox: Silver's not around any more. What are you going to do without his tits to suck on?

Captain Justice: Well, I apparently have Miranda now.

Miranda O'Reily gets a partially disgusted and partially mortified look on her face. She takes the manilla folder containing Captain Justice's contract and smacks him over the head with it. Justice doesn't sell it, but he's clearly shocked by the action. Then Miranda turns and smacks Simon Knox with the folder, causing him to stumble back a bit, mostly in surprise.

The folder is now bent, but Miranda doesn't seem to care too much and simply tucks it under her arm.

Miranda O'Reily: Okay, look, I really couldn't care less how much you don't care for each other at this point. All I know is that my stress level is at uncomfortable levels and your bickering's not helping me. Captain?

Captain Justice: Yes?

Miranda O'Reily: Until further notice, at least until you can get along with Simon at some reasonable level, you're going to act as our bodyguard.

Captain Justice: (not grasping it) Excuse me?

Miranda O'Reily: These two have a tendency to anger pretty much whole crowds of people. We've endured crowds trying to lynch us simply because they like to announce their hatred and contempt for pretty much every place they go to that isn't in New England. And when our security team consists mainly of multiplying masked Mexicans who cower at the first sign of trouble... that's when we probably need our own muscle. I know it's demeaning work for somebody who just had a big match at Colossus, but I have my hands full with these two as it is. I can't realistically manage you in any capacity other than your helping me with these two.

The Captain merely hangs his head in shame.

Captain Justice: This is all because I failed to defeat that no-good Canadian scum, isn't it? That's why Mr. Silver abandoned me.

Simon Knox: I'm sure it's because you fail in general.

Captain Justice: I don't want to hear that from *you*, you failure at life.

Miranda O'Reily: Mr. Justice...

Captain Justice: Captain Justice. I didn't spend years fighting evil just to be called "Mr." Justice, you know.

Miranda O'Reily: (dryly) Captain Justice. (normal voice) Mr. Silver is the sort of person who looks out for himself rather than for the good of the people he's working with. He probably assumes that now that he's been immortalized as a Hall of Famer, he has no more need for you. The fact that you faltered at Colossus only gave him the excuse to put you in my hands. (pause) I know I'm stern and might not seem nice, but I'm keeping you employed here out of my own kindness. I don't think anybody else would keep you around, you've made more than your fair share of enemies under Mr. Silver's direction.

Captain Justice hangs his head in shame... she sure as crap was right about that.

Miranda O'Reily: So, that's it. Try to get along. I need to get a drink.

With that, Miranda O'Reily steps away from the staredown between the two brothers, and leaves the room.

* . *

Twenty minutes before the match with the Princes facing Dawkins and Rayne...

Miranda O'Reily, after having dropped off the contract with C.P. Cantrell and letting him know about what's happened with Captain Justice, followed closely with an animated conversation about the Princes of New England and how they act, Miranda finally returns to her locker room.

There, she sees Captain Justice literally covered in flour, with a bag of the stuff over his head, and rather than doing the smart thing and taking the bag off of his head, he's trying to chase a mocking Simon Knox who's trying to sucker his big brother into running into a nearby wall. Meanwhile, Connor O'Reily isn't even paying attention, he's got his headphones on and he's listening to some obnoxious punk music.

Miranda sighs upon entering the room, as she hears Captain Justice shout to the sky.

Captain Justice: You coward who hides in the dark! Come out and face me!

Miranda smacks her own forehead with the palm of her hand.

Miranda O'Reily: I wish I was old enough to drink alcohol...

The familiar pre-segment montage for Odds Makers pops up on the screen, prompting a pop from the crowd (+1 for me for using "pop" twice in the same sentence but with different meanings). The camera then fades to a shot of Bryan Dawkins, who now has a pineapple headdress on, along with his orange and aqua 3D glasses.

Bryan Dawkins: Time for Odds Makers, hosted by the guy who should give me a win just for having to co-host with this guyliner-wearin’ bruh over here, Anthony Joseph "I made you, I can DESTROY you" Reali…

Wait, what?

Bryan Dawkins: Okay, so Reali’s not really here, but we’ve got the next best person.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian points off-screen, and the camera quickly pans over to a shot of LINDSAY TROY standing by a chalkboard holding the Odds Maker topic cards.

Lindsay Troy: So I finally vanquish The Crazy after months of her incessant yammering and face-stealing and kookiness, and not only do I not get 90 seconds of discussion about it, but I get relegated to the Reali role? Christ, Rayne doesn't even WATCH PTI and you two jackasses let him hijack "Five Good Minutes."

Devin Shakur: Don't push it Troy, you are lucky you even got some pub on this show after we tore it up on the ATH market.

Lindsay Troy: I hope you poke your eye out with your mascara wand, Emo. Anyway, (she slaps the first topic up onto the board) chances of said Emo winning the Universal Title back prior to 2009.

Bryan Dawkins: Honestly, bruh—

Lindsay Troy: (interrupting) I’m NOT a "bruh."

Dawkins, mildly frightened, resumes.

Bryan Dawkins: --It all depends on who’s got the title at the time. If it’s Tsonda, I’m givin the Commie Emo a ZERO. If it’s anyone else, I give him a fifteen percent chance. Don’t be biased, bruh.

Devin Shakur: I'm giving myself a 100 PERCENT CHANCE! Rayne is too tied up with the Five Star belt and I've beaten pretty much everybody else in contention. All I gotta do is drop a Tet Offensive on Tsonda, BIM BAM BOOM, SOUTHSIDE, and I got the belt back.

Bryan Dawkins: (coughing) CHOKE!

Shakur sneers at the Hawaiian.

Bryan Dawkins: What, bruh? I got some pineapple stuck in my windpipe. Gimme a break.

DING!

Lindsay Troy: Surprised Emo didn't go with One Million Percent to go along with that inflated sense of self-importance. (Marks down the scores). Alright, let’s see. Chances Jimmy Bonafide wins a match in 2008.

Dawkins stares blankly at the camera.

Bryan Dawkins: Who?

Awkward silence.

Bryan Dawkins: No, seriously bruh. Who’s this Bonafide fellow?

More awkward silence.

Bryan Dawkins: Well, since I don’t know who this bruh is, I’m gonna just have to drop the zero, BRUH!

Devin Shakur: Alright, I'm going to have to go with NEGATIVE 100 PERCENT. I mean come on, the milk cartons refuse to acknowledge that he's gone MIA because he sucks that bad. Dusk refuses to feud with him. DUSK! He'll feud with a broom if he thought he could have a chance to torture it for eight weeks. Hell, even The Broom itself wouldn't bother trying to sweep up this disgusting piece of roadkill off the PRIME roster. If ANYBODY ANYWHERE thinks this kid is going to win, I got Paris Hilton's virginity to sell you for CHEAP!

DING!

The camera cuts to Lindsay Troy, who is dumbfounded. Negative 100 percent?

Lindsay Troy: Uh, oooooh-kay. Negative 100 percent. Maybe Dev needs to stick with Around the Horn since he just canceled out his first score.

Devin Shakur: (looking around feverishly) Is Woody Paige here?

Lindsay Troy: No. Next, chances of Scarface and Wade, yeah I'm doing a combo one here, getting Universal Title shots before the end of 2008.

Bryan Dawkins: I gotta tell ya, bruh, Wade Elliott is scary, bruh. It's hard to argue him bein’ outside the mix since he's been a staple on the federation ever since steppin' in the place. I'm gonna give him an 85 percent chance. Big man. Hard head. Unstoppable. You'd know all about that, eh Wilbruh?

Devin Shakur: Go drown in a ditch.

Bryan Dawkins: As for Gamble, bruh, I know the guy's got some talent and he just came off beating Tony Rolo at Colossus, but I can't put much confidence into this guy. I'm going to go with 3.6 percent which is coincidentally his actual height. HA!

Devin Shakur: How many short Gamble jokes are going to be done in this place, seriously? Step in the ring with him and you'll see how big he really is. Now then, as for Elliott, I'm going to give him a 5 percent chance, because I'm going to get the next one around Great American Nightmare so that only leaves a couple legitimate opportunities. I suppose if Troy over here gets into C.P's office or gets him to sign some papers ala Nova then he could get in. As for Gambs, dude has deserved a shot this year. Come on, he just came off defeating a legend in Rolo so you know he's back in the saddle. I give him a 65 percent chance.

DING!

Lindsay Troy: Last one: Chances of Cozen ever showing her face in PRIME again after the mega Colossus loss to moi.

Bryan Dawkins: I gotta be honest with ya, bruh, Cozen is someone that I can't wrap my head around. "She's" got bout as much common sense as Charles Manson in his heyday, although the "chick" can wrestle I gotta say that much. Much as I hate to go against Troy over here, I think "she's" gonna show up, although I doubt she's gonna go after ya again. 100 percent.

Devin Shakur: I'm also going to drop a Wilt on this one also. Hey Cozen, I know what you want. I got what you want. I got what you need. The TWO EYED Jonathan Rhine mask, bought about seven of those the first week they were selling them in PRIME. Come on over after the show and I'll Rhine Rewind you all night long, WOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bryan Dawkins: I think I just threw up in my mouth a little, bruh.

Lindsay Troy: Ditto

DING!

Lindsay Troy: Well, that was a rousing game. But, I'm giving the win to Dawkins since Emo hasn't yet told me how hott my hair looks today. Oh, and because the joke du jour is him choking when the big spotlight is on him.

Cue dramatic victory music.

Bryan Dawkins: Sorry bruh, looks like yet again, you’re gonna fall short. Seems to be becoming a habit with ya, bruh.

Devin Shakur: RIGGED! THIS IS MORE FIXED THAN ONLINE POKER!

Bryan Dawkins: Shut up, Shakur, it’s Happy Time.

Devin Shakur: INJUSTICE! YOUR HAIR IS GONNA FALL OUT ONE DAY TROY AND I'LL BE THERE TO LAUGH!

With that, the Happy Time music fills the air and a smile forms on Dawkins’ face.

Bryan Dawkins: Happy Birthday to former Limp Bizkit front man Fred Durst. I think a while back he was bangin’ Christina Aguilera or somethin’ like that. Got any Limp Bizkit CD’s, Shakur? I know they’re not emo, but I figured it’s worth a shot.

Devin Shakur: You know I do it all for the waffles.

Beef: (appearing out of trash can) THE WAFFLES!

Devin Shakur: Happy Anniversery to Lou Gehrig. On this day back in 1938, you hit your 23rd career grand slam. A record that still stands to this day.

Bryan Dawkins: AAAAAAAAAAND FINALLY! Happy Trails to my co-host Devin Shakur’s Universal Title reign.

Dawkins pauses for a second.

Bryan Dawkins: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEAR THAT, BRUH?! HAPPY TRAILS TO YOUR TITLE REIGN! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Devin Shakur: This is just sickening. You know what, whenever you lose your first title, I'm going to do this to you for an entire ARC.

Dawkins shrugs.

Bryan Dawkins: Ah well, bruh. Right now, it’s worth it. (To Troy) STAT BRUH! What’d we miss?

Lindsay Troy: For the last time, Pineapple Express, I'm not a "bruh." I've got nothing specific, except to say that this whole idea was probably a mistake and a lawsuit waiting to happen. Here's hoping Ceeps got the clearance from Bristol for this shameless ripoff. And now, I'm off to get myself a Baby Dusk plushie.

Troy throws her stack of papers into the air, hops off the chair she was sitting in, and exits the scene.

Bryan Dawkins: Alright bruh, what’cha watchin’ tonight? Probably a Dashboard Confessional music video.

Devin Shakur: I'm gonna watch that match from 167 on repeat when I KICK YOU IN THE HEAD AND PIN YOU OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. HA

Bryan Dawkins: Hilarious, bruh. HILARIOUS.

Shakur: I don't really care but what are you watching?

Bryan Dawkins: Funny that you mention watching matches on repeat. I guess I’ll just pop in the tape from Colossus WHEN MY MENTOR CHANDLER TSONDA PINNED YOU AND TOOK THE UNIVERSAL TITLE OFF OF YOUR EMO ASS. HA x2!

Devin Shakur: Because you can never beat me you gotta watch someone else do it for you. Pathetic. Alright, we're taking a break but there's more PTI to come in about five seconds. SportsCenter ain't next because we ain't on ESPN. FUCK YA'S!

Dawkins pauses, takes a drink from Shakur’s flask, chases it with his pineapple juice, and goes on.

Bryan Dawkins: Alright bruh, time for the Big Finish.

Devin Shakur: Let's do it.

Bryan Dawkins: At Colossus, even with the help of DUI, Jimmy Bonafide managed to lose to Jason Natas and…prepare yourself, bruh…MEGA JOB. Is there any hope for this bruh?

Devin Shakur: Hell no. Since Colossus is over, anybody think this Bryan Dawkins clown is gonna stay relevant? Your wife and I bumped the ratings up for our segment, punk, not you. You’re DOOMED!

Dawkins ignores Commie Emo, and continues.

Bryan Dawkins: I mentioned Mega Job earlier. Congrats to them, because they’ve finally found a wrestler that actually lacks the ability of either one of them. That being said, if you combined the "abilities" of Mega Job and Jimmy Bonafide, you might actually get a decent jobber out of them, bruh.

Devin Shakur: Actually, I think if you combined Mega Job and Jimmy Bonafide...You could beat Dusk. Man, that guy has fallen on hard times since last year when...OH YEAH, I MADE HIM FAMOUS! HEY DUSK, KEEP CHASING THE AMBULANCE PUNK!

Ooh.

Bryan Dawkins: Since I know you’ve got this habit of lookin’ down on people, Shakur, I figured I’d bring this next name up, since he’s really the only guy on the roster who you can physically "look down" on. Gamble, holy shit, bruh…if you stood up in front of Troy, you’d probably be at the PRIME level to do some things that no one on the PRIME roster other than Tyler Rayne have done to her.

Devin Shakur: Chandler Tsonda has that Barack Obama feel to him since he's the hot fresh out the kitchen candidate who everybody seems to love because he can crack a joke and doesn't adhere to the old regime. I AIN'T DEAD YET PUNK!

Bryan Dawkins: And the guy who’s probably gonna get the next shot at Tsonda, the firecrotch of PRIME, Xavier Kannon is gonna be without his number one form of offense, because as of right now, I heard Cantrell is requiring all of Kannon’s opponents to wear protective eyewear while near the guy. Crazy, eh bruh?

Devin Shakur: Wow, no guyliner joke, I'm amazed. Killean Sirrajin has been around so long that John McCain came up to him the other day and said "Son, I think it's time for a career change." Think we'll ever be here that long?

Bryan Dawkins: Probably not, bruh. But speaking of guyliner, I heard you’re the only one who doesn’t have to abide by the Kannon rule. As long as you put it on extra thick, I hear Cantrell doesn’t care.

Devin Shakur: Breaking news, Nick Stuart went to USC over the weekend to watch a football practice and is questionable for 170. Apparently he got what 25 percent of the team has, JOCK ITCH! You ever get that, Dawkins?

Bryan Dawkins: Nah, bruh. However, I don’t think you’d know anything about that either, considering you don’t have the necessary "equipment" required to wear a jock.

All of a sudden, we have to cue those fucking women again in three…two…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Why? Because Tyler Rayne has made his second appearance in this monstrosity. He’s standing behind Dawkins, presumably awaiting his tag partner’s finish so that they can get to the ring for their match.

Bryan Dawkins: So bruh, it’s been…uh…good hostin’ this with ya. Do it again next year?

Rayne begins to tap his foot impatiently, followed by a quick glance to his wrist…where a watch would be, that is, IF Rayne wore those things.

Devin Shakur: I hope not.

Bryan Dawkins: I’d say there is more PTI coming up during SportsCenter, but we already did the Big Finish, so that kinda messes that whole thing up.

Rayne is still tapping his foot, and is apparently getting more impatient by the second.

Devin Shakur: Now I'm tossing it to...Rayne?

Rayne approaches Dawkins and grabs him around the back of the neck.

Tyler Rayne: You wanna toss my salad? What? C'mon, Hawaii. Vicious rumor goin' round the back that we've got a match.

Dawkins sobs.

Bryan Dawkins: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I HAVE TO DO THE SIGNATURE LINE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, BRUH!

Tyler Rayne: Oh for Hoyt's sake...

Rayne releases his grip on the Flyin’ Hawaiian, for even he knows the importance of the following phrase. Dawkins pulls out a small Canadian flag, and whilst waving it furiously, provides the following farewell.

Bryan Dawkins: Goodnight Canada.

Devin Shakur: Goodnight China.

And with that, Dawkins heads toward the ring with Rayne, and Shakur is left to presumably drink himself to death with what is left from his flask.

"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."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Never in the history of ever has an iconic song like "Cult of Personality" gotten such an immediately rotten response. Hell, usually people are up on their feet screaming like a bunch of crazies when the song pops on. It’s a classic. Unfortunately when it comes to PRIME, this Living Colour mega-hit has not been so positively associated. After all, it’s hard to think too positively when the song ushers out the presence of The Princes of New England. Talented tag team they may be, but none too highly regarded in the eyes of the fans.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the following TAG TEAM CONTEST is scheduled for ONE FALL. Introducing first… at a combined weight of FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO POUNDS… being escorted to the ring by MIRANDA O’REILY and CAPTIAN JUSTICE…. CONNOR O’REILY… …SIMON KNOX… … THE PRINCES OF NEW ENGLAND!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Princes step out onto the stage together in matching white tights. Neither of them pays an iota of attention to the screaming masses as they march down to the ring. Strategy seems to be the order of the day as both men are chattering between each other on the way in. Mirand O’Reily is making much less progress. She’s stuck up at the top of the stage, waving her arms as if trying to usher out a small child. That small child is actually one of the biggest men in PRIME… Captain Justice. Though he does trudge out to the ring in a dragged shuffle that could only be described as childishly dejected. Miranda looks exasperated at the attempts to coax CJ out to the ring.

Nick: Can’t say that Captain Justice looks all too thrilled to be coming out here right now.

Richard: Of course he doesn’t, Nick. How would you feel if you got demoted to bodyguard status for your brother?

Nick: Demoted? I’m not sure I’d call the occasional escort duty for one of PRIME’s toughest tag teams a demotion.

Richard: Captain Justice should be competing in that ring. Not standing outside it like some ridiculous tramp of a manager.

Nick: I assume you’re not referring to Miranda when you say that.

One iconic guitar riff replaces another. An orange and aqua laser show begins to dance across the ceiling of the Charleston Civic Center. All eyes turn to the stage, waiting for the arrival of The Flyin’ Hawaiian. The crowd is on their feet throwing up the ‘hang loose’ along with the song.

WOO HOO!!

Vince Howard: And their OPPONENTS… introducing first… from HILO, HAWAII… he weighs in at a lean, mean TWO HUNDRED AND TWO POUNDS… THE FLYIN’ HAWAIIAN… BRYAN DAWKINS!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Princes of New England stand poised and ready in the middle of the ring. Their eyes are focused on that stage as they anticipate the arrival of their opponents. Captain Justice is pacing ringside like a caged Americanimal. Miranda turns her attention toward the source of the crowd’s outburst, and in doing so discovers something not everyone has quite caught onto yet.

Nick: Bryan Dawkins is coming down through the crowd! And Tyler Rayne is right behind him!

Miranda hops up on the apron to let the Princes know of the change in our regularly scheduled Hawaiian entrance. Now the whole of Charleston is turning their attention to upper mids, where Tyler Rayne has stopped to share a beer with smokin’ hotties in ‘We Heart Hawaii’ t-shirts. Bryan Dawkins is rocking out with some kids in the row below. All of them throw up a ‘hang loose’ and scream along with Blur vocalist Damon Alburn.

WOO HOO!!

Richard: Well aren’t those two just having a good ol’ time up there.

Nick: They certainly seem to be. Tyler Rayne is a force to be reckoned with in that ring. He’s proven it time and time again over the course of the past seven months. Outside of the ring, though, it’s just as hard to find someone that can keep up with the free love and wild party attitude of Tyler Rayne. He might have just stumbled into a close competitor for that attitude in Dawkins.

Richard: That’s awesome. I’m sure it’ll be a hellacious party at the hotel tonight when these two are celebrating a big fat loss to the Princes.

Nick: Counting this team out a little early, aren’t you, Rich?

Richard: What team? The only team I see in that ring right now are the Princes of New England. It’s unfortunate that such a talented unit got stuck in this match against a few overpaid high divers.

Nick: High divers?

Richard: Tyler Rayne and Bryan Dawkins have both made names for themselves by doing all those flips and spins and splashes that stupid little smarks with no sense of tradition think are "exciting." Well, I don’t know about you, Nick… but flip and splash sound like high dive terms to me.

In the ring, Elvis Nixon is putting a last minute spot check on all the elements. He’s got his hands full with six people out here to keep an eye on. The teams get settled in their corners and Nixon motions for that bell.

Ding! Ding!

Nick: Looks like we’ve got Bryan Dawkins and Connor O’Reily starting this one off. Ya know, Rich, Connor’s been known to pull off a few of those flips and splashes in the ring, too.

Richard: So?

Nick: So…

Richard: So nothing. Connor O’Reily is awesome by association. His tag team partner is one of the Knox brothers. And as we all know, Mr. Silver himself saw fit to adopt one of the Knox brothers as his own protégé. Which means that Connor is obviously smart enough to fashion his career after one of the greatest Universal Champions PRIME has ever seen. He’s following in the silver footsteps of a true great, Nick. And intelligent moves like that are what excuse him from being chastised for poor wrestling acumen.

Nick: You have a very skewed view of the world, Rich.

Richard: It’s called reality. Feel free to come join us any time.

Connor O’Reily and Bryan Dawkins are circling each other in the ring. Both are keeping a low vertical base as they lunge at one another with weak attempts at grabs. Feeling each other out. Both rise upward at the same time, meeting center ring for the collar-and-elbow tie-up. Connor uses his slight weight advantage to press down on Dawkins, putting the Hawaiian down on a knee. Connor moves right into the side headlock, cranks on the vice a few times, and immediately spins to Dawkins’ back.

Nick: Connor locks the full nelson. Not a particularly favored move of his. Could be going for a Dragon Suplex here…

If so, that’s a ride that Dawkins’ doesn’t want to take. He slides out of the full nelson like a child slipping from his parent’s grasp. All the way down to the mat Dawkins rolls back, putting his boots to Connor’s chest.

Nick: Looking for the monkey flip…

Little early for all that, says Connor O’Reily. He grabs Dawkins by the heels and pushes his legs away. Connor attempts to stomp right down on the Hawaiian’s sternum, but Dawkins grabs the boot and throws it upward. The sudden shift in balance might throw off a lot of people. Connor O’Reily is not one of them. He simply uses the momentum shift to execute a standing back flip. Dawkins catches the end of the flip as he rises to his feet. Connor lands deftly on his feet, looks right at Dawkins, and bows.

Richard: Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. It takes real talent to land on your feet like that.

Nick: Yes, Richard. I haven’t seen grace like that since the last time I watched a fourteen year old Chinese girl roll around on the mat.

Richard: … uh… What?

Nick: That didn’t… come out like I wanted.

Richard: Fourteen year old girls, Nick?

Nick: The Olympics! I was talking about the Olympics!

Dawkins closes the distance between himself and Connor in a nanosecond. The Hawaiian takes to the offense with a step-up enziguri that puts Connor right down on his face. Connor pops right back up, holding his nose, and turns around into a beautiful standing dropkick from Dawkins. Connor on the mat once again. Dawkins takes two steps and puts himself in the air, looking for the standing senton but Connor rolls out of the way. Dawkins sits up quick, but not quicker than Connor…

Richard: Dropkick to the face! Dawkins sat right up into that one!

Connor with the elbow drop but Dawkins rolls away. Both men jump to their feet. Right hand from Dawkins. Return from Connor. Dawkins. Connor. Dawkins. Connor. Connor. Connor blocks the incoming punch from Dawkins and cracks the Hawaiian with a vicious knife-edge chop.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Connor sends Dawkins into the ropes. Leapfrog from Dawkins. The Hawaiian off the ropes again. Connor drops in the splits forcing Dawkins to hop over him. Dawkins off the ropes again… Connor with the hip toss. Dawkins lands on his feet, spins quickly around. Connor ducks the clothesline but Dawkins is as quick a thinker as he is a wrestler. A rising boot catches Connor just under the chin and snaps him back up. Dawkins with the arm drag. Connor bounces off the mat and back to his feet. Dawkins with a second arm drag. The Hawaiian goes for the third but Connor lands on his feet. Spin back. Boot to the gut. Dawkins doubled over. Connor snatches him in the double underhook. Lift and…

Nick: Face first down on the mat!

Connor’s so fast he’s damn near finished the next move by the time Nick finishes his sentence. Connor leaping off the middle rope…

Richard: Springboard moonsault...

Nick: No! Dawkins got the knees up!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Connor is out on the mat holding his ribs. Dawkins shakes the cobwebs and pushes himself back up. Connor stumbles to his feet. Knife-edge chop from Dawkins.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A second knife-edge from Dawkins.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now Connor striking back with the chop.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dawkins.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Connor.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Richard: Knee to the gut. Connor O’Reily’s had enough of this ridiculous exchange.

Nick: Dawkins doubled over once again. Can Connor capitalize?

Richard: Of course he can, Nick. Watch this… DDT!

Absolutely drilled. Bryan Dawkins gets driven into the mat so fast and so hard that he immediately bounds back up from the sheer backlash of the DDT. Dazed and down on both knees, Dawkins is at the mercy of one half of The Princes of New England. Connor sees his opening and rushes off the far ropes, coming back for what looks to be…

Richard: Shining wizard?

Nope. Very similar, but instead of a kick, Connor wraps both legs around Dawkin’s head and sends him flying across the ring with a huricanranna.

Richard: Shining Steiner! Even better!

Nick: Connor with the pin…

ONE!!

TWO!!!

Nick: Dawkins pops the shoulder up!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Connor doesn’t waste any time pulling Dawkins back up, but Dawkins has a little more fight in him than expected. Out of almost nowhere, Dawkins snatches Connor super quick for the surprise roll-up.

ONE!!

TWO!!!

Nick: Connor O’Reily almost lost it there.

Richard: Oh come on, Nick. It’ll take more than a roll-up to beat Connor.

But not to throw him off his game. Connor is just surprised enough that he lets Dawkins slip through his fingers. The Hawaiian literally dives across the ring to slap the outstretched hand of his partner Tyler Rayne.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: And after a hell of an impressive exchange between Connor O’Reily and Bryan Dawkins… it’s time for the 5-Star Champion to show the world while he’s been damn near untouchable for seven months running.

Fortunately Connor is right there at his corner, so it’s nothing for him to tag in his partner. Simon Knox steps into the ring and sneers at the 5-Star Champion.

Nick: We know Rayne’s got some history with one of the Knox brothers here. Should be interesting to see what happens with Simon.

Richard: Usually I’d have to say that Simon would whoop his ass. But considering they both feel the same way about Captain Justice… they might just agree to go out and share a few Sam Adams.

In fact, that may be what they’re discussing right now as the two march across the ring to each other. If so, then Simon Knox is apparently not a fan of Samuel Adams beer, because he just straight out bitch slaps Rayne across the face.

Richard: Awesome.

Nick: That … probably wasn’t the best idea.

Rayne nods at Simon Knox. Even smiles. Simon goes for a second slap but Rayne catches him at the wrist.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rayne with a kick to the gut. European uppercut. Back elbow. Forearm to the face. Another. Another. Knee to the gut. Front facelock. Knee to the abdomen. Knee to the abdomen. Rayne throws Simon’s arm up over his head…

Nick: Vicious snap suplex from Rayne!

Rayne is back up…

Nick: Standing moonsault!

Up again. And this time from the other side… the other flip…

Nick: Standing Shooting Star! Rayne coming out hot here in this match! The cover…

ONE!!

TWO!!!

Rayne is off the cover quick. He puts some space between himself and Simon, letting the Knox brother push himself up on all fours. Rayne sprints across that space pretty quickly though, unleashing with a wicked soccer kick to the ribs of Simon Knox. Simon groans and rolls away, trying to retreat to a corner and catch himself a break. Rayne stalks right after him though. Simon is in the corner, both hands up to ward off the 5-Star Champion. Rayne just smiles as he comes in at Simon, who attempts a quick kick to the sack. Tyler catches the cheap shot, shoves the foot back down to the mat, and retaliates with a brutal head butt.

Richard: What the hell was that? Does this idiot think he’s in another bar fight again? Someone get in there and tell him this is wrestling.

Simon falls half conscious into the waiting arms of Tyler Rayne. The 5-Star Champion whips his opponent into the opposite turnbuckle. Rayne chases him in and…

Nick: Jumping knees to the chest! Rayne is all offense out here and Simon Knox has yet to even get out of the blocks!

Simon Knox staggers out of the corner looking like he has no idea where he’s at. Rayne hops up on the ropes all cat-like and jumps back at Simon…

Nick: Springboard DDT!

And that thing spikes Simon’s head off the mat. Like a lawn dart. Rayne hops to the top turnbuckle with the same ease he could get Angelica’s skirt off…

Nick: Split-legged moonsault!

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THRE--

Richard: I don’t think so, Rayne!

This time Rayne looks a little more frustrated than the last. He drags Simon up to his feet and shoves him hard into the corner. A few stiff forearms to keep him stunned before Rayne climbs up to the top and points out to the crowd.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rayne raises his right fist. Points out to the crowd. Points down at Connor. Flashes his smile out to the crowd. He looks down at ringside, right down at Captain Justice and winks before cracking Simon’s skull with the first punch.

ONE!!

And the second…

TWO!!

Third…

THREE!!

FOUR!!

FIVE!!

SIX!!

SEVEN!!

EIGHT!!

NINE!!

Rayne pauses for just a moment to relish that last punch. It’s a second too much. Simon Knox does the only thing he can think to do. The only thing left for him to do in such a position. He throws his head forward as hard as he can.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Richard: Head butt to the groin! I… don’t think I would have done that.

Nick: It may not be the most hetero move in the book, but it’s damn effective.

Sure is. Rayne’s rolling around on the ring mat like Lindsay Troy just tagged him in a hotel hallway. Simon Knox stumbles and damn near falls right into his corner, but manages the tag. Connor O’Reily comes rushing into the ring and sprints over to Rayne.

Nick: Running moonsault from Connor!

No pin, though. Connor drags Rayne up by the hair and whips him into the ropes. Leaping leg lariat puts Rayne back down on the mat hard. Connor pulls him up again. Whip to the Princes’ corner. Connor measures his dazed opponent and rushes in with baseball slide that takes Rayne out at the left ankle. Rayne drops face first to the mat and Connor reaches up for the tag. Simon groggily steps back into the ring and throws Rayne back into the corner. Some well placed back elbows keep the 5-Star Champion off his game. Simon sets Rayne up on the top turnbuckle and climbs up after him. Hooks the arm…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Superplex!

Tag back to Connor. Connor up to the top rope…

Richard: Guillotine leg drop! That’s some fine tag team wrestling right there.

Nick: Indeed it is. Connor with the pin.

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THRE--

Nick: Dawkins in for the save!

Richard: Good thing, too, because it looked like that one was over.

Elvis Nixon is making sure that Dawkins gets back to his rightful corner. Which of course means Simon Knox is going to sneak into the ring without making a tag. Connor slyly makes his way back out to the apron while Simon drops down on the mat and throttles Rayne with both hands.

Nick: C’mon, Nixon! Get on your game! That’s a blatant choke over there!

The ref comes back to chastise Simon. Knox releases the hold and tags Connor back in. Connor hops in and drops down to a knee. Simon pulls Rayne up, lifts him with a vertical suplex and…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Vertical suplex down across Connor’s outstretched knee. Rayne is in some serious trouble out here.

Connor pulls Rayne up once again. Looks like he might be setting for another Irish whip, but Rayne suddenly comes to life. A quick kick to the midsection and the double underhook. Rayne lifts Connor straight up and spikes him straight back down on his head with the piledriver.

Nick: Deathscythe out of nowhere! Rayne pulling out the big time desperation move there.

Now both men are laid out on the mat. Connor is the first one to stir but he’s too dazed to quite realize what’s going on. Rayne is slowly dragging himself over to his own corner. Simon Knox storms into the ring to help his partner get to his feet, but Elvis Nixon is right there to stop him. Simon doesn’t return to the corner without a fight, though. Nixon is literally pushing the Knox brother back into the corner. Rayne’s just a few inches away from Dawkins…

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Rayne got the tag! Rayne got the tag!

Dawkins is rushing across the ring like a Jamaican sprinter. Still, he’s only a split second too late to keep Connor from getting the tag to Simon. Unfortunately, Dawkins cannot stop his momentum, and since Nixon was over in that corner finally getting Simon back on the outside, it’s a collision of bodies that leaves both Connor and Nixon rolling to the outside of the ring in pain. Simon stumbles over the mess of two bodies trying to get into the ring, giving Dawkins the opening he needs. Two snap jabs put Simon on the defensive. Dawkins hops straight up…

Nick: Standing hurricanranna!

Simon pops up and spins back around. Dawkins catches him with an overhead belly-to-belly. Simon Knox staring up at the lights. Dawkins hops over him. Up to the second turnbuckle. The top…

Nick: Big moonsault from Dawkins!

The Flyin’ Hawaiian drags Simon Knox back up and whips him into the corner. Dawkins blasts him with the turnbuckle clothesline. Tag to Rayne. Rayne leapfrogs over the ropes, snatching Simon by the back of the head on his way down. Pulls him down into both knees.

Nick: Chestbreaker from Rayne! Simon Knox just can’t keep up with this high octane offense.

Simon tries to create some distance between himself and his opponents. Dawkins takes the tag and climbs to the top rope. Simon in center ring. Rayne grabs his own partner from the top rope and launches him across the ring…

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Cross body with the assist from Rayne!

Rayne hits the middle rope…

Nick: Springboard moonsault!

The 5-Star Champion back up. Jumps back. Finds the middle rope on the opposite side…

Nick: Springboard Shooting Star!

Richard: Doesn’t matter, Nick. He’s not the legal man! And even if he was, there’s no ref to count the pin!

Which is just fine, actually, because he’s not going for one. Rayne actually rolls outside the ring and helps Elvis Nixon back to his feet, practically dead lifting the ref back into the ring. Meanwhile, Dawkins is up on the top turnbuckle, about to do what he does best. It’s almost like a Shakespearian sonnet come to life it’s so goram beautiful. The Bryan Dawkins Shooting Star Press is like a classic work of art.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Hawaiian Hangover! That’s gotta be it!

Elvis Nixon is back in the ring. Tyler Rayne is back in the ring. Connor O’Reily is climbing back up to the apron. Rayne throws Nixon down on the mat where Dawkins has got the leg hooked for the pin. The ref looks up and sees the pin, but shakes his head no.

Nick: He’s refusing to count. Elvis Nixon is refusing to make the count!

Nixon stands up, still holding the back of his head. He shakes away the count. Rayne is arguing with him, but there doesn’t seem to be much for it. Nixon is making the universal tag motion with his hands and then shaking his head in the negative.

Nick: I don’t believe it. Nixon didn’t see the tag! He still thinks Rayne is the legal man!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: The fans letting Nixon know what they think about this.

Tyler Rayne can’t believe it. He turns and kicks the ring ropes in absolute frustration. Bryan Dawkins is up now, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Elvis Nixon is now chastising Dawkins and trying to usher him back to his own corner. Dawkins is arguing more vehemently than Rayne, but not with any better results. Rayne starts walking up to Nixon from behind, about to have some more words, but a low blow from Simon Knox puts all kinds of stop to that. Rayne staggers around the ring, holding his Dual Halos for the second time in this match. Connor sneaks into the ring just as Simon is bounding off the ropes. Rayne is trying to compose himself center ring. Connor with the chop block to that left knee from behind. Simon decimates the 5-Star Champion from the front with the Providence Knee Kick.

Richard: B-PICK, baby! Call it and print it! This one’s a wrap.

Simon scurries over Rayne for the cover. Hooks the leg. Connor dives over Nixon to catch Dawkins with the forearm. The two of them start brawling to the outside. Nixon turns and sees the cover…

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!!!

Ding! Ding!

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the WINNERS of this match… THE PRINCES OF NEW ENGLAND!!

Richard: Woop! Hells yeah! What did I tell you, Nick? A couple of no talent spot monkeys could never hang with a real tag team.

Nick: While I’m not sure I can agree with that, I do have to give The Princes credit. They just managed to knock off two of the hottest competitors in PRIME.

Connor O’Reily gets one last shot on Dawkins before turning tail and sprinting away. He meets Simon on the opposite side of the ring and The Princes of New England raise both arms in celebration. The Princes retreat backstage with their entourage in tow while Dawkins slides into the ring and tries to explain to a dazed Tyler Rayne what the hell just happened.

Nick: Another great match here on ReVolution number 1-6-9!

Richard: Cue gratuitous 69 joke!

No, Richard. Cue the lights going out as the Underground Pimp climbs to his feet again. This is not the showy entrance -- expect that this week. This is the PRIME*View, showing a green felt poker table. Unseen, black-gloved hands hold a deck of cards. The first is flicked onto the table, white and vivid against the green.

Eight spades shimmer darkly on the card.

Cue the music. Five Finger Death Punch: The Way of the Fist.

You want it, you got it - everything you need and more
You said it, I heard it - be careful what you wish for
Deleted, defeated - everything you've ever been
No mercy - it's the way of the fist

Voices and pictures. SCCW Temptation, April 25th. Eugene Ware, Best Color Commentator in the Business, and "Mr. Old School" Dave Gibson on commentary.

Jadian Bridden stands side by side with Lance Marshall (you'll remember him from "beating up Steven Christopher Holt on ReVolution a few weeks back), sharing the best "aw, shucks" grins in the federation. Perhaps in all of the PTC. Alanna Marshall claps for them nearby.

Gibson: Jadian Bridden and Lance Marshall -- Strength in Num--

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK!

Gibson: What the hell?

One of those grins goes dark as the other man's eyes go dark, falling to his knees.

Ware: YES!

Gibson: Bridden! Jadian Bridden just leveled Lance Marshall with one shot!

Ware: "Big Shot" Bridden!

Gibson: Bridden now stepping in beside the larger man! He's laying in those right hands with the -- those are brass knuckles! He's got goddamn brass knucks! Jay Bridden set up Lance Marshall!

Alanna Marshall is not ashamed to get physically involved in things. She steps in to grab Bridden by the shoulder and pull him off her husband.

But sometime right around here, Julissa Minorez remembered she was Reyna Preciosa, and a former LiveWire Champion.

Gibson: Julissa! Julissa back to the apron! Springboard! Moonsault back into the ring! She catches Alanna by the head and SPIKES the Hawaiian Lioness! She used to call that the Crowning Moment!

The move is violent in its rotation; Julissa hasn't performed it in competition for many years. She barely makes it over, and Alanna ends up skewered into the mat, staying vertical for a good half-second as the Mexican Minx slides off her.

Ware: How fitting a name!

Gibson: Bridden has Marshall -- running start and --

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK

Gibson: Straight shot! Straight, unprotected shot from the brass knucks to the top of Lance's head! The former two-time world champion has been busted open here at the hands of Jadian Bridden and --

Julissa Minorez reaches up and pulls the hairpins out of her light brown hair, shaking it out to tumble over her shoulders. She turns and she leaps into Jadian's arms. They kiss, all tongue.

And we're back to the poker table and the screamed lyrics.

Strapped with rage, got no patience for victims
Sick and tired of the whole fuckin' world
I don't remember asking you about your imperfections
You might win one battle, but know this:
I'll win the fucking war

Another card hits the table, this with a single club on its face.

More footage. All In, August 2nd, the Strength in Numbers title match between the champions, Andre Jensen and Sameer al-Jezuri, and the challengers, Katsidy and "The Big Stack" Phillip Kennedy.

As we join the action, Sameer seems quite intent on powerbombing the Big Stack through the canvas, and a series of hard though largely ineffectual shots to the skull won't be stopping that.

What might be, however, as the official of record is leaning over the top rope, checking on the condition of Andre Jensen's injured knee, is Katsidy, slipping back over with the grace and speed of a, well, Kat.

Graceful and quick, yes.

Effective as sin, ditto.

Mr. al-Jezuri just figured that out, courtesy of the ever-dangerous Kitten Kick to the cajones.

Ware: I will wince in sympathy right about now.

One problem, though. Sameer remains standing, Kennedy perched on his shoulders, still throwing wild punches to try and dislodge himself. Katsidy looks disbelieving for a moment, but winds up, and delivers a second kick below the belt, harder than the first one. She doesn't give him a chance to fall, a third and fourth following. This time, the giant buckles, dropping to his knees, and Kennedy leaps down from his shoulders back to his feet. For good measure, Kennedy winds up, and delivers a hard left hand square to the giant's package

Gibson: THAT'S FIVE! FIVE LOW BLOWS! The referee's still tied up with Jensen, but short of a Panzer tank, I don't have any clue how the hell Kennedy OR Katsidy's going to be able to finish off this mammoth of a man! Kennedy tried The Nuts earlier, to almost no effect!

The Big Stack measures the cut down to size Sameer al-Jezuri, stepping back into the ropes. As he does so, he leans backwards between the top and middle strands, using the middle rope as a sort of fulcrum to pick up momentum.

Gibson: The Hell is this?

Ware: Kennedy told me about this earlier! Said he's been keeping it tucked away for a tight spot!

Kennedy throws himself back upwards, the momentum from his swing between the ropes launching himself back to a vertical base. He takes two steps before CRASHING into the jaw of the near seven footer with an angry, ANGRY left-armed lariat! The blow is powerful enough to take even Sameer al-Jezuri off his knees, sending the big man crashing to the canvas.

Ware: ACECRACKER LARIAT, BAY-BEH!

Grabbing one of Jezuri's massive legs, Kennedy rolls into the cover, placing all of his weight across Sameer's shoulders. The referee still seems concerned with Andre Jensen's status on the floor, but all it takes is a whispered "come here, I've got something you should see" from the Sex Kitten to snap the official's attention right back.

When he turns, he sees Phillip Kennedy laying, improbably, atop Sameer al-Jezuri. Realistically, he figures that there has to have been SOME sort of impropriety going on.

But he can't prove it, and so he does his job of smacking his hand on the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

*DING DING DING!*

Ware: NEW SIN CHAMPS, BABY! And they did it clean, to boot!

Gibson: FIVE SHOTS to the crotch is clean?

Ware: By SCCW standards, yes~!

Step to me - step to me, motherfucker
Zip your lip - you've run out of time
Step to me - step to me, motherfucker
Talk the talk - now walk the damn line

And the poker table returns, a second ace hitting the table: the Ace of Spades.

And then a jump-cut to just a few weeks ago.

Mayhem reaches down and plucks the King Blueberry stocking cap (buy yours, still available for only $24.95 on shop.sccw.com!) and holds it over the Make-A-Wish patient Danny Lang's bald head as he jumps, trying in vain to grab it.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Mayhem: Here's your first lesson: It sucks to be the little guy.

Gibson: This is disgusting!

Mayhem holds the cap in the air, smirking as he looks out at the booing crowd. Doing so means he takes his eyes off the young boy, who uses this opportunity to run up and kick Mayhem square in the shin.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ware: Oh, this isn't going to go well for Danny.

Mayhem's previously jovial demeanor shifts, his nostrils flaring and the muscle at the side of his jaw bulging as he clenches it. He tosses the cap to one side and the mic to the other, letting it hit the mat with a loud THUNK and hiss of static. His massive hand shoots out, palming Danny's head, holding him for a moment before shoving him, sending the boy flying halfway across the ring.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Gibson: For the love of... Where is security? Why isn't anyone doing anything?

Ware: Because it's Mayhem, armed with a pair of metal crutches?

Speaking of metal crutches... Mayhem flips one, tossing it up so he's gripping it by the foot end. He raises it overhead as he steps forward...

Gibson: God, no!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And he swings, sending it crashing into Danny as he is trying to stand up. On one hand, it is a single handed swing, and Mayhem didn't have much chance to wind up. On the other hand, Mayhem is nearly six times the size of the boy, and it doesn't take much to flatten Danny out on the mat, nearly motionless.

Mayhem looks out over the crowd, narrowly avoiding being hit with a full cup of soda sent by one unhappy fan. What he does next isn't really strong enough to be considered a kick... but it is a lot harder than a nudge, his booted foot connecting with the prone boy, sending him rolling out of the ring to fall the three feet to the concrete floor.

The unseen dealer drops an eight of spades down.

Deserve it, you earned it
Got yourself a fuckin' war

These are going to come faster, so bear with us.

SIN on SPIKE: Katsidy shatters a long fluorescent lightbulb over the head of Alanna Marshall.

Believe it, you need it
Face down on the fucking floor

Snake Eyes: After weeks of masquerading as kindhearted Samantha Pierce, the Purple-Haired Puppeteer, Savant, cracks BloodAngel in the head with his own baseball bat.

I hate it - can't take it
Wanna break your fucking bones

Shot after shot after shot by the thin form of Mr. Hawke with his stone, hawk-headed cane.

center>No mercy, you faggot
Should have left it all alone

Words slam into the screen, big, bold, and the color of clotted blood.

NEXT WEEK - THE HAND IS DEALT

Still-frame shots of the Dead Man's Hand - you just met them. Jadian Bridden & Julissa Minorez. Phillip Kennedy. Mayhem. Katsidy. Savant. Hawke. A long, lingering shot of the pallid, alabaster face of Alexandra Pierce - Desade - their leader.

Strapped with rage, got no patience for victims
Sick and tired of your whole fucking world

ONE AMONG YOU FALLS

Rapid fire scrolling through the headshots of the PRIME roster -- everyone from Kaiser Vashaun and High Flyer to Beef and Torres Wilson. Staff members, wrestlers, jobbers, ring announcers -- no one is spared in the flip-book style run through the roster.

I don't remember asking you about your imperfections
You might win one battle, but know this:
I'll win the fucking war

LAY THE BLAME AT THEIR FEET

Still frame of Tyler Rayne and Lindsay Troy from SCCW Temptation, standing in the wreckage of Desade's desk.

Smash-cut to Desade's debut at FUSE on ESPN 2. The shot is in slow-motion, over the woman in the white pantsuit's shoulder. Duncan Drake is bound hand and foot to an iron crucifix, hanging from the arena ceiling. A button is pressed. The cables holding the cross to the ceiling snap, Drake's weight overbalancing it. The man on the cross is dropped to the arena floor, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor.

Pierce's smile never flickers.

One spoken phrase as the thrash-metal quiets -- it is the cold, cold voice of Alexandra Pierce.

"Good evening, PRIME. I do look forward to... meeting you."

And the house lights come up. Tyler Rayne stares at the PRIME*View...and he's kind of smiling. It's one of those "bring it on" smiles he does so well - and so often.

Nick: Alexandra Pierce -- Desade -- threatening to bring the entire Dead Man's Hand to ReVolution 170, next week in Pittsburgh! Based on that footage, Lindsay Troy and Tyler Rayne may have bitten off a little more than they can chew when Troy went to Cleveland to declare war.

Richard: There isn't a desk big enough for me to hide under.

Nick: The question is not whether Pierce will get her revenge -- but what form it will take?

He stands silently, exuding none of the apprehension or excitement you’d expect to see from a man on the night of his first ever Main Event contest. If Bryan Dawkins or Jimmy Bonafide where in this situation, they’d probably be bouncing off the walls right about now.

But not this guy. As detached and indifferent as ever, he drops a couple of quarters into the soda machine’s little silver slot before thumbing at one of the oversized, illuminated buttons. After a couple of seconds listening to the faint humming of the mechanical operations within the machine, he finally leans over and grabs the newly-vended drink. He pulls back on the ringpull before blitzing his pallet with a sharp burst of lemon and lime.

Natas: … the fuck?

It’s quite clear that citrus was not the taste Jason Natas was expecting, as his facial muscles tighten with confusion.

Natas: Ain’t no fuckin’ Cola.

Immediately he curses his decision not to check what button he’d pressed on the machine, but he keeps on drinking anyway. Dressed in a predominantly denim outfit and with a black bandanna tied around his shaggy, blonde locks, Jason turns his rugged frame around…

THUD!

Again his failure to pay attention costs The Anti-Superstar as his shoulder collides with that of a certain former Intense Champion, looking weary after his earlier loss to Union Jack. Not wanting to waste time exchanging pleasantries, Troy Douglas cuts right to the chase.

Douglas: Hey, open your eyes, would you?

Suddenly Jason’s choice of soft drink doesn’t seem to be bothering him much anymore. The sight of a former in-ring foe immediately brings forth a sneer.

Natas: Ahhh, sorry there Troy, didn’t recognise ya without the crimson mask.

Douglas: What the heck are you talking about?

Natas: Colossus. Saw ya passin’ out like the little fairy bitch I always said you were. Can’t even make it through a match with a guy who’s only been in the game for a couple of months without goin’ to sleep. Some fuckin’ "Intense" Champion you turned out to be…

Troy tenses at the mention of his match at Colossus, but gathers his composure quickly.

Douglas: I'm not proud of what happened at Colossus, Natas, but as far as I remember, I beat you to keep that title, whereas you teamed with MEGA JOB on the biggest show of the year. I may not have been conscious at the end of that match, but I was still as far away from Beef as humanly possible, so, moral victory.

Natas: If I were you I’d be keepin’ that big mouth ‘o yours shut, boy. Unless ya fancy eatin’ through a straw for the next couple of months. ‘Sides, last time I checked, I actually won at Colossus, even with a stupid fuckin’ circus sideshow double act tryin’ their utmost to screw everythin’ up. And who’s the one headlinin’ this here show tonight? Sure ain’t you.

Douglas: Oh, now Mister I'm Too Fucking Contrary To Care About Anything is bragging about being in the main event. Give me a goddamn break, Jason. Forgive me, but after Kaiser Vashaun, dealing with your odd caveman grunts are a walk in the park.

Managing to somehow restrain himself from smacking Douglas one in the jaw, Jason instead restricts his anger to balling a fist, clenching it until the knuckles turn white.

Natas: Those are some big words comin’ out yer mouth, boy, and ya know? I ain’t even been one for idle jibber-jabber; so how ‘bout next week, we settle this score once and for fuckin’ all.

Douglas: Really, Jason? Are you that eager to embarrass yourself in front of an audience of thousands for, what, the fourth time? I think I’ve already proven that I’m the better man here. Plus, I've got bigger goddamn things to worry about, like getting my fucking title back.

Natas: S’wrong, Troy? Ya ain’t… chicken, are ya?

The mere suggestion of this summons a belly laugh from Troy Douglas, who finds it impossible to hide his amusement.

Douglas: You’re kidding me, right?

Unfortunately, The Anti-Superstar isn’t. He keeps his steely glare focused firmly on the former Intense Champion, breathing heavily.

Natas: Think this is funny?

Douglas: Funny, no? Sad, hell yes. I went through a fucking war at Colossus, Jason. I bled buckets, I caused another man to bleed buckets, and in the end, no matter what Kaiser Vashaun did, he still couldn't pin me or force me to submit. And now you want to needle your way into one more crack at me? Trust me, Jason, there are far better men than you that I need to prove myself to.

The comment seems to take Natas aback, and he moves aside as Douglas slips a dollar into the vending machine. Troy waits a moment as the machine hums, then scoops a can from the dispenser, pops the top and takes a long, satisfying drink.

Douglas: Ah, there's the good stuff. I've got bigger fish to fry than you, Jason, and I'll do my talking to them inside the ring. Oh, good luck tonight, Mister Main Event.

Troy takes another step and calmly walks away, leaving the Anti-Superstar glowering in his wake.

Pretend you're Lindsay Troy for a minute.

You finally vanquish The Crazy after fourish months of hell that the Debil Woman and the two Fakies put you through. You also find out just who is pulling The Crazy's strings, and you proceed to crash (literally) into her office, whip out the Colbert On Notice Board and write her name into every slot. You're on the road to end this war that Alexandra Pierce started and you're quite happy in doing so.

So...why are you grumbling and scuffing your shoes down the hallway?

Troy (muttering): How the hell is this even possible? It's a friggin' stuffed...thing for Christ's sake.

Down the hall the Queen trudges, hands shoved into the pockets of her pants: a hot jeans number tonight, not THE pants. And while she's trudging along all muttering about who knows what (we'll let you guess, though), along comes a man who has been known to solve problems...and cause about a dozen more in the process.

"Don't grumble so much, Uni. It's very unbecoming."

Pretend you're Tyler Rayne for a minute. You are the pinnacle of success in your chosen field. Absolutely unrivaled by the legends and supposed "greats" of the business. You've elevated a second-rate championship to a status on par, (if not exceeding), with that of the most coveted prize in the wrestling world: The Universal Championship. Children look up to you. They run home and tell their parents "I wanna be like Tyler Rayne when I grow up." They're parents pretend to be appalled. Secretly, though, the father looks up to Tyler Rayne as much as his son. And the mother? She wishes she could look up to Tyler Rayne. You know, while she's down on her knees in front of him...

Oh, shit. Minute's up. Pretty fuckin' sweet piece o' pie, isn't it? You're gods damned right it is.

Tyler Rayne: Seriously... what's up your craw?

Troy looks sidelong at Rayne, then huffs in annoyance.

Lindsay Troy: I'm Lindsay Troy, right? Two-time Universal Champ. The Colossus Curse Breaker and still the only person to successfully defend the Uni title at Colossus. Hall of Famer, killer of The Crazy, sporter of R.O.C.S.,

Tyler Rayne: Ass so hot it sears corneas.

Lindsay Troy (smirking): That too. I get what I want, maybe not always when I want it, but 9.9 times out of ten, I get it. So why the shit can I not get a Baby Dusk doll?

Tyler Rayne: Because I am a marketing genius. Everyone but Dusk's mother wants one of those things. Can't keep the little fuckers on the shelves.

Lindsay Troy: They're sold out on the PRIME ShopZone, I just went wandering about the merchandising booths for one and they're sold out, and I got mobbed in the process, and I'm NOT getting one off eBay because the prices are getting into Red Sox Tickets Territory which is just RIDICULOUS.

Tyler Rayne: Well that does pose a problem. But fortunately for you...

The 5-Star Champion snaps his fingers loudly. The sound echoes down the hall, and with his non-nonchalant lean against the wall in full blown Fonz mode... well, the gesture couldn't get more ridiculous. A minute passes with Rayne smiling over at The Queen of the Ring. She, however, is less than impressed. And not so much with the patience tonight.

Tyler Rayne: Wait on it... wait on it...

The sound of thudding footsteps. Labored breathing. From seemingly nowhere, a Tsonda intern bursts around the corner and hands Tyler a black cloth bag.

Tyler Rayne: Thanks, nameless lackey type.

The intern nods and disappears from whence he came.

Tyler Rayne: Ya know, I always wondered why Tink kept those bastards around... but damn are they proving useful. Here.

He holds the bag out for Troy to take. She reaches for it, and he pulls it away. Again, she reaches for it and it's pulled away again. Troy scowls fiercely.

Lindsay Troy: I will knee you in the Golden Globes again if you don't let me have the bag.

Tyler Rayne: Now, now. You know I don't take kindly to threats. Fortunately for you, I'm in a good mood tonight. Here. Take it and stop your damn whining.

Troy scrunches her nose up at the "whining" comment and snatches the bag out of his hand. Yanking open the top, she reaches in and...

GASP!

SHOCK!

Pulls out a Baby Dusk plushie.

And all is right with the world as a smile finds its way to Troy's face.

Lindsay Troy: What'd you do, have some stashed away?

Tyler Rayne: Just the one. Figured with the way they were selling... well, you never know when there might be a beautiful woman with an unrequited wish for Baby Dusk plushies. You know me... can't help from saving a damsel in distress.

Lindsay Troy (admiring the doll): Keeeeep laying it on thick, Rayne.

She squeezes the doll's stomach. Off-camera, further down the hall, the breaking of a stack of tables and a human groan are heard. Poor Tsonda Intern...

Lindsay Troy: Geeze, this thing really DOES work. (Evil grin) Desade's not going to know what hit her...

Tyler Rayne: Speaking of... sounds like we might wanna be on the A-game next week.

Lindsay Troy: Well, my plan is to get close enough to the Marquis where I can break this bad boy out and then POW! TO THE MOON, ALEX!

Tyler Rayne: That's not exactly what I designed them for, Uni. Aren't you supposed to be a role model or something like--

"Ty! TY!"

The 5-Star Champion in all his infamous glory? Check. Lindsay Troy in all her cornea searing hotness? Check. Nice, bonding moment between these two "will they, won't they" PRIMEates after a couple months of frosty overtones? Check. A hot little red-haired interviewer rushing in to interrupt the scene? Check and double check.

Tyler Rayne: What's crackin', B?

Angelica Brooks: I have been looking everywhere for you.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, well... you know. Ninja and shit.

Angelica Brooks: Right, right.

The hot, young interviewer casts the quickest of glances over her shoulder at The Queen of the Ring, barely making any sort of eye contact before her focus falls right back on Rayne.

Angelica Brooks: So... the Roulette, huh? That's a pretty big announcement.

Tyler Rayne: C'mon, B. You know me. I always do it big.

Angelica Brooks: So I hear.

*ahem*

Angelica Brooks: Anyway, so... like, what's the plan then? Who's gonna be in the Roulette?

Tyler Rayne: Well, it's really hard to say. I mean, there are so many wrestlers here in PRIME that... can't even compare to the things I've done this year. It's going to be hard for me to lower myself down to, uh... you know... think at that level.

*AHEM*

Angelica Brooks: Right, well--

*AHEM!!*

Finally, the redhead turns around to acknowledge the presence of one Lindsay Troy. It's all Rayne can do to keep from laughing. It's all Troy can do to keep from testing out that Baby Dusk Superkick Action just one more time.

Angelica Brooks: Oh. Hey, Lindz.

Lindsay Troy: Brooks. It's amazing, really. Every time I see you, you seem to be wearing less and less clothes. You're like the cardboard cutout of Margaret Whitton from Major League.

Angelica scowls. Troy smirks triumphantly.

Lindsay Troy: Go on though. Don't mind the '07 Roulette Winner over here. Just be careful, my trigger finger's getting a bit jumpy.

She waves the Baby Dusk doll in Angelica's face, who makes it a point to clackity-clack a few steps away from the Queen.

Angelica Brooks: I could see my life flashing before my eyes.

Tyler Rayne: You're like twelve, B. That must've been a shorter highlight reel than the Dusk's Greatest Matches DVD.

Lindsay Troy: Yes, the Roulette. Big match. Unknown people. Ooh. Let's not blow our load all at once, we've still got more pressing matters to attend to first.

Angelica Brooks: Like the Dead Man's Hand and the video that aired a few moments ago.

Lindsay Troy: Very good, Angie! And here I thought your IQ got lower the shorter your skirt got.

Tyler Rayne: Jesus, Uni. Reign the bitch in a bit, eh? Ange, as far as the Dead Man's Hand goes... they need to keep in mind that this isn't SCCW. The last time an SCCW roster member walked into PRIME and tried to act like tough shit... fucker lost his gods damned eye. Hell, Rhine was their champion at the time, wasn't he? Look, if Jessica Drew wants to walk in here with the Wrecking Crew and try to play hot shit... well let 'er come on down and play. She'll find we're a little less Alpha Flight and a little more AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE! ... ahem... than what she's used to.

Lindsay Troy: Anybody can clock someone in the head with brass knuckles, or a lightbulb, or a chair, or a baseball bat. Hell Brooks, you could do it.

Angelica Brooks: I'd wreck my french manicure.

Lindsay Troy: Bridden's less intimidating than Gamble, which isn't hard to do if you're the same height without half the clowning "wit." Phil Hellmuth would eat Kennedy for lunch and then check for food in his teeth with one of his trillions of bracelets. And apparently Mayhem got tired of taking it up the ass from Caldera and is now taking it up the ass from the Marquis.

Angelica Brooks: I don't think they're the same per--

Lindsay Troy: Point is, I don't see a boogieman in that line-up. If Desade finds one, maybe she can string together a more intimidating video package and maybe then I'll method act long enough to feign fright.

Tyler Rayne: I have no idea who any of those people are. I think the point, though, is... Dead Man's Hand? Desade? If you're listenin'... feel free to take about two steps back. That's it. There ya go. Make sure you've got plenty of room to stretch. Good? Yeah? Great. Now, bend over and fuck yourselves.

The Dead Man's Hand has threatened to come in and lay waste to some unfortunate PRIMEate. The Queen of the Ring would just as soon shove that microphone up her ass than give Angelica an interview. And Tyler Rayne would just as soon shove something else up Lindsay Troy's ass than give it to Angelica... still, though, the girl can't help but laugh. Whaddaya want? That shit was funny.

Angelica Brooks: Guess that's that, then. Ty, you've just come off another impressive victory at Colossus. Another successful title defense in the bag. And you've just cashed in your Golden Ticket for a contract that essentially makes you the most powerful figure in PRIME. You're seemingly unstoppable, so the only thing I can think to ask is... where the hell do you go from here?

Tyler Rayne: Been wonderin' that myself, B. Honestly, I'm startin' to feel a little run down. My back is fuckin' killin' me, what with carryin' the 5-Star division and all for the past seven months. And my shoulder... Jesus, B. This right shoulder of mine is like twice as big as the left now. I've been haulin' this title around for so goram long I'm all out of balance. So... maybe I figure I'll put myself back in alignment. Find somethin' to balance out this left side. After all, no one seems to be beatin' me for this title... who the fuck's gonna stop me from takin' another.

There's this thing he does with his eye. It's a wink, really. Nothing more or less than that. But it's a Tyler Rayne wink, which pretty much means it has all the holy power of Jesus Christ himself. Translation? Combine that wink with that smile, and the both of 'em can barely keep from tearing his clothes off and fucking him right here, live on FX! Too bad for Angelica this is the part where the 5-Star Champion makes a well-timed retreat. He'll give a look over the shoulder to see if Ms. Troy intends to follow.

She starts off in his same direction and, as she walks away, Troy throws a comment over her shoulder to the young interviewer.

Lindsay Troy: I'd be sharpening those claws, Brooks. You know, just in case.

Angelica Brooks (mumbling, when Troy's out of ear shot): All the better to gouge your stupid eyes out with, my dear.

Richard: Time to check in with our local geriatric in this next match.

Nick: You mean Killean Sirrajin, who’s coming off a HUGE Colossus win against Captain Justice?

Richard: You say tomato, I say washed-up old fart.

"You think I’m funny…Funny how?"

Richard: Superior Tony has arrived, ladies and gents.

Metallica’s "Better Than You" begins to blast through the PA system. And simultaneous with the music hitting is the appearance of one Anthony Gambillini.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: No love for Tony Gamble, especially after he took down fan favorite Tony Rolo less than two weeks ago in Charlotte.

Richard: That wasn’t a wrestling match. It was euthanasia.

Gamble takes his sweet time, sneering at any fan who wants to shout a short joke his way. On the PRIME*View, there is a video reminder of the underhanded way that Gamble won against Rolo. More jeers shower down as the match is shown.

Vince Howard: This match is scheduled for one fall! Our first competitor…weighing in at 187 pounds…from Las Vegas, Nevada….The Grin, TONY GAMBLE!

Time to boo, right?

Nope.

Red and silver eruptions of pyrotechnics have Gamble, just reaching the ring steps, covering his head. When he realizes the reason for the sound, upon hearing Saliva’s "Ladies and Gentlemen," he issues another fabulous sneer. The crowd? Their response can be described, textually, with three letters. One used repeatedly.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: West Virginia is going nuts for Sirrajin!

Richard: Buncha sister-humpers, they are.

Nick: Grotesque and unnecessary.

Richard: Funny, that’s the name of my new "Best Of’ DVD. Grotesque & Unnecessary, coming to a store near you!

When the smoke clears, Killean Sirrajin is charging down to the ring, forcing Vince Howard to blurt out his entrance.

Vince Howard: And now…weighing in at 278 pounds…from Winnipeg, Manitoba…The Supreme Machine, KILLEAN SIRRAJIN!

Seconds after this, Vince has to slide out of the ring to make way for the incoming Sirrajin. Gamble’s just stepped through the ring ropes, but Sirrajin uses the momentum from his sprint into the ring, hops up to his feet, and puts Gamble on his ass with a fierce shoulder block.

DING DING DING!

Nick: Sirrajin’s got Gamble reeling and we’re just seconds in.

Richard: Sirrajin’s a low-down dirty cheater.

Nick: I’d go with a different card, considering Cheater Numero Uno is in this match.

Gamble’s quick to get back up, but Sirrajin’s right there for a lockup. From the arm-and-elbow tie-up, Sirrajin sends two downward elbows into Gamble’s neck, following up the second one with a double axe handle that puts Gamble right back down on the mat. Sirrajin covers.

One…

Two…NO!

Richard: Don’t think so, you drug-addled freak.

Nick: Sirrajin knows that if he can make this a short, viciously physical match, he can take down another impressive victory.

Richard: And Gamble knows that, like all "powerhouses," Sirrajin can’t last fifteen good minutes in the ring.

Gamble, having gotten a shoulder up, crawls towards the ropes. Sirrajin pushes himself up and waits for Gamble. When the Grin comes to, he’s inches away from Sirrajin’s forearm, and only a perfectly timed stiff kick to Sirrajin’s midsection prevents the short-arm clothesline from hitting. But with that momentary opening, Gamble pulls out a scissors kick to halt Sirrajin’s momentum.

Richard: My hero.
With Sirrajin on the mat, Gamble makes the smart decision to play to his strength: mat-based technical wrestling. He grabs the tree-trunk leg of Sirrajin, bending it an inhuman angle with a single leg crab. Somewhere, Lance Storm is sobbing into his hands that he didn’t get a better goddamn push.

Nick: Here we go, Gamble using that submission game to try and slow down the match.

Richard: No freakin’ way that Gamble doesn’t get a Uni shot, now that Chickety China The Chinese Chicken is....*sigh* our grand champion.

Gamble wrenches away on the crab, putting pressue on Sirrajin’s back as he does. The Supreme Machine lets out a groan, but he’s not resigned to his fate. He crawls, elbow over elbow, and grabs the bottom rope. Max Newell forces Gamble to give up the hold, but not before the Grin gives one last malicious wrench. Newell checks on Sirrajin, as Gamble climbs the near turnbuckle.

Nick: Gamble trying to keep being the ying to Killean’s powerhouse yang.

Richard: Nick, we get it. They’re not the same wrestler.

Nick: Sorry, I’ve just been watching so much Olympic coverage that I’m used to my commentators brutally hammering home an already beleagured point.

The second that Max Newell moves out of the way, Gamble takes off. Sirrajin doesn’t even have a full second to react, which one might cite as the reason he takes a hurricanrana straight to the dome, spiking him to the mat.

Richard: It’s raining Italians!

One…


Two…


ThreeNO!

Nick: Near fall for Gamble!

But Sirrajin has responded with a powerful shoulder up. The two competitors reach their feet simultaneously. As Gamble jaw-jacks, Sirrajin fires off a right hand to shut him up. Another right hand attempt is ducked by Gamble, who sits out with a low dropkick, bringing Sirrajin down on all fours.

Richard: The bigger the douche, the harder he falls.

Nick: Sirrajin’s the most decorated man in PRIME history! What does he have to do to impress you?

Richard: Stop pulling this Mark McGwire bullshit and come clean about the ‘roids.

Nick: Captain Justice and Son-

Richard: MR. SILVER, CABINET MEMBER!

Nick: …ny Silver made that up.

Richard: Hearsay, nonsense, and chicanery.

With Sirrajin’s sides exposed, Gamble lets loose with several unhinged kicks, putting more than just the proverbial boots to the former Universal Champion. By the time Max Newell steps in to clean up the action, it’s hard to keep track of how many times Gamble has smacked his foot into Sirrajin’s ribs.

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

Nick: Choice words for Tony Gamble, as he tiptoes the line between legal and illegal.

Gamble pulls Sirrajin up by the hair, putting him in a front face lock as to stop Killean from using his height and weight advantages. Killean sends an uppercut into Gamble’s gut, but the elfin scoundrel jumps, sending two knees into Killean’s head (which is trapped), which in turn has the Supreme Machine spinning out of the lockup.

Richard: He’s a pocket-sized morsel of shit-kicking.

Nick: I never said he wasn’t impressive in the ring, just that his choice of allies is suspect, as are his in-ring morals.

With Killean’s back turned, Gamble charges and grabs the back of the Supreme Machine’s head. Gamble turns a jumping two-handed facecrusher into an impressive aeirial feat of another kind. His leap carries him over the top rope, bringing Killean’s neck (still tender from the chain attack at the hands of Captain Justice & Mr. Silver) down in a painful impact choke on the top rope.

Richard: Heyoooo! Gamble should patent that and call it the Vegas Vise.

Nick: Now you’re writing his material?

Richard: If I could be a senior writer for the Gamble camp, and his future movie career, I’m not sure I’d need this lame gig anymore.

With Gamble standing on the outside apron, and Sirrajin leaning neck-first, on the ropes, Gamble decides to stick with a tightrope offense. He grabs Sirrajin’s right arm through the middle rope, wrenching hard downwards, bringing Sirrajin into a crouch so that he doesn’t break the damn thing.

Nick: I’m not sure that holding your opponent’s arm in a lock through the ropes is legal.

Richard: Well, I’m sure it’s not illegal, so nyah. Double negative saves the day.

Still holding Sirrajin’s arm, Gamble hops onto the middle rope. He wrenches the right arm upwards this time, which brings a yelp of pain (although it’s as manly as a yelp can get). But the crowd is sick of Gamble’s underhanded tactics.

GAM-BLE SUCKS! GAM-BLE SUCKS! GAM-BLE SUCKS!

Nick: Gamble’s using the ropes like a defender might use the sideline.

Richard: Gamble is to a PRIME ring what Nastia Liukin is to a gymnast’s mat.

Nick: Heavy on Olympic references, are we?

Richard: It’s every night. I’m about to go to sleep, but then those exposed thighs, so heavenly and nubile show up in HD. I just-

Nick: Match!

What Gamble does next is something that’d make Nastia Liukin blush. With Sirrajin’s arm in hand, he jumps at the Hall of Famer, catching Killean’s head with his right arm. He pulls Sirrajin to the mat with a springboard jumping DDT, with Killean’s arm impacting painfully off the ropes as he crunches to the mat.

Nick: Oomph! Killean’s arm got twisted painfully in the ropes as he was planted on the mat.

Richard: Hush, Gamble’s about to win!

One…


Two…


Three!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Crowd goes bananas, nectarines, and apricots as Killean gets a shoulder a couple inches off the mat. He holds the arm up, showing his inner fight to every West Virgininian. Gamble shakes his head at Sirrajin, pooh-poohing his opponent. Gamble pulls himself up with the ropes, stomping down Killean’s arm and doing the same for his chest.
Nick: Even with that display, Gamble’s in charge.

Gamble pulls Killean up by the hair, keeping the Surpeme Machine hunched over with repeated right elbows to Sirrajin’s face. Gamble rears back with a left hand.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

…and doesn’t catch hide nor hair of Sirrajin, who’s got Gamble’s left hand in his fist.

Nick: Sirrajin’s alive!

Sirrajin swings with a big left hand, startling Gamble. With the Grin reeling, Killean tries to whip him across the ring, but Gamble reverses the Irish Whip, sending Killean right into the corner. And right into Max Newell.

Richard: Newell’s dead!

The referee crumples to the ground at the feet of Sirrajin, who puts his hands on his head like he just pulled a Lee Harvey Oswald. He tries to check on Newell, but there’s no response from the referee.

Nick: Killean, watch out!

Of course, he doesn’t hear Nick Stuart’s plea. Killean Sirrajin never sees the dropkick coming at his back. It sends him into the turnbuckle, chest-first, and when the Supreme Machine rebounds off the corner, Gamble catches him in a front facelock. It takes every ounce of the Gamble’s physical strength to lift Sirrajin upward for a suplex.

Richard: Neck go ouchy, Sirrajin!

When almost 475 pounds of manflesh comes crashing down to the mat, 278 of it on their neck in a high angle suplex-turned-DDT, it makes quite a sound. It’s a thud amplified by the taut canvas of a PRIME ring. Did we mention it’s fucking loud?

Nick: My god, Gamble just dropped Sirrajin on his neck!

Richard: Except that filthy cheater Sirrajin knocked the ref out!

Indeed, Max Newell is just barely coming to. His three count won’t be fast enough and Tony Gamble knows this. But since Newell can’t quite see straight yet, there’s nothing to stop Gamble from bending the rules a bit. So the former Jewel in the Crown runs at the ropes, springboards off, and lands a vicious elbow drop in Sirrajin’s nether regions.

Nick: Gamble shows his true colors!

Richard: The colors of victory, fool.

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

The crowd’s reaction is booming and instantaneous. Gamble soaks up the moment before hooking Sirrajin’s leg, Max Newell sliding slowly into place.

One…




Two…




Three!

You can hear the first riffs of "Better Than You".

…at a fucking Metallica concert, ya bastard. All anybody at ReVolution can hear is the uproarious cheer at Killean Sirrajin getting his shoulder off the mat.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: What?!

Nick: Sirrajin takes a horrible low blow, but kicks out!

Gamble looks pissed as a Canadian at the Olympics. But Max Newell shakes his head, holding his fingers close to show that Gamble was an inch (or a millisecond) away from a win. A fuming Gamble stomps to his feet, getting up in Newell’s face.

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

Richard: He has a right to be mad at the Supreme Cheater.

Gamble once again pulls Sirrajin up, keeping him stunned with a right left combo. The sometimes mobster whips Killean into the corner, where the Supreme Machine slumps against the turnbuckle. Gamble mounts the second rope, delivering a big set of punches to Killean’s melon.

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Sirrajin with the block! He’s got Gamble wobbling!

Richard: Fight, Tony, Fight!

On the turnbuckle, Gamble tries to find his footing on the ropes, but in a moment, Sirrajin comes to life and grabs Gamble around the waist, lifting him high overhead by his arms. Flashbulbs galore, as Sirrajin heaves upward, then EXPLODES out of the corner with a sit-out crucifix powerbomb!

Nick: Holy Miley Cyrus!

One…


Two….


Three!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The bell rings, bringing the sounds of Saliva’s "Ladies and Gentlemen" in over the raucous cheering.

Richard: That rat bastard!

Nick: Sirrajin came back to life and quickly took control of the match!

The Supreme Machine pops up, holding his hand high overhead, with the aid of Max Newell. On the mat, Tony Gamble is grabbing at his neck, still recovering from the abrupt and ferocious powerbomb.

Richard: Gamble had 98% of this match.

Nick: Well, thank goodness we go until the bell stops. Because Killean just picked up another impressive win.

Richard: The Geritol is working.

As the crowd celebrates the win, cheering on Killean, we fade elsewhere.

It had been a long day for the Flyin’ Hawaiian. He had caught up with his mentor, who happened to also be the new Universal Champion, hosted PRIME’s version of ESPN’s Pardon the Interruption with his mentor’s nemesis, and introduced the Rayne-ing Pineapples to PRIME’s Princes.

Dawkins: What a night…

Dawkins and Nikkie were strolling out into the parking lot of the Charleston Civic Center leisurely as the night came to an end. Nikkie’s stomach seemed to be growing by the minute, and before long, she’d be laid up in a hospital bringing a baby Dawkins into the world.

Nikkie: Yeah, what a night, hun.

Nikkie clutched Bryan’s hand tightly before turning him around and hugging him tightly.

"Hey, Dawkins!"

A familar voice. Rhett Locke's.

Dawkins broke his embrace with Nikkie and turned his head as Locke was already charging forth from behind a pair of vehicles. Out of pure instinct and nothing more, The Flyin' Hawaiian ducked and narrowly avoided a running-knee lift straight from The Albino.

Nikkie did not seem so lucky and Locke's knee collided right into her, slamming her against the 2008 civic they were about to leave in. She slumped against it, the collision from Rhett and then the car knocking her unconscious.

Rhett stood there. His face told the story. Shock and awe were written all over it. What had he just done?

Locke: Oh, fuck...

Dawkins quickly bent down to check on his unconscious fiancée. She was clearly out, so Dawkins did the only logical thing he could think of.

Dawkins: SOMEBODY! I NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE! EMT’S, SOMEBODY! I NEED SOME HELP!

The Albino just stared at the scene in shock. Dawkins peered up at the former OSW Heavyweight Champion with fire in his eyes.

Dawkins: You….what the hell, bruh?

Locke just stood there, motionless.

Locke: I... man... This is your fucking fault anyway! ...Fuck! You didn't call EMTs for me, you asshole!

Dawkins: YOU SON OF A BITCH! THIS ISN’T THE SAME THING, BRUH! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The Flyin’ Hawaiian lunged at Locke, sending both of them crashing to the cold concrete. Dawkins mounted himself atop the Albino and sent fists raining down on his face. In a fit of rage, he grabbed ahold of Locke’s flowing blonde hair and used it to repeatedly slam Rhett’s head against the pavement.

Dawkins: YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Rhett's face was becoming a pulpy mass. Out of the desire to stop feeling his face collide with concrete his hand reached up and raked Dawkin's face. It only slowed the Hawaiian down, so he tried again and shoved Dawkins off of him.

Rhett: Fuck you! I didn't mean to hit her! You know it!

Rhett and Dawkins began trading punches. Left, right, left, right, left until Dawkins sent a boot straight into his gut and Swinging DDT'd Rhett right onto the pavement. Rhett seemed motionless while the Flyin' Hawaiian was in a fit of rage he'd yet to display in PRIME. Lifting up Rhett by the hair, he screamed right in his ear...

Dawkins: YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!

...and threw the Albino straight through the passenger side window of the adjacent Dodge Caliber.

Locke’s head crashed right through the window and he slumped over the opening left by the broken glass. His face was dripping blood and patches of skin were hanging at random. However, Dawkins was FAR from done with Rhett.

Dawkins: I swear on my life, bruh, if you live through this, I’m gonna make sure your life is HELL as long as you’re walkin’ the earth.

With that, Dawkins clutched Rhett from behind and sent him flying with a release German Suplex. The back of Locke’s head cracked off of the vehicle next to them and his body doubled over, causing him to flip over onto his stomach. Blood slowly started to seep from Rhett’s face and slowly inched its way along the pavement.

Locke was likely concussed at that point. As Dawkins lifted the love of his life up and placed her in the passenger seat, Rhett still seemed hazy. It wasn't until they began to drive away that Rhett muttered through a mouth full of blood from a bit tongue and who knows what else.

Rhett: ...I'm going to kill that motherfucker.

His eyes squinted as Dawkins peeled out of the parking lot, most likely on his way to the hospital for the unconscious mother of his child.

Considering their grueling six-man tag match earlier this evening, it is somewhat surprising that Colby Korver and Hank Cobb have not yet left their locker room in search of whatever night life and drink specials Charleston has to offer. But infinitely more shocking is their appearance in doing so, for they are clad no longer in wrestling gear, but instead in their fraternal best.

Black leather dress shoes.

Neatly-pressed khaki pants.

Crisp white oxfords dress shirts.

Black sweater vests.

That’s right. Tearing a page out of the Frank Ricard and ‘Beanie’ Campbell playbook, both Hank Cobb and Colby Korver have donned their official Delta Upsilon Iota sweater vests to conduct tonight’s business at hand. You may wonder what manner of business could possibly be pressing enough to pull Korver away from the ring rats and Cobb away from his dip cup. Well, wonder no more.

Korver: Yo Cobb, I thought you said we had our first interview tonight? I didn’t get all dressed up to sit around like a clown with your fat ass all night. I got needs, man.

Cobb: Calm down there, bucko. I c’aint remember a single chapter meeting in our fraternity’s history that you’ve ever showed up to on time. Am I wrong?

Korver: Maybe not, but you are still fat.

Cobb: It’s for the ladies, Korv. I know it’s hard to believe that any girl would be foolish enough to forego your charm and chivalry, but believe it or not it has happened on occasion. And when it does, the ol’ complaint box stays empty, my man.

Korver: Yeah, and a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in awhile too. Figured I’d use a little animal analogy to bring you back up to speed, corn-cob.

Cobb: Much obliged. Thank god you’re here to explain things to us ignorant country-folk.

Korver: Don’t mention it. No seriously, don’t mention it. I don’t want word getting out that I’ve gone soft…especially to the pledges.

Cobb: Not a problem, partner. Just make sure that you keep things in perspective tonight. After all, these interviews are usually with potential pledges, not managers. So let’s try to keep things at least reasonably professional this evening. It can’t really be that hard.

Korver: That’s what she said.

Cobb: I guess I’ll just have to take that as a yes.

Korver: So who is our first interview anyway? I haven’t had a chance to check out the paperwork yet.

As Korver leans forward in his chair and reaches for the folder on the table in front of him, a light rap on the locker room door sounds an arrival.

Cobb: Doors open, come on in!

Korver: Andrea Lafayette, I certainly like the sound of…

With no further invitation needed, the locker room door bursts open and a spinning, twirling tornado of designer jeans, hair product and flamboyance comes storming through.

Korver: …that.

Andrea: Well ‘ellooooooooooo!!!

Cobb: Sorry buddy, but I think you got your rooms a lil’ mixed up. Torres Wilson should be a couple doors up, just look for the blond highlights.

Andrea: No, no, no, you are ‘zee one who is sadly mistaken, monsieur Cobb. And you, monsieur Korver, I ‘ave never seen ‘zu at such a loss for words before, non?

Korver: (turning to Cobb) I’m guessing this wasn’t preceded by a phone interview?

Cobb: (to Korver) No. No, it was not.

Andrea: I ‘vould never ‘vaste your precious time on a silly little cell phone. ‘Zat is why I am here face to face.

And with that, Andrea slides into the folding chair opposite Korver and Cobb, daintily crossing his right leg over his left and then resting both hands on his right knee.

Andrea: ‘Zo tell me ‘vat you ‘vant to know.

Korver: Umm…so you do realize who we are, right?

Andrea: But of course, mon ami.

Korver: Well then what are you doing here? We’re looking for a wrestling manager, not a hair stylist.

Andrea: And ‘zat is ‘oo I am.

Cobb: So you are a hair stylist?

Andrea: Non, you ‘zilly man. Allow me to introduce myself properly. Je m’appelle Andrea Lafayette. ‘Zee Premier Primadonna. ‘Zee French-Canadian Tickler. ‘Zee Man of a Thousand Men. ‘Zee Queer de Quebec. ‘Zee Feminine Frenchie. ‘Zee…

Korver: Alright already, we get the pretty picture. You like dudes. And that’s cool for you and all, but it’s not really going to work for us.

Andrea: Au contraire mon frère. Do you not pride yourself on drunken games of naked twister, beer pong and jello wrestling? ‘Vee are one and ‘ze same…only you fratty boys use your beer and I my ‘vite zinfandel.

Cobb: Look, Andre.

Andrea: It’s Andrea, named after my dearest grandpere, may he rest ‘en peace.

Cobb: I’m sorry.

Korver: Yeah, so am I.

Andrea: Zank you.

Korver: I’m sorry that you wasted our precious time floating in here, tinkerbell.

Andrea: Ah! ‘Zuch manners! ‘You Americans are every ‘beet as ‘orrible as I had heard.

Cobb: Look boss, my partner tends to shoot from the hip from time to time, but he don’t mean no harm. We’ll all just be better off if we go our separate ways and move on down the road.

Andrea: ‘Zat is exactly ‘vat I plan to do. ‘Zank you for your courtesy, monsieur Cobb.

Cobb: I ‘reckon it’s the least I could do, with you comin’ all the way down here like this.

Andrea: And ‘as for you, monsieur Korver. ‘Zoo are not ‘werth my time. Au revoir!

Standing up with a disdainful huff, the offended applicant spins on his Gucci heels and stomps angrily out the door. As it slams behind him, the frat boys of Delta Upsilon Iota turn back toward each other.

Cobb: So I’m guessin’ you don’t want me bookin’ the interviews anymore?

Korver: Uhhh...non.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is the Main Event on 169!

I aaaaam smellin’ like the rose
That somebody gave me
On my birthday deathbed…

The PRIME*view flickers into life as a bold, black typeface flashes intermittently with action shots.

A N T I

A short pause before the lyrics kick in again.

I aaaaam smellin’ like the rose
That somebody gave me
‘Cause I’m dead and bloated!

Finally Stone Temple Pilots kick in with "Dead and Bloated" as PRIME’s Anti-Superstar appears at the top of the ramp, gazing disdainfully out across the hordes of jeering masses. Eventually Jason Natas begins his descent, cracking his knuckles as he walks down the ramp at a slow but steady pace.

Vince Howard: Entering the ring first, weighing in at 254 pounds, he stands 6'4 tall...JASON NATAS!

After reaching the bottom of the ramp Jason climbs up the ring steps and walks along the outside of the apron. With one hand on the top rope, he turns and offers a fierce sneer to the masses before eventually turning and entering the ring.

Nick: Natas looks like he's ready to rumble here tonight, Richard.

Richard: JASON, NICK SAID HE WANTS TO FIGHT YOU!

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

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

…then have no fear…

…the crowd is here…

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

…and the lights are on and they wanna show…

…oh, oh, oh, oh yeaaaah!

…yeah… yeah… yeah…


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

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

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

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: Our Main Event for 169 is underway!

Richard: I hope there aren't many Scientologists in New York right now, otherwise they are getting mugged.

Nick: That's an unfair stereotype, Richard.

Richard: You want to go prove me wrong then?

Nick: Nah, I'm good.

Both competitors begin that traditional slow walk around the wrestling ring in an attempt to size each other up before heading into batle. Kannon circles with a little bit more speed before the inevitable collision and tie up occurs. Natas easily overpowers Kannon back into the corner with his sheer size and strength advantage. Immediately, the referee rushes in and demand the two wrestlers separate. Natas surprisingly complies, but doesn't leave Kannon without a little love tap, his open hand across the right cheek.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Richard: This is about to get nasty!

Nick: Just the way you like it, right?

Richard: Damn skippy.

Kannon's head swings back around and he returns the favor, popping Natas in the jaw with a left jab. Natas attempts retaliation but Kannon backs away and lands another strike. Stalking forward, Natas tries to deliver another big swing only for Kannon to slide away and successfully land the third jab. Natas becomes blunt and throws Kannon back into the ropes, which proves to have more negative connotations than positive when The King of Wrestling connects on a leaping forearm behind the right ear. Seizing his chance to open up an early advantage, Kannon fires himself off the ropes and goes for a clothesline.

Nick: Uh-oh. Trouble at 12 o clock.

Richard: Fudgepackers.

Unfortunately for XK, Natas blocks the clothesline and Kannon entirely. With minimal effort, Natas lifts Kannon off the ground and sends him flying into the nearby turnbuckle. Closing the distance quickly, Natas forces Kannon to feel his raw unadulterated power by giving him a nasty clothesline that collapses Kannon into the bottom turnbuckle. Natas backs up six feet and rushes in a second time, all 254 pounds crashing into Kannon's head.

Nick: OH! The overwhelming power of Natas just greeted Kannon in the worst way possible.

Richard: SAVE HIM TOM CRUISE!

Nick: I doubt Tom Cruise is really going to help out a wrestler.

Richard: ...Ricky Bobby himself then?

Midas receives two hands around his throat courtesy of The Anti-Superstar and gets thrown violently across the ring. Disoriented, Kannon instinctively rises to his feet only to hear the sound of incoming footsteps. He doesn't have the wherewithal to retreat or abandon ship, so he endures the full force of Jason Natas's shoulder slamming into his stomach.

Nick: That's just disgusting power right there, folks.

To say that Kannon has any wind left after that would be an invalid assumption. Natas takes the pained superstar and belts him with a strong elbow to the jaw. An Irish whip later, Kannon is rushing back towards a doubled over Natas, who is anticipating a high velocity back body drop. He gets his wish, but Kannon is able to land on his feet, rush off the ropes and land a devastating knee strike to the neck, toppling the New York native.

Richard: We in the poker community call this moment gin.

Nick: Kannon needs to capitalize on this advantage quickly, because if Natas gets rolling again it's going to be trouble.

Richard: Pfft, please. Kannon has a lot of thunder left in the tank.

Nick: Thunder?

Richard: IN PARADISE!

Nick: ...Hi, Richard.

Kannon once again uses his fast footwork to bounce off the ropes toward the dazed Natas. The Anti-Superstar gets up to his feet, unaware of Kannon until he feels two knees in the back of his neck. By then though, it's already too late. Kannon pulls Natas down and drives his kneecaps into Natas. Natas begins to roll around the ring in obvious agony, clutching at his neck while Kannon begins rubbing his hands together, preparing for an apparent dissection of The Anti-Superstar.

Richard: Pwnage 101 is now in session. First lesson, how to deal with those inferior to yourself.

Kannon grabs a hold of Natas and pulls him up to a standing position. Firing off a quick forearm, Kannon maneuvers himself behind Natas, slips his left arm around the front of the neck, and drops down quickly for an inverted stunner. Continuing his demonstration of the stop, drop, and roll, Natas receives a boot to the neck before being brought up to a vertical base. Kannon shifts over to Natas's left side and puts his left foot in front, and his left arm around the neck, attempting to throw him back in a Russian leg sweep attempt/reverse DDT combination.

Nick: This could be the end with how stiff Kannon has been working that neck over in just a few moves.

Natas swiftly spins away from trouble, hooks Kannon around the waist, and sends him spiraling around onto his face with a nasty throw. Knowing that there is now a specific target in Kannon's mind, Natas hops onto The King of Wrestling and begins throwing elbows and forearms to the sides of Kannon's head. Due to Natas having Kannon's back, XK is virtually helpless and before Natas's mercy.

Richard: Wooo, pound him into the ground.

Nick: I thought you were supporting Kannon in this contest.

Richard: I have a thing for New York guyssssimean wrestlers.

With this contest not being authorized by the UFC, strikes to the back of the head are legal. However, Elvis Nixon is watching the action with a careful eye, ready to stop the contest if he sees Kannon go limp. At the moment, he is squirming and trying to avoid direct shots to his trapped head. All of the shots are landing but Kannon is resilient enough to try and form an escape route. Finally, after seven clean shots, he manages to achieve one by sliding out the back. Groggy, but not out of wrestling intellect, Kannon springs to his feet and lands a dropkick that connects on the side of the head. Not his intended target, but nonetheless Kannon will take the respite.

Nick: He definitely needed that in order to salvage any attempt at victory.

Richard: He had it in him all along, baby.

Nick: I'm not sleeping with you Richard, don't try and butter me up with names.

Richard: Didn't we already sleep together once in a match that was narrated by Nova?

Both wrestlers are struggling to get back to their feet, but need to do so in order to eliminate Elvis Nixon's continuing ten count. At three, Kannon rolls over onto his stomach and rises to one knee. Four. Five. Natas pulls on the ropes and gets up to one foot. Kannon charges over and receives a crushing right hand to the jaw, backpedaling him. Natas rises up and gets a boot to the midsection from The King of Wrestling. Kannon shoots Natas into the ropes, following him every step of the way so that they both bounce off the ropes at exactly the same time. When Natas goes to put up a defensive front, Kannon strikes, grabbing a hold of Natas and swinging him around in a neckbreaker. Keeping hold of the neck, Kannon rises again with Natas, and receives a hard elbow to the ribs. Wincing, Kannon slowly spins Natas around again and drops down for the second neckbreaker.

Nick: You gotta give Natas some credit here, he's pushing and trying to keep himself from going out.

Richard: Kannon is a master of this Nick, he knows how to work someone's neck over with ease and make it look like childs play. He'll finish 'The Three Kannonballs'.

Nick: The wha-don't speak to me.

Natas struggles to free his head, throwing wild rights and lefts into the ribs while being brought up once again. Kannon puts a knee into Natas's midsection which almost gets him thrown completely out of the ring, as Natas grabs the leg and goes to free himself. Showing his heart, Natas keeps punching and clawing his way, finally being granted a release. Pushing Kannon back into the corner, Natas anticipates the cross body, catches Kannon, and throws him overhead in a violent fall away slam. Crawling over, Natas drops his body over XK.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Nick: Barely before the three count.

Richard: All Tom Cruise, dude, all Tom Cruise.

Kannon manages to get the shoulder up, but Natas doesn't stop and look up at the referee in disgust. Instead, he pulls Kannon up by the bright red hair, locks him in a reverse half nelson and slings him overhead, dropping him on his back. A hard run off the ropes and an elbow drop later, Natas is atop his fellow superstar and choking him with both hands. Elvis Nixon immediately steps in, calling for the break, but not receiving it from The Anti-Superstar. After five seconds, he begins to forcibly pull Natas away, much to his chagrin. Finally, after booting Kannon twice in the head, he concedes and shoves Nixon out of the way to further continue the assault.

Nick: Neither man is out here for the fan support. They just want to win.

Richard: Amen, like wrestling ought to be.

Natas brings Kannon up to his feet and slugs him with another right hand. With an adrenaline fueled open right hand, Natas reaches out and grabs Kannon by the throat. Kannon delivers a retaliatory elbow to the side of the head, lands another one, and sneaks his head under the left arm. Kannon lifts Natas into the air and drops him down on the back of his neck in a suplex. Kannon goes over and drops an arm across for the cover.

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Natas with a kickout. Kannon grunts and looks up at Elvis Nixon who just swivels his hips and . holds out the peace sign. Regaining focus after seeing the horrid display of dancing, Kannon pounds away on the neck a few times with clubbing blows. Natas starts pounding away at the legs of Kannon with his own rights and lefts. Before long, both superstars are up to their feet and trading harsh blows on one another. Natas. Kannon. Natas. Kannon. Natas. Natas. Natas sends Kannon hard into the ropes, rushes in, catches him around the waist, spins him around two dizzying times, and puts him into the canvas with the Black Hole Slam. COVER!

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Nick: Kannon saves himself yet again, but I don't think he helped himself.

Kannon's way of getting out of the pinfall was by delivering a crude headbutt to Natas, who has perhaps one of the hardest heads in the business. While able to scramble away, Kannon isn't exactly prime for a victory in this condition. Nonetheless, he puts a boot into the midsection of Natas and forces his head down in an attempt to seal the match with the Hallmark.

Nick: If Kannon hits this though, Natas isn't going to have a chance to get out.

Kannon manages to get Natas into the proper position, but the rising New Yorker throws his nemesis off with a backdrop. Kannon fights back up, feeling the moment slip away. Natas greets Kannon with a headbutt which sends The King of Wrestling backwards into the ropes. Natas doesn't waste any time with his opportunity, throwing another headbutt that almost puts Kannon on the floor. Natas delivers a third headbutt which puts Kannon down on his backside. The crowd can sense a potential upset and begin to gather more interest than just the generic booing.

Disoriented but capable of feeling the moment he's creating, Natas stumbles back to the center of the ring and pops Kannon with a jab. Shifting to avoid a home run swing from XK, Natas puts another one on the chin, before throwing a big haymaker that puts Kannon back against the ropes.

He's reeling and on the verge of defeat. What he can't do is stop Natas from grabbing a hold of his head and locking the body part into place. All Natas has to do is throw himself backwards and the match would be over, done with, and he has the biggest upset of his young career.

Unfortunately, one woman by the name of Eleanor doesn't want this to happen. She jumps onto the apron and flirts a little with Elvis, which gets the attention of Jason Natas. He goes over and inquires about what exactly is going on. This distraction allows his rival the chance to throw an arm upward in between his legs, doubling him over, and it also allows Kannon to pull Natas down into a rollup and hook the tights.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER OF THE MATCH...XAVIER KANNON!

P R I M E