Think, good PRIMEates, on the events of last week. Think about how Tyler Rayne doled out Roulette spots. Think about how Xavier Kannon finally got his comeuppance. Think about how the Princes of New England won the PRIME Tag Team Championships. Think about the unexpected return of Cozen.

But even while you try to think about those things, you know there’s one loose thread that you can’t quite figure out. It’s a question that would look great on a t-shirt.

Bruh?

In so many words, that was the question on the minds of many after hearing that Bryan Dawkins, he of less than a year on the roster, would be snagging the final Roulette spot. It’s fittin then, to be interested in the actions of young Dawkins on this night. And those actions are directly linked to another event from last week.

"Argh, bruh, not so damn tight!"

Dr. Fihlguud’s staff tries to be as PRIMEate-friendly as possible, but they’ve got a particularly challenging night ahead of them, considering that Bryan Dawkins is on the mend and in their care. An unnamed nurse is trying to bandage Dawkins’s bare ribs and encountering feisty resistance from the youngster.

Bryan Dawkins: You workin’ for Locke or somethin’, bruh?

The nurse stops wrapping, shooting a deadly serious look at Dawkins. Her first name, Kelly, is visible on her Madison Square Garden security ID card.

Nurse Kelly: Mr. Dawkins, you need to stop squirming and let me tape this up or I’m gonna have Dr. Fihlguud withhold medical clearance for you being here.

Bryan Dawkins: Listen, bruh, I know that–

Nurse Kelly: Mr. Dawkins, it would be physically impossible for me to be a "bruh."

Bryan Dawkins: Who said you were a bruh?

Nurse Kelly: You just said that–

Bryan Dawkins: I wasn’t callin’ you a bruh. I was just sayin’ bruh, bruh.

Nurse Kelly: I’m not…wait, what?

"Dawkins, don’t you know how to smile and look tough when you get a hot nurse?"

With all the smoothness of a Keystone Light, Chandler Tsonda steps into the Fihlguud satellite office. If anybody knows the PRIME medical staff, it’d be Mr. Back Injury. He’s still in street clothes, but that doesn’t forbid him from rocking an off-the-shoulder look with the PRIME Universal Title.

Chandler Tsonda: Kelly, if I told you that you had a great body–

Nurse Kelly: Would I hold it against you?

Chandler Tsonda: Uhh…yeah.

Nurse Kelly: No, Chandler. I would not.

Chandler Tsonda: Well, I was additionally wondering if that’s a mirror in your pocket because–

Nurse Kelly: You can see yourself in my pants?

Bryan Dawkins: Jeez, bruh, you’re as shameless as Rayne.

Chandler Tsonda: Puhleez, kid. I was making ReVolution shameless back Rayne was jerking it to Clarissa Explains It All.

Kelly shoots Tsonda a scrutinizing look, shaking her head as she returns to bandaging Dawkins’s chest.

Bryan Dawkins: So, Uncle Chan…seems our roles are reversed.

This is a mention of ReV 169’s opening, when Tsonda "celebrated" his Colossus victory by icing his back all night, accepting only a momentary visit from his young friend.

Chandler Tsonda: Gotta say that I prefer you being the one on the table.

Bryan Dawkins: I’d prefer if that bastard Locke were the one on the table. Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doin’, Kelly.

Nurse Kelly: Thanks, Dawkins. Chandler never takes a break from his pickup lines to thank me.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, he’s a grouchy old coconut, aren’t ya?

The Hurtin’ Hawaiian and PRIME’s dutiful nurse share a laugh at the expense of the Model Citizen, bringing about a large roll of the eyes.

Chandler Tsonda: So that’s how it’s gonna be? You get in the Roulette and I’m chopped liver?

Bryan Dawkins: (suddenly somber) Bruh, I didn’t wanna cause any–

Chandler Tsonda: Take it easy, kid. Just fucking with you. You’ve got as much right to be in the Roulette as anybody.

Bryan Dawkins: Thanks, bruh. Means a lot hearin’ you say that.

Chandler Tsonda: (cracks a grin) Not that you could ever beat me.

The youngster, who every week seems more and more the spitting image of Tsonda’s younger self, stays quiet for a moment. Tsonda’s grin fades, as well.

Nurse Kelly: Whoa…elephant in the room much?

Chandler Tsonda: It’s not–

Bryan Dawkins: I mean, we’re not–

Chandler Tsonda: You wouldn’t–

Bryan Dawkins: If I did, though–

Silence again, as the two men finally consider the implications of being in the Roulette. Sure, they’ve gone head-to-head before, but not with the PRIME Universal Title at stake.

Chandler Tsonda: So…you ask Nikkie about the godfather thing?

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, bruh. She’s cool with it. Hasn’t made up her mind about the godmother though.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh. Cool.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah. Hey, good luck against Fuhrer, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: Thanks, kid. You gonna come out and lumberjack for me?

Bryan Dawkins: Hell yeah, bruh. Got my red flannel and an axe with Shakur’s name on it.

Chandler Tsonda: (to Kelly) Think you can deal with him from here?

Nurse Kelly: If he’s lucky, he might get something you’ll never get: my phone number.

With another roll of his eyes, the Universal Champion takes his leave. Of course, he takes the opportunity to get the last word.

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t do it, Kelly. His fiancée could kick your ass.

"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.

Tyler Rayne vs. Hank Cobb

Devin Shakur vs. Dusk

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

Chandler Tsonda vs. Dani Fuhrer

"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!



Madison Square Garden is aglow with pyro and screaming fans as we launch straight to the announce desk with Richard and Nick.

Nick: WELCOME EVERYONE TO REVOLTION 174! I'm Nick Stuart!

Richard: And I'm Richard Parker!

Nick: We're here at one of the most historic sports arenas in America for one of our last stops before Great American Nightmare!

Richard: That's right, and with the Roulette match taking shape, things are not looking great for Chandler Tsonda! Not only does he have six contenders looming, but he's due for another match tonight against the returning Dani Fuhrer!

Nick: There's high drama in store for New York tonight, and it's all right here at ReVolution!

Richard: On FX!

Vince Howard: The following is a non-title match, scheduled for one fall!

Master of Puppets by Metallica thrashes out around the arena as Delta Upsilon Iota make their way out from the back, Corver shouting supportive words to his team mate over the noise of the crowd.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… representing DELTA UPSILON IOTA… weighing in at 348 pounds… HANK COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBB!!!

The big man slides into the ring, pulling himself up using the ropes then beginning to stretch, knowing what’s coming may well be the toughest match of his career.

Champ enters last.

The faintest sounds of rain can be heard rippling from the speakers. The rumble of a steady thunderstorm grows increasingly louder as it seeps from the seams of the house sound system. A loud and unexpected boom of thunder startles some of the more inattentive fans from their seats. The monitors at the announce table begin to flicker. They blink on. They blink off. Waving lines and screens of static snow are the only things to be seen.

Richard: Okay, did Rayne have some sort of accident at a power plant or something? Are we going to go all Be Kind Rewind every time he comes out?

Nick: Wrestling needs its showmen, Rich.

The PRIME*view flashes to life. A lone, hooded figure marches across the rain soaked plains on screen. Precipitation beats down around him. Pounding him. The night upon the screen is dark. The figure marches on. A deep, ethereal voice speaks out over the sounds of thunder and cracks of lightning.

"And whosoever shed man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For in the image of God made He man."

The hooded man on the screen stops and pulls a sword from within his hooded cloak. A very large sword. Just as the weapon is completely revealed, a bolt of lightning streaks from the sky, flashing blue across the night and making a silhouette of the man and his sword. The accompanying boom of thunder shakes the arena speakers.

"... shall spread his blackened wings and be the vengeful, striking hammer of God."

Nick: Tyler Rayne has already made an almighty name for himself in the ring during his PRIME stint, and now he’s making a pitch for the most dramatic entrance!

The hooded figure thrusts his sword deep into the ground. Another streak of lightning flashes from the heavens. Not just on screen...but in the arena as well.

A blue bolt shoots down from the arena rafters, striking angrily upon the stage. The entranceway erupts with towering flames. All down the ramp way, golden pyro ignites in succession, a quick burst of fireworks that ends with the golden explosion of all four turnbuckles.

Richard: It is now my mission to become PRIME’s health and safety officer… shit like this won’t fly when I have authority.

Nick: Health and safety officer in PRIME is a bit like being the Classic Languages lecturer at a Zoo.

The golden showers begin to subside. As the sparks fade the shout of an Icelandic rapper breaks out over the speakers.

"What What What Hit It!"

Forget the intro. Forget the sweet bass beat and that infectious guitar riff. We’re jumping straight to the first verse. A single spotlight shines upon the entrance, illuminating the figure standing within.

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The PRIME 5-Star Champion stands in front of the curtain for just a moment, soaking up the adulation and adjusting the title slung over his shoulder. He flashes that charming ass smile out to the crowd, a screaming round of approval bursting from the female members of our audience. Tyler pulls the 5-Star Title from his shoulder and begins the long walk down to the ring.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… residing in Tokyo, Japan and weighing in at 217 pounds… HE IS THE PRIME 5 STAR CHAMPION… THE UNDERGROUND PIMP… TYLER RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYNE!!!

Nick: Hank Cobb might be the underdog here, but any fan who has followed PRIME for a number of years will know that when we do upsets… we do upsets BIG.

Richard: Rayne has everything but his title to lose in this match, Nick. He’ll have both eyes on The Great American Nightmare, when he might want to keep at least one peeper on the 350 pounds across the ring from him.

As the referee calls for the bell, the two participants circle, cracking knuckles of loosening muscles. Undaunted by the size difference, Rayne initiates a collar-and-elbow tie-up, digs his heels in, and tries to overcome mass with focus.

Despite forcing Cobb back a step, Rayne is soon found on the wrong end of a leverage advantage and is forced back into the corner. Wary of taking an elbow to the face, Cobb is slow to break, but ignores Colver’s advice to sneak a shot in.

Nick: You have to admire Cobb for making the clean break there. In a match like this which could propel his name up the PRIME card, I think few would blame him for pushing the rules to their limits.

Richard: He’d be an idiot to even think about trying to be the ‘good guy’ here.

Obeying the word of the official, Hank breaks, holds his arms out, and backs away from the corner.

Well, there’s obeying the rules, and then there’s just asking for it.

Before Cobb can snap himself back into battle-mode, The Underground Pimp has sprung up onto the middle turnbuckle and launched himself at the Fratboy, crunching a flying forearm into his jaw.

Richard: You missed your chance, Hank.

Nick: Nobody would call Tyler Rayne a dirty fighter, but he’s not really one for ceremony and conventions. Once there’s a break, there’s an opening.

As Hank is knocked back a couple of steps, Rayne pounces on the reverse momentum with another forearm smash to the jaw, then a sharp elbow strike to the clavicle, followed by a thumping kick to the outside of the knee. Slamming it into reverse, Cobb retreats towards the buckles, but not before eating another stiff kick to the side, and a glancing blow from a springing knee strike.

Grabbing Cobb by the wrist, Rayne spins through into an arm-wringer, then goes to whip the tag specialist across the ring… but despite the torque on his arm, Hank reverses it, flinging The Underground Pimp into the buckles.

Building up a head of steam far quicker than a man his size should have any right doing, Hank Cobb charges at Rayne, only for the 5 Star champion to drop back through the ropes, flipping onto his feet with the aid of the cables. Unable to slow down, Cobb steams chest-first into the buckles, winding him just long enough for Tyler to step up onto the outside of the middle rope and DRILL him in the forehead with a knee.

Nick: I don’t think I can put into words how much that must have hurt.

A few tuned-in fans at ringside bust out a ‘TIM-BERRRRRR!!!’ as Cobb threatens to topple back, but already Rayne has scrambled to the top turnbuckle and leapt off onto the Fratboy‘s shoulders. Even after eating the knee, Hank somehow stays upright, but Rayne soon puts pay to that by stabbing the point of his elbow down into the crown of Cobb’s skull before taking him down with a Huricanrana, stretching back to hook both sturdy legs.

"One!

Two!

T-NO!"

A powerful kick-out erupts from Cobb’s folded-up body, almost sending Rayne flying face-first through the ropes and into a sly right hand from Corver,

With his face already showing the effects of Rayne’s early onslaught, Hank Cobb stumbles to his feet, only for a palm thrust to detonate against his chest, venting all the air from his lungs. Deflated, the tag specialist drops to one knee, half expecting a rib or two to be sticking out through his back.

Richard: After seeing that, I’m mildly disappointed not to see Rayne holding Hank’s still-beating heart in his hand.

Throwing himself into the ropes, Rayne builds up speed to rush Cobb, going to spring up onto his thigh to score with another anaesthetising knee… only for his airborne body to be flung around by Hank and HURLED down into the canvas with a spinning Urinage.

Nick: Where did Hank Cobb find that from?! He just took Tyler for a spin and nearly threw him through the mat.

As a winded Rayne convulses beneath him, Cobb hooks both legs tightly, doubling the 5 Star champion up.

"One!

Tw-NO!"

Rayne bursts a defiant shoulder up, only for Cobb to reward the effort with a clubbing forearm to the skull, then cover again.

"One!

Two!

T-NO!"

Again, Rayne shoots a shoulder up, allowing Cobb to hook the outstretched arm and lock the 5 Star champion in a Full Nelson. With the size and strength to dominate even a scrapper like Rayne in the hold, Cobb drags his opponent to the ropes, pressing his throat down onto the top cable then leaning all his 348 pounds down on the back of the neck.

Richard: Now this is more like it, Hank. Make your name. You won’t get a career boost for just being the nice guy in defeat.

As Rayne starts to flush purple, the referee reaches 5, prompting Cobb to heave The Underground Pimp up and hurl him halfway across the ring with a BRUTAL Full Nelson Slam.

Cobb follows casually across the ring, and when you’re facing Tyler Rayne, that means he’s going to be halfway up to his feet by the time you get there.

With a red mark carved across his throat, and a face still an unhealthy shade of purple, the 5 Star champion invites Hank to keep giving it to him… and the DUI member is more than happy to oblige with a Discus Clothesline that sends him flipping back onto his front.

Nick: Hank Cobb is a wrecking ball here tonight!

Not wanting to go for another pin while he’s still uncertain, Cobb grabs a handful of Rayne’s hair and pulls him first up to his feet, then heaves him up onto his shoulders, then presses him overhead. Displaying PRIME’s longest reigning champion to the fans, Hank steps to the centre of the ring, ready to crush him with the Deacon Drop… but as he releases Rayne, The Underground Pimp catches both his arms with a crucifix, somehow managing to keep the hold intact as they both hit the mat.

Nick: Rayne squirmed out of the Deac-… wait, better, he’s got Cobb’s arms restrained and his head exposed!

Before Cobb can even struggle, Rayne slams an elbow into his temple, then another , then another.

Richard: The way these elbows are rattling Cobb’s brain, Tyler might wanna call this The Vegetable Medley!

His grip weakened by the bigger man landing on top of him, Rayne can only fire off one more brutal elbow before Hank breaks free. With the hammer-blows to his pressure point causing neural misfires, Cobb looks uneasy on his feet as he shoots back up, stumbling back and falling into the ropes… which then conspire to fling him back towards Rayne, who welcomes him back by all but DESTROYING the Fratboy’s ribcage with the points of both knees as he scores with the Foreplay.

Nick: Foreplay!

Richard: It will NEVER feel right hearing you yell that.

Nick: Tyler Rayne just ploughed his knees through Hank Cobb and left his torso a mangled mess!

With Cobb barely twitching, Rayne drops back across him and hooks the far leg, counting along with the referee.

"One!

Two!

THREE!"

Nick: Tyler Rayne has avoided the big upset here tonight, but I don’t think he’ll exactly be skipping out of here after those big power moves from Hank Cobb.

Richard: Cobb showed that he was willing to do what it takes to win, but when Rayne comes at you full speed with both knees up… you’ve more chance of dodging a bullet.

Vince Howard: The winner of the match… THE PRIME 5 STAR CHAMPION… TYLER RAAAAAAAAAAYNE!!!

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Hear that? (How could you not?) That's the sound of twenty thousand people rising to their feet and raising their voices for... well, a guy who makes people rise to their feet and raise their voices. A man who's very presence has been known to metaphorical erections in women the world over. And some men, too. (Hey there, Tsonda fans!) His name is Tyler (MOTHER FUCKIN!) Rayne. He is your reigning (and nigh unstoppable) 5-Star Champion. Everyone's favorite Underground Pimp (what does that even mean?) and all around great guy.

Too many parentheses? Yeah. We were thinking that, too.

Tyler Rayne: Thanks, B. ... No, but I will soon. ... Yeah. I'll tell her. ... Sure thing. ... No, I haven't. ... Bullshit. ... Oh, go fuck your mother. ... ... Well, she is kinda hot. For an older woman. ... Yes, I realize that's probably my age demographic. ... Just get off the goram phone and get some rest. ... Yeah, kid. You too. ... Peace.

The Golden Boy closes up his cell phone (which is not nearly as fancy or sophisticated as a Blackberry *ahem*) and moves to place the phone into his pocket... only he doesn't have pockets. Damn these wrestling tights. Oh well. He adjusts that championship slung over his shoulder and proceeds to march onward... before having the (un)fortunate privilege of meeting up with Matt Mills, long time (and often forgotten) PRIME backstage interview extraordinairre.

Matt Mills: Rayne. Just the man I was looking for.

Tyler Rayne: Yippee for me.

Matt Mills: You got some time?

Tyler Rayne: You got some strippers?

Matt Mills: Uh... no?

Tyler Rayne: Bummer.

The 5-Star Champion takes a step to the left, but a wily wrestling reporter should be used to such antics, and Mills is moving to cut Rayne off almost before the champ has even taken his step.

Matt Mills: C'mon, man. Brooks isn't around now...

Probably not the smartest thing to say. The withering stare from Rayne will help remind Mills of that.

Matt Mills: ...which is unfortunate. I'm just saying. There's no one else to do the interview. C'mon. Cut me some slack.

Tyler Rayne: You're right. B's not here. Make light of that fact one more time, Mr. Mills... and you won't be either. But... fuck it. Why not? Question away, monkey. Question away.

Matt Mills: Right. Well, first off, you made some big announcements last week for the Roulette, including the surprising addition of Bryan Dawkins to that big main event for Great American Nightmare. The Flyin' Hawaiian will be joining Chandler Tsonda, Devin Shakur, Xavier Kannon, Lindsay Troy, Killean Sirrajin and Tony Gamble in what may well be the most stacked match-up in PRIME history. So the question on everyone's mind is... why not you?

Tyler Rayne: Why not me what?

Matt Mills: Why not put yourself in the Roulette? Doubtless that anyone else in your position would have done so, and I think most people would agree that Tyler Rayne has earned his shot at the Universal Championship... so why not throw yourself into the mix?

Tyler Rayne: What in the flying fuck would I want with the Universal Championship, Mills?

Matt Mills: Well, it... what? But it's The Universal Championship. Why wouldn't you-

Tyler Rayne: In the last nine months, that belt's been passed around more times than Faith Rodriguez after someone found Polish's secret stash of vodka. Good times. Good times. Anyway, that belt's on it's... what? Third or fourth owner in the past six months? Has anyone even managed to hold on to the goram thing through more than a single title defense?

Matt Mills: Devin actually-

Tyler Rayne: While this belt, however...

A healthy pat of the shimmering gold upon his sexy shoulder.

Tyler Rayne: ...hasn't moved a fucking inch since I won it back in January. This belt is the most coveted prize in PRIME today, because this belt actually has a little prestige to it. A bit of merit. I've taken this once secondary title and lofted it up on high, dragging it up the PRIME ladder along with me. Now you tell me something, Mills, what's going to be the bigger feather in a PRIMEate's cap: beating the Flavor of the Month for the Universal Title to become the next paper champion... or doing what absolutely no one else has been able to do, and remove this strap from my shoulder?

Matt Mills: Well, I...uh... that's a-

Tyler Rayne: Exactly. All due respect to Chan Chan, he's doing a fantastic job with that title... but I don't need it. I don't want it. I've got my own belt to worry about. A belt that I made. That I put on the map. This championship is everything it is today because I've made it so. Maybe when Tink can bring that Uni Title up to this level...then I'll worry myself with taking it from him.

Matt Mills: Certainly an...interesting point of view, but don't you think that-

Tyler Rayne: Shut up, monkey.

So you know that prestigious and meritorious title he was just blathering about for the last five minutes? Yeah. He's about to shove it right into Matt Mills chest like a carry-on bag (Hop to, bellboy!). Mills stumbles into the wall, scrambling to hold on to the championship as Rayne steps forward to meet a dark-clad figure leaning against the wall, drenched from head to toe in black with a mischievous smile on his face.

Tyler Rayne: Emo.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Devin Shakur: Douchebag.

Tyler Rayne: I'll make this simple. Here's your Get Out of Jail Free Card. Keep walking. Don't look back. Considering we've managed to stay civil up 'til now... I'm giving you this one pass. One time only. Final offer. You cross my way again... there will be pain.

Shakur doesn't heed the warning, pushing off from his leaning position to his full six feet two inches and takes a step toward the Underground Pimp and Matt Mills.

Devin Shakur: Douchebag, I've seen the worst that you are capable of around here, and...let's just say that I'm well prepared for you.

Rayne's interest piques, and he to takes a step of his own forward toward the former Universal Champion. Matt Mills astutely backs away from the scene, anticipating a fireworks show.

Tyler Rayne: That a fact, Emo? You sayin' you've got enough balls to take on the most unstoppable force ever to hit PRIME?

Shakur methodically cracks the knuckles on his hands with his thumbs while moving toward Rayne. Neither man appears to be backing down from what could be an iconic clash.

Devin Shakur: I'm not only saying it Rayne, I'm declaring it for the entire world to hear. The most heinous thing you ever did to someone was Wade Elliott. Wrecked his car. Practically eviscerated it...And I've got the solution to fix that should you even think of trying it on me.

Rayne clinches his fists and takes another step, leaving him and Shakur about one foot apart. Nearby employees have dropped what they are doing and are prepared to exit the area should these two decide to engage in a throwdown.

Tyler Rayne: Then bring it on, Leto, bring it on.

Devin Shakur: Suit yourself, kid.

Shakur reaches down into his breast pocket and retrieves a little green object that is squirming around in his hand.

Tyler Rayne: ...What the fuck is that? A lizard?

Devin Shakur: It's a gecko. You can save up to 15 percent on car insurance with one of these bad boys. It's awesome.

Rayne squints to make sure he is indeed looking at a real gecko.

Tyler Rayne: Is that the actual one they use in the commercials?

Devin Shakur: Sure is. I even named him Tony Gamble Sr. since you know he's about two times bigger than the actual one.

Tyler Rayne: Ha, suave. Won't the company be pissed if they see you kidnapped their mascot?

Devin Shakur: Nah, I left Gamble with them. They'll never know the difference.

Tyler Rayne: Shiny.

Devin Shakur: Wait, were we supposed to get all angry and intense and shit like that?

Tyler Rayne: I thought we were leading to that.

Shakur puts a finger underneath his chin and ponders the next course of action. Six Enemigos were tipped off by an anonymous employee (MILLS) and they are on standby, waiting to break these two apart.

Devin Shakur: There's a way we can settle this without blowing our loads tonight. Walk with me.

Tyler Rayne: Two things. 1) I'm not walking with you after you just dropped that reference and 2) I've got better things to do with my time than be seen with a ratings killer like you.

Devin Shakur: You want me to go tell Dusk you been raggin on his mama again and have him follow you around for 3 more months?

For the first time maybe...ever? Tyler Rayne has been defeated at oratory argument.

Tyler Rayne: ...Goddammit, alright, but make it quick.

The two superstars walk step for step down Corridor 34B much to the surprise of fellow PRIME employees. After 173, these two are supposed to be locked in a blood feud which only would end with one of them being held for weeks in the ICU. Now, they are talking like two friends out on a break between work.

Devin Shakur: Now, it's a known fact that I think you are a complete and utterly whipped douche knob.

Tyler Rayne: Much like I think you are a good for nothing backstabbing piece of shit stain who used me to get into the Roulette.

Shakur can't help but hide his smile.

Devin Shakur: Which I will gladly admit to doing to anybody who puts a microphone in my face-

Tyler Rayne: -Or a dick

Devin Shakur: ...Can I finish talking here?

Tyler Rayne: Go ahead

Devin Shakur: Thank you. And we both know that sooner or later, more soon than later, we're going to end up clashing and fuck up the PRIME universe as everybody knows it.

Tyler Rayne: I'm going to leave your blood in as many arenas throughout the world as I conceivably can while physically dissecting you apart.

Devin Shakur: And I'm going to psychologically torture you to the point of mental insanity by fucking with everybody you know in my own special way.

Tyler Rayne: Which will, in turn, make neither of us the same again. We'll hate each other for the rest of time and want to slice each other's throat whenever the opportunity arises.

Devin Shakur: A moment which I will definitely Kodak and frame just over the fire place next to my Universal Championship portrait. It'll be like a slice of heaven to see you shaking like a leaf on the cold concrete, blood pouring like a waterfall from your body.

Tyler Rayne: Then I'll snap my fingers, wake you up from your dream, and bludgeon you to death with a baseball bat.

Devin Shakur: Well, I don't know about that. I never figured you for a sports bloke.

Tyler Rayne: ...Fine, I'll swing Cozen at your dog poodle head until your eyes roll back and you can no longer take the pain, then stab her so she can doppleganger you by being dead.

Devin Shakur: In foresight, we probably shouldn't end up doing this. You are beatable, yes, but facing you in a war is about as thrilling as watching Jimmy Bonafide try to recite Shakespeare. Long. Grueling. Extremely painful. I might rather die now than face it.

Tyler Rayne: I am pretty awesome right.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Shakur frowns and sighs.

Devin Shakur: ...You are supposed to compliment my insanity here to keep the flow going.

Tyler Rayne: Oh. Right...Well, you are pretty emo and I imagine when you get mind fucked you aren't the most conservative fucker around.

Devin Shakur: But, there's no going back now.

Tyler Rayne: No, there isn't.

Devin Shakur: Probably the last time we'll get to have a civil conversation without bloodshed.

Tyler Rayne: I'd say it's definitely the last time.

Devin Shakur: We've had some good moments?

Tyler Rayne: Baby Dusk.

Devin Shakur: Dinosaur Rap.

Tyler Rayne: Pixie sticks.

Devin Shakur: Me making fun of you for jobbing to Walczak.

Tyler Rayne: Good times.

The two superstars stop and face one another, their faces an inch apart. Shakur extends his hand forward to Rayne, and The Underground Pimp accepts the shake, firmly grasping Shakur's limb in his own.

Devin Shakur: Good luck, kid, you'll definitely need it.

Tyler Rayne: Back at you son, because the next time I see you...I'm going to fucking destroy you, you good for nothing piece of shit.

Devin Shakur: Gonna be fun, Ty, gonna be fun.

They break their grasp and go separate ways down the corridor.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

The words are squeaked behind the camera as we slam-cut backstage. The shot is shaky, but that's likely because of the arm that's reaching past the lens and pulling. Said arm is bare from the elbow forward, the sleeves of the man's dress shirt rolled up to the elbow.

Said arm belongs to a blond man named Andrew, but PRIME fans know him better as Andreas. Van der Wal, that is.

Andreas van der Wal: Come, come. Must you argue all the time?

Cameraman: I don't see what's so important. I was supposed to film something for Tyler Rayne.

Andreas van der Wal: Oh, well...if it's for Tyler Rayne, then he should absolutely go back, shouldn't he, darling?

The response comes from a snide woman not pictured, her name is Siena van der Wal (no, it's not).

Siena van der Wal (OSV): If it's Tyler Rayne, he may be required to. Depends whether every camera in the building is already following Lindsay Troy.

Andreas van der Wal: Or Chandler Tsonda.

Siena van der Wal (OSV): I bet they're snide and pithy about something - you'd better hurry.

Andreas van der Wal: Though perhaps there's another story you could tell.

Siena van der Wal (OSV): One that half your colleagues aren't already covering.

Camerman: Isn't your client in the unemployed line?

Andreas van der Wal: Entertainingly, that was the very subject we asked you out here to discuss.

The Auburn-Haired Harpy skitters onto frame, resplendent in turquoise that's both low-cut and short-hemmed. She slides her hand across the Smiling Serpent's shoulderblades. You missed them, don't lie.

Siena van der Wal: The very one. It's an injustice, really. I hear there's a petition and everything.

Camerman: Isn't Cozen kind of...you know..."crazy"?

Andy's response is quick, but that smile makes you doubt his words - always does.

Andreas van der Wal: Patently untrue.

Siena van der Wal: Outright slander. She should sue.

Andreas van der Wal: Take this piddly little company for all it's worth.

Siena van der Wal: Then take her money and buy...like a dozen doughnuts.

Andreas van der Wal: Good choice. She's particularly fond of the jelly ones.

Siena van der Wal: Really. I wouldn't think she's ready for this "jelly".

Andreas van der Wal: (droll) Is her body too bootylicious for you, babe?

Camerman: Ooookay. Other than outdated pop culture references, what do you want with me?

The Auburn-Haired Harpy glances back to the Serpent at her side, her lips curved in a cute little "O".

Siena van der Wal: Oh, dear. He wasn't told.

Andreas van der Wal: Should we be the ones to break it to him?

Siena van der Wal: Might shatter his fragile psyche.

Andreas van der Wal: But all he has to do is hold a camera.

Siena van der Wal: Not true. He also has to point it straight.

The cameraman's sigh is irritation in breath form.

Camerman: Were you planning on answering my question? Or did this become inane banter hour.

Andreas van der Wal: Well, it is a PRIME show. But this is what Miss Siena and I do, sir. We banter.

Siena van der Wal: Babble.

Andreas van der Wal: Bicker.

Siena van der Wal: Discuss important issues. For the benefit of the home audience.

This is Andreas' cue to speechify, and he orates well - like a lawyer.

Andreas van der Wal: Last week on this program, an injustice occurred. Not only was a former Universal Champion unfairly terminated by this administration, but earlier, she was denied a championship opportunity. An opportunity given to reprobates like Tony Gamble and an injured -- injured -- Lindsay Troy. Yet the most dominant performer in PRIME is kicked out on the street for daring to have friends.

Siena van der Wal: It's classic discrimination. Guilt by association.

Andreas van der Wal: I am certain if she'd bowed or scraped or even rebelled ineffectually, she would be considered. But Tyler Rayne is power-mad and these fans are blinded by gaudy muscles and shining smiles.

It's weird to say, but the van der Wals share a chuckle - it borders on a titter, in a higher pitch than anything people less jerky could pull off.

Siena van der Wal: I told Cozie she should follow Lindsay Troy around like a lost puppy dog and then maybe C.P. Cantrell will look that way and, blinded by the light of her monstrous hype machine, not notice her standing there.

Andreas van der Wal: Did you know she was even denied entrance as a fan? Her first opportunity to come to Madison Square Garden, and Dametreyus' yellow-masked thugs wouldn't let her through the door.

Siena van der Wal: Which is why you're here.

Camerman: I'm almost embarrassed to catch this ridiculous claptrap on the air.

The Harpy's smile is ridiculously bright; she hangs off of Andreas like a proper trophy wife.

Siena van der Wal: Boy, are we glad you hoofed it all the way out here, though.

Andreas van der Wal: Heckuva jaunt, wasn't it?

Siena van der Wal: But we needed to send a proper message - to Rayne and Cantrell alike.

Camerman: Good thing I was here to record that bitter asshole speech, then, wasn't it? I mean, if I --

The unseen man never finishes his sentence, but Andreas' fist, driven into his nose, probably has something to do with that.

Andreas van der Wal: We didn't ask you out here so we could remind people of a truth they don't like hearing.

The sucker punch staggers the man, dropping him down to the asphalt. Siena bends over, hands to knees, plump red lips curled into an expression that's likely supposed to mimic worry, but doesn't quite get there.

Siena van der Wal: You hit him pretty hard.

Andreas van der Wal: Sometimes I don't know my own strength.

Siena van der Wal: You didn't damage the camera, did you? Cantrell will be pissed.

Andreas van der Wal: Let me check.

The shot jostles as the Serpent wrenches the camera from the grasp of the now surprisingly silent camerman. Van der Wal turns it to the left and the right.

Andreas van der Wal: Seems to be in decent condition.

The Harpy breathes what seems to be a sigh of relief.

Siena van der Wal: Well, that's one for us. I told you this was a dumb plan, Andy. That was assault, you know. And we came close to felony property damage.

Andreas van der Wal: I know a decent lawyer.

Siena van der Wal: You'd better. Once this guy -- oh, crap! Oh crap oh crap oh crap! He's getting up! Give him his camera back and let's get out of here! It's not nearly as fun when they fight back!

The man we know as the Smiling Serpent is not a brave man, so his sheepish grin is probably understandable.

Andreas van der Wal: Sorry about that, old chap. No harm intended. You're a tough guy, aren't you? Ever consider professional wrestling?

He receives no response from the cameraman save for a lingering sigh. There is awkward silence between punchee and puncher.

Andreas van der Wal: So...I'm gonna just...go.

Siena van der Wal: If you could pass on, like, the feeling if not the action, that'd be great.

Andreas van der Wal: Though the action would be great, too. I'd like to see you punch Tyler or Chad in the face.

Siena van der Wal: It would be a dream come true. Toodles!

And the two assholes slither away, the heretofore snippy cameraman saying nothing of note as he begins to trudge back to the building.

Cut somewhere else, kthx.

Nick: Coming up now we are going to get the privilege to see one of the most longstanding-

Richard: BORRRRRRRRRRRRING

Nick: -Rivalries renewed in Dusk vs Devin Shakur.

Richard: How does Dusk keep getting booked on cards?

Nick: Well he put up a valiant fight against Chandler Tsonda and was successful in his tag team match with Troy Douglas against DUI.

Richard: No, I mean dude has the charisma of Jonathan Winters and Keanu Reeves COMBINED. He's no good for business.

Nick: That really pained you to make a Keanu joke since he's your boy didn't it Chris?

Chris: DUDE YOU HAVE NO IDEA (Sobs)

Richard: How does he keep getting through security?

Nick: Stole Rayne's time travel machine I think. Anywho, Dusk and Devin Shakur go back to pretty much over a year ago and their paths have crossed a lot ever since the conclusion of Colossus IV.

Richard: Shakur is on Cloud 9 and Dusk can't count to 9.

Nick: Weak.

Richard: I'm underpaid and under appreciated, dammit.

Nick: Well let's go up to the ring for Vince Howard to call this next contest.

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and has no time limit...because well...if we had a standard time limit...then half the matches would go over...yeah...INTRODUCING FIRST-

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

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

A majority of the crowd is behind, but there are still those few fans…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

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!

As his name is announced to the crowd, Dusk explodes from his step and runs down the ramp before sliding in the ring, he looks pumped and ready to go for tonight's festivities.

Nick: Looking to get himself back in contention for another Universal title shot.

Richard: Yeah, and I'm a size 4, that ain't happening.

Nick: He's gotten one before.

Richard: Only because of the man about to make his way down the ramp.

Vince Howard: And introducing his opponent-

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

An absolute killer guitar rift resonates throughout the arena. Before Frampton can get through enhancing the classic Soundgarden opening, boos fly at the stage from all directions.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Once the first rift finally concludes, the name that nobody wants to see pops up on the PRIME*View

SHAKUR

Giant brown eyes stare through the whatever the big screen is called at the arena and seconds later, the face behind them steps through the curtain.

Walking with arrogance, Devin Shakur stops atop the ramp and thrusts his arms high into the air, setting off a wave of red and black pyrotechnics behind him.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Nick: And needless to say, Devin Shakur has once again gotten himself back into the Public Enemy Number 1 discussion.

Ignoring the enraged masses, Shakur begins to walk down the aisle. The lighting casts Shakur in a magnificent glow, the fifteenth shade of pale up from the fiftieth, while he climbs up the stairs and walks into the ring. Amidst the hatred from the crowd, he walks over to his corner and stares down Dusk.

Nick: He doesn't look happy right now and I can't imagine that he's going to get there.

Richard: He's snapped, this is angry and motivated Devin Shakur. I, for one, can't wait to see him start whooping Dusk's candy ass all over The Gahhhhhhhhhhhden!

Nick: Been a while since we heard that, nice nostalgia there.

Richard: Thanks

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: And here we go. Dusk vs Devin Shakur one more time.

Richard: IN THE GAHDDDDDDE-

Nick: Shut up or I'll cut your package off while you are under having surgery.

Devin Shakur and Dusk emerge from their corners. Dusk attempts to go in the casual circular motion, trying to get a feel for Shakur's tendencies. Meanwhile, Shakur charges straight ahead, stuck in a boxer's stance and looking to land a knockout blow so he can get backstage and ice his hand. Shakur keeps moving forward and explodes which Dusk astutely avoids. Dusk shifts position, gets behind Shakur, and starts unloading with body blows to his unprotected right side. Shakur spins around and gets pushed into the turnbuckle by Dusk's 30 plus pound weight advantage. With the two wrestlers locked up, Elvis Nixon rushes in from his neutral position and demands a break after five seconds. To his surprise, he actually receives one from both competitors.

SMACK!

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Richard: Shakur just BITCHSLAPPED the ugly right off Dusk.

Nick: That was a statement.

Richard: So why does he look uglier? AHAHAHAHA! THAT WAS GOOD RIGHT?

Dusk doesn't take too kindly to being called out, especially not by someone he's hated for a rather long time. So instead of cornering Shakur and continuing to work him over like the logical wrestler would.

SMACK

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

He throws one back at Shakur, causing Commie Emo's cheeks to flush red. It could be from embarrassment. It could be from the pain. It could be from the rage. More than likely it's a combination of all three, given that he's clinching his fists and about ready to straight up Kimbo somebody.

Richard: GET YOUR POPCORN READY!

Shoving Elvis Nixon aside, Shakur rushes out into the center of the ring, pulls Dusk and his 254 pounds up into the air, over his shoulder, and spikes him into the ground with a vicious THUD. Dusk does his best to put up a guard with his legs, but Shakur is already back on his feet before The Lost Soul can achieve his objective. The former Intense Champion tries to roll away from his rival, but is promptly kicked in the leg, bringing him back into the turtle position.

Richard: Shakur is going for broke here tonight, baby!

Nick: I can imagine that Dusk is adjusting his game plan accordingly right now.

Richard: While also trying to remember if he's an organ donor or not.

Shakur throws another leg kick, finding the mark on the hamstring area. Even for someone with Dusk's pain tolerance, a kick of that magnitude hurts. Not that he'll ever show it, but Shakur notices the body tendencies. Exploiting them, he throws another leg kick and shifts Dusk's legs to the right while coming in on the left. The blow that hits Dusk's forehead isn't one as powerful as Shakur would have liked, but he will deal with it for the time being. Commie Emo swings his leg onto Dusk's right side and applies a choke hold, while sliding his legs around Dusk's, rendering escape impossible for the moment.

Once again, Elvis Nixon slides in and demands the break from Commie Emo. Reverting back to normalcy, he fails to receive one and has to pull Shakur off Dusk in order to restore order inside the ring.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: The crowd not too happy that Shakur doesn't want to play by the rules.

Richard: You honestly think people in New York play by the rules? You gotta be out of your mind, kid.

Once the two competitors have adequate separation, Shakur continues his 'Wild Thing' (YOU MAKE MY HEART SING) approach, stalking forward and looking for the kill. Much to Shakur's chagrin, Dusk is ready and waiting for him, the agony from Shakur attach diminished. When Shakur's knees hit Dusk's feet, Dusk reaches up, grabs the head, and flips Shakur overhead into the ropes with a successful monkey flip.

"YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Shakur is stunned and quickly rises up to his feet, keeping the task at hand and bouncing off the ropes for another attack. The Lost Soul is once again ready, bending down in order to send Shakur overhead with a back body drop.

Richard: He's gonna lose it. Somebody get the chloroform.

Nick: That's not going to help Shakur.

Richard: No, I meant for Dusk.

Both competitors rise to their feet. Dusk, desiring to keep his offense going, Shakur to kill Dusk in the face. Shakur looks for another big time shot again, and gets thrown over onto his ass with a hip toss. Before he can provide a counter defense due to Dusk's failure to move, a boot clogs his chest and puts him down onto his back.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!"

Slapping the mat with frustration, Shakur scampers up to his feet and wildly swings for the fences. Dusk easily counters, ducking underneath, and lifting Shakur off the ground in an atomic drop. Clutching his bum with great terror, HA, Shakur moves forward against the ropes and grits his teeth in anger. When he turns around, the outline of Dusk's forearm against his throat sends him over the top rope and down onto the floor, eliciting a loud reaction from The Garden.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Dusk jumps up to his feet and feels the crowd reaction running through him. It inspires him. It inspires him enough to rush off the ropes and go headstrong (BACK OFF I'LL TAKE YOU ON...ok I'll quit the parenthesis) out toward Shakur. He leaps over the ropes and connects with a beautiful somersault plancha that violently puts Shakur down on the ringside mats.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!"

Nick: Dusk is on fire!

Richard: Stop, drop, and die, that's the best remedy for anybody in that situation.

Keeping his confidence level high, Dusk takes a hold of Shakur and throws him back into the ring, not wanting to give him anytime to get his footing or composure. Eliminating the gap, Dusk pulls Shakur up, grabs a hold of the right arm, spins around, delivers a boot to the midsection, hooks the head with the left arm, and drops Shakur down in a snap suplex. Shakur rolls over, continuing to try and fight through the pain to keep get back up. Dusk is standing right there, waiting for him, with another hook of the body. This time, Dusk spins around, and flips Shakur overhead in a belly to belly suplex.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK"

Nick: Shakur needs to get himself mentally back into this or he will find himself on the canvas watching Dusk get his hand raised.

Richard: The thought of Dusk actually beating somebody legitimate is like saying our 2008 Presidential election is going to not fixate on Sarah Palin. Hey, by the way, I saw pictures of her in a one piece earlier today-

Nick: Dude, we're gonna get shot by the government if you go there again.

A bit slowed, Shakur once again forces himself up to a standing position to continue fighting. This time, Dusk doesn't meet him with a suplex, but instead a boot to the midsection. The Lost Soul flies off the ropes, rushing back to the center of the ring, and puts a knee into Shakur's temple. Dusk times the upswing perfectly, grabbing onto Shakur's neck, spinning him around, and planting him on the mat with a beautiful neckbreaker. Dusk hooks the leg and tries to steal a win.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Shakur powers out of the kickout and scrambles up to his feet. Dusk places a boot into his forehead, decelerating Commie Emo's momentum even further. Assisting the former Universal Champion, Dusk shoves Shakur back into the corner and unleashes with a stinging knife edge chop.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Dusk winds up, the pitch

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Shakur's face is redder than a beet and he desperately wants out of the corner. Instead, he receives another chop.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Groaning through the pain of the chops, Shakur takes a hold of Dusk by the throat, and slings him into the corner, delivering a chop of his own.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

And another one

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Dusk retaliates by delivering a staggering right hand that puts Shakur on the defensive. Commie Emo throws a counter punch, but there isn't any legitimacy behind it. Dusk keeps his hot hands flying, throwing three more punches before sending Shakur off into the ropes. Moving his feet, Dusk stays a pace behind Shakur, following him into the recoil and landing a bone crunching spear that puts Shakur down on the mat. COVER!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEE-"

"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW"

Nick: Dusk trying to deliver sudden impact moves and go for the pinfall here. A strategy that could very well get him the victory with how angry Shakur has been ever since arriving here.

Richard: Strategy does not work well in wrestling matches, everybody knows that. It's wrestling. Dusk told Shakur that spear was coming.

Nick: ...

Richard: Oh crap, wasn't supposed to say that.

Dusk rises up to his feet and looks over at the top rope. With Shakur on his back, this is an optimal time to continue implementing his sudden impact strategy. Climbing up not a second too soon, Dusk is standing on the top rope with his back to the ring. While relishing in the moment, Dusk looks back to see if Shakur is still in the same stationary position. He then takes off.

All looks great. Shakur still isn't moving when Dusk is halfway down.

75 percent down.

"BULLSHIT!" "RIGGED!" "FUCK THAT NOISE!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

But when he's nanoseconds from the moment of collision, Shakur throws his knee and hits Dusk in the side of the head, sending him onto Dream Street where Freddy Krueger is waiting with a lollipop and a soda on the picnic bench. The New York crowd isn't pleased, select fans shouting profanities before booing as a consensus.

Nick: Well by hook or by crook, Shakur got himself back into the contest.

Richard: Glorious. My prophecies are coming true. Now if only my psychic powers could be of use when I'm standing in a check out line picking numbers.

Clutching his side, Commie Emo rises to his feet, determined to beat Dusk to a standing position and cease control of the match once again. Dusk is groggy, shaking his head and trying to clear the cobwebs . Shakur doesn't help the process, grabbing onto Dusk's neck and locking him into a Muay Thai clinch. The knees come heavy and fast, hard and swift, leaving Dusk fighting just to evade getting struck. Shakur delivers a stone cold uppercut, rocking Dusk back into the ropes.

Nick: This is where Shakur is at his most dangerous, when he's able to freely swing on his opposition.

Richard: This makes for the most exciting prospect as well, the potential of seeing somebody get knocked on their ass.

Shakur moves forward, connecting on a body blow that ripples the skin. A spinning back fist finds the side of Dusk's head and has the former two time Intense Champion reeling. Spinning around, Shakur lands a back kick that squats Dusk, leaving him vulnerable to devastating rights and lefts to the side of the head, Vader style.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

The only saving grace is Elvis Nixon, bolting in to stop the unfair advantage Shakur is extracting. Elvis puts a finger in Shak Diesel's face, and promptly gets one in return, but not the pointer. Dusk comes barreling out of the corner, but receivers a body shot to quench his potential attack. Shakur delivers a body blow near the liver, almost connecting on the target and putting Dusk into the back of an ambulance.

Richard: WORK IT BABY!

Nick: Do you have a sexual attraction to villainous people?

Richard: Honestly...Yes

Nick: I had a feeling

Richard: Everybody else is coming out lately, figured I might as well also.

Locking Dusk around the waist, Shakur decides to premeditate something he hasn't in a long while, an actual wrestling move. Heaving himself backwards, Shakur launches Dusk overhead in a botched Exploder suplex, dropping him directly on his left shoulder and neck.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: That was just nasty and blatant! Uncalled for!

Richard: Suck it up, pansy.

Shakur rushes over to Dusk and puts an elbow into the back of his head before delivering direct blows to the spine area. There isn't any tolerance for this in the UFC, and Elvis Nixon isn't going to allow Dusk's career to be jeopardized in the PRIME wrestling ring. Diving in, he pulls Shakur off and threatens him with disqualification. Shakur scoffs and places a hard boot into the midsection of Dusk before rolling him over to the corner.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: I don't like what's coming up here, this could be bad for Dusk.

Richard: Tell me about it. Shakur's already got him down and reeling and the match hasn't gone on ten minutes.

Continuing the onslaught, Shakur puts three more boots into the sternum of Dusk. After which, he places the head on the top rope while ensuring the body is underneath all the ropes. Sprinting across to the diagonally opposite turnbuckle, Shakur crouches down into a three point stance, measuring up his opposition for what looks to be a big time move.

Nick: Shakur looking to be going for a kick of some sort. If he puts enough force into this, it could be night, night, for Dusk.

Richard: Good, we can start the party earlier that way.

Nick: We still have another match to go after this.

Richard: Fiddlesticks.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!"

Rushing ahead like a rabid bull, Shakur closes the distance and leaps into the air. It quickly becomes apparent that he's not going to be using his foot to inflict the damage upon Dusk. When it does become clear to The Garden, Elvis Nixon, and Dusk, all of them avert their eyes from the potential horror which is about to go down.

Shakur plummets straight down, head first right towards the skull of The Lost Soul.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: ...OUCH!

Richard: Dude, FOH REELZ!

Nick: That was...SICKENING!

Dusk flops out of the ring and hits the ground like a sack of potatoes, clutching at his head while stomping wildly on the ringside mats. Concerned fans lean over the rail and yearn to check on his safety. Elvis Nixon leaps from the ring and tries to calm Dusk down.

"BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!"

Nick: Devin Shakur could have seriously injured Dusk right there. Every move Dusk has made is counterproductive now because he could have a nasty concussion!

Richard: I'll admit that I hate seeing anybody succeed who gets cheered by the crowd, but that shit ain't right, dude.

Nick: Let's take another look at it again, and turn away if you have a weak stomach.

Shakur springs from his stationary position, without a care for his regard or Dusk's. His intent is clear from the very beginning.

Nick: Right here, he knows what he's going to do to Dusk but he doesn't care. He still goes through with it.

The replay shows the brutal head shot and notes crowd reactions right behind the scene. No eyes are staring at the ring.

Richard: If Dusk survives this, yeesh, that's just...dude.

Nick: I know, man, I know.

Somehow, Dusk is up on his knees and trying to shrug Elvis Nixon aside to get back inside the squared circle. Meanwhile, sitting against the turnbuckle is Devin Shakur, blood pouring down his forehead, with a sick smile on his face.

"FUCK YOU, SHAKUR!"
"GO BACK TO CHINA, PRICK!"
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!"
"GET OUT MY WAY SECURITY, THIS FUCKER'S GONNA GET IT!"

Shakur looks over to the rambunctious bunch of fans and gives a courtesy wave, even blowing the one woman amongst the quartet a kiss. She's disgusted, and two security guards have to restrain the rest of her crew. Meanwhile, Dusk puts his hands on the apron mat and tries to slide in the ring. Elvis doesn't want to allow him back inside, but really doesn't have a choice. With the recent criticism of officials in pretty much every sporting league, a backlash would ensue if he decided to call off the fight. Although, nobody could really blame him if he decided Dusk wasn't fit to continue.

Nick: Dusk getting back into the ring, I don't know how he's standing right now.

Richard: Just...Shakur is reverting back to his old, old ways, back when he was The Reject. He doesn't give a damn what anybody thinks right now.

Shakur grasps a hold of the top ropes and rises to his feet, a little spaghetti legged himself, but nonetheless he's moving forward and looking to finish off Dusk. Elvis looks a little apprehensive about letting Shakur through, but obliges and allows the action to continue. Shakur pulls a weary Dusk up to his feet, a crimson mask staining his entire face. Shakur doesn't relent either, throwing a bomb of a right hand directly on the forehead.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Shakur throws another punch and debris starts to flood the ring from the fans. Actually stopping his assault, Shakur grabs a hold of a beer can which made it into the ring and launches it back to where he perceives it was thrown. An alert fan dives out of the way, which leaves the beer can to dent the chair rather than leave him with a nasty bruise.

Nick: I think I liked Shakur better when he was sulking in the rain and whining about not receiving his title shot. At least he was passive then.

Richard: And it got Tony Gamble to dance.

Shakur turns back around and views the unconscious on his feet Dusk, slumbering around like he's had twenty six beers. He decides that the time has to be now and he's got to deliver the crunching blow in order to fully cement himself as being back.

Nick: Oh no! DON'T DO THIS! NOT A HEAD KICK!

Richard: WATCH OUT!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Shakur wields all of the force into his left leg, swinging it high and swinging it hard.

"WHAT?"
"NO WAY!"

In all of his dazed confusion, Dusk ducked underneath the shot and sent Shakur's foot over the top rope. Shakur's groin slams into the rope and he grimaces in pain.

But he knows he can't stop, so he turns back around.

BOOM!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

And Flair flops down to the floor courtesy of the Lights Out.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!"

Nick: DUSK IS BACK IN IT!

Richard: HOLY FONZ AND HOYT, WHERE'D THAT SHIT COME FROM?

Nick: Dusk using all of his strength to put Shakur down onto the ground! He could very well STEAL this one after enduring one of the sickest head shots this year.

Richard: Shakur delivers a head shot and gets perhaps the most lethal one of all in return. Isn't it ironic.

Nick: I'd say it's well deserved.

Dusk stumbles back into the ropes, clutching at the second to try and regain his footing. Elvis, perhaps a little too eager, begins to count Shakur out, while he's holding the side of his face and enduring a modified beer bath from the crowd he was just blowing kisses to earlier.

"EAT THAT, PRICK!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Meanwhile, the collective Garden crowd keeps Dusk going by chants.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!"

Shakur frantically grabs at the ringside mat, hearing the familiar voice of Elvis Nixon up to a five count. He struggles and eventually loses his grip, his hand smacking against the ring steps.

Nick: DUSK IS GONNA DO IT! HE'S GONNA GET A MIRACLE!

Richard: Hoyt works in mysterious ways, Nick.

"SEVENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN"

Shakur pushes down with all of his weight into the stairs, forcing his way up to a knee.

"EIGHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTtttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt"

Nick: TWO MORE SECONDS AND IT'S OVER!

Up to another knee, Shakur takes a hold of the bottom rope.

"NINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"

Nick: HE'S NOT GONNA MAKE IT!

The chant died down on the right side of the crowd for a particular reason at eight. Emerging from underneath the ring was a disturbance that garnered the attention of everybody on that side.

Richard: DUDE, DUDE!

And this distraction pops up right behind Dusk with a steel chair, winds up, and connects with a devastating strike that propels Dusk forward into Elvis Nixon.

"TE-OOF!"

Throwing him into the ropes. Elvis turns around and sees Dusk standing there, leaning on him for support. If Elvis weren't there, he'd probably crumble into a heap. Elvis inquires about what happened, and why he moved forward when he was all but guaranteed the win.

The woman leaning against the rail might be able to answer that question.

Nick: COZEN! WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING HERE?

Richard: Dude, not again. I already had this dream where she depantses me and everybody laughs at my di-

Nick: She's standing behind Dusk. She was the one that hit him! HOW DID SHE GET UNDER THE RING? SHE DOESN'T EVEN WORK HERE ANYMORE!

Richard: ...Oh

Elvis notices her standing there, grinning like a cat, while holding her arms up innocently as if she had nothing to do with sending Dusk ahead. He looks down and starts beckoning at her, wondering what in the hell she could be doing at ringside. Dusk shoves him out of the way and starts yelling at her himself.

This is all the time a certain former Universal Champion needs to get back in the ring, stationed, cocked, locked, and unload on the back of Dusk's head with a sickening right hand. After which, he pulls Dusk down by the trunks, and plants himself.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Nick: NO! NO! NOT LIKE THIS! DUSK IS OUT!

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick: HE DIDN'T EVEN SEE IT COMING! DAMMIT!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Immediately once the bell rings, a plethora of debris comes flying into the ring, sending Devin Shakur to the outside and rushing toward the entrance to avoid castigation. Despite all of his rage and his sickening head shot, he barely got away with one this evening.

That's alright, he'll take the victory.

Nick: Dusk had the match up won, all he had to do was hold on for two more seconds, but Cozen saw fit to interrupt that.

Richard: Not a good night for him, that much is for sure.

Nick: I can only imagine when Dusk gets to full strength what kind of retribution he is going to inflict upon Cozen. That isn't right. You don't take a man's chance to win a match after he's been through so much like that.

The last image seen before heading backstage is Cozen standing over Dusk, chuckling without a care in the world. She's glad that this happened and is letting New York and The Lost Soul know about it.

Nick: Just get out of here, I can't stand looking at this.

Noted as the Sultan of Style, Chandler Tsonda's night hasn't exactly gone fabulous. Now he's standing around the gorilla position, mere moments before he's scheduled to take on Dani Fuhrer in a Roulette Lumberjack Match. Having a plethora of tension around the ringside area is enough to put any man, even the Universal Champion, on edge. When you add in the fact that most, if not all of them, have a legitimate beef with him, The Model Citizen knows he's going to walk out tonight with a few new battle scars.

Tony Gamble, the man who could be Universal Champion if Tsonda weren't there.
Lindsay Troy, who wants to make history at Tsonda's expense.
Xavier Kannon, who Tsonda beat unconscious on 173.
Killean Sirrajin, a hulking figure ready to take his place on the throne.
Bryan Dawkins, loyal apprentice

And of course....

"Tsondie! Darling, how've you been? I thought we were supposed to do lunch sometime you big fucking fraud."

The Emo himself, Devin Shakur, who comes walking in, hands stuck inside his dress pants with a big grin on his face. It's been a foregone conclusion after Shakur's rip tide promo at 173 that these two would end up clashing before Great American Nightmare.

Tsonda doesn't acknowledge Shakur, not even when Commie Emo places a hand on his Universal Championship shoulder.

Devin Shakur: Hey, why the long face? Did you lose all of your interns in the big financial crisis and thus now you can't calculate the amount of lucky stars you need to thank that you are still Universal Champion?

Tsonda still doesn't recognize Shakur, invoking the tactic that if he shuts up long enough Shakur might eventually go away.

Devin Shakur: You should really be applauding Rayne you know, because you two talk about being amigos, compadres, life partners, and yet he's set you up against six different opponents. By wrestling ethics, that's what a REAL good friend does for another.

Chandler Tsonda: Not in the mood, you fucking-

Devin Shakur: I mean with you two being the PRIME equivalent of Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson...You are Ronson by the way, hair and all, I would figure that he would give you somewhat of a break. Throw you against someone like Bonafide or one of the Cobb kids, somebody more on your talent level.

Chandler Tsonda: No, seriously. Fuck. Off.

Devin Shakur: But no, instead he puts you up against six of the best that PRIME has to offer. I'm sure that you'll be getting a fruit basket full of STDs in the mail soon as his form of apology. It's like he said earlier, nobody other than myself recently has been capable of holding the Championship past one defense.

Tsonda finally turns around to face Shakur, who is grinning at him like a used car salesmen.

Chandler Tsonda: Face it, Shakur. You're just the latest schmuck who couldn't keep the title when it mattered.

Shakur feigns shock and cracks a smile.

Devin Shakur: Wow, are they selling Shawn Stewart pills at the concession stands? Jeebus, kid. Look, I know that you have been going through a lot lately, and it's true, being the Universal Champion is quite a challenge. Only the strong are able to survive. You, somehow, managed to avoid the ReVolution defense that I had to go through...Hmm, wonder how that happened.

Shakur does something bizarre and smells Tsonda. The former Universal Champion takes a few steps away after this awkward moment.

Devin Shakur: Yep, I can smell the cigarette and Code Red Mountain Dew on you. Rayne in your back pocket and up your back pocket...Gonna be such a shame when you let him down in a couple weeks.

Chandler Tsonda: Hardy har, look how witty you are. Are we done here, because I've got a main event to deal with. You still remember what those are like?

Shakur slyly smirks and moves back toward Tsonda, patting the Championship.

Devin Shakur: It's like this, kid. I might have been out there sulking in the rain a couple weeks ago, had to play a few cards I'm not accustomed to playing, but the bottom line is...I'm back. I'm better than ever and now our roles are reversed. You have all the pressure on you. All the spotlights. You are the golden boy of PRIME right now and everybody loves you. The pressure is starting to build on your shoulders. Everybody is trying to get at you from every single direction. It's going to take a toll on you in the moments leading up to the match. Hell, you even have people not in the Roulette gunning for you.

Chandler Tsonda: Everybody wants to look good by association. You should know, considering I carried you to Colossus.

Shakur completely ignores The Model Citizen and continues on in his diatribe.

Devin Shakur: See, I'll admit, when I was in the driver's seat of this company, I probably wasn't fully ready for it. I had to lose the Championship to truly see what it meant to be a winner. To truly know how much I cherish that Championship. Now, it's you that are coming out last in every match. You've always been in the position of tasting the air, but never getting to relish in it. Now you have all of the glory. Can you handle it, Chandler? Ask yourself that. Keep asking it over and over again because I think deep down you know the answer.

Shakur turns and walks away, fully expecting that to be the end of the conversation and for him to have a one up on Tsonda.

Chandler Tsonda: All that "wisdom" from a guy who's about as relevant as a typewriter.

But the Champ isn't ready to succumb yet. Shakur stops dead in his tracks, turns around and now has The Model Citizen in his face.

Chandler Tsonda: You had your moment in the sun all set up for you, douche. Your backyard. Your title. Breaking the Colossus curse. But you did what pretenders do: choke. And, let's be honest, that didn't surprise anyone. Devin Shakur is not a Universal Title holder. Good in the ring? Sure. Formidable? Most of the time. But you're not fit to hold the biggest belt of 'em all. And deep down, I think you know it. You were the preface to the Tsonda reign. Get the fuck over it.

Tsonda shoves past Shakur without another word. There are times to talk shit and there are times to put up or shut up. This happens to be the latter.

Backstage, Bryan Dawkins is packing up his gear in the locker room. He hadn't really been around that area since he arrived at the arena that night, having other things on his mind. As he grabs the bag ad turns for the door, the familiar buzz-and-beep of an awaiting voicemail catches his attention.

Dawkins quickly unzips the bag and retrieves his phone. As soon as he looks at the screen, his eyes grow wide.

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh, 20 messages?

He punches a button and holds the phone to his ear, but before anything happens, the door to the locker room flies open. Bryan stumbles back to see Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas, head of security in PRIME, storm into the room.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: BD, shit, man...

Bryan Dawkins: What's up, Dam? I was just gonna skip before Chan's match, hope that's ok-

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: No, Boss, we jus' been looking for you all night. There's...

The worn eyes and squared jaw of the security specialist told the Flyin' Hawaiian that something was wrong. He swallows hard, as his mouth suddenly got really dry.

Bryan Dawkins: W..what's up?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: It's Nikkie, man.

Dawkins stumbles backward, weak-kneed at the mention of her name. He catches himself on a bench, but his bag and phone crash to the floor.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: She went into labor premature...Doc F was there, said they did all they could...she's gone, B.

The silence crushes everything in the room as Bryan just looks down at the floor, overcome with emotions. His heavy, strained breathing crackles as he sniffs back tears and tries to make sense of the news. Dam just looks away, his own eyes dangerously misty for a man of his reputation. He wasn't supposed to be the guy breaking this news. Hell, as far as he was concerned, nobody should be breaking this news. Shit ain't right.

Before he can think of anything comforting to say, Bryan shoots up from the bench and storms out of the room. Fuqueiawytas stammers a shocked response, then rushes after him as nimbly as he can.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Boss, where you going? There's more to the story, BD. BRYAN! WAIT!

The door swings shut behind them, leaving Dawkins' belongings strewn about on the floor. Among them, his phone glows and chirps.

"NEXT MESSAGE..........Bryan, it's me, call me back.........NEXT MESSAGE..........Dawk, call me bruh, ASAP..........NEXT MESSAGE...........Bryan, where the hell are you?...........NEXT MESSAGE"

Richard: Who do you think wins the Roulette? Be honest.

Nick: It’s as wide open as any match I’ve ever covered.

Richard: Okay, but if I wanted to hear politically minded non-answers, I’d follow the presidential campaign.

Nick: You’re not following the election?

Richard: Nope.

Nick: Are you gonna vote?

Richard: Of course. I’ve been writing in Howard Stern for decades and things seem okay.

The strained screeches of Linkin Park’s "Faint" remind us that, hey, there’s a Universal Title match to be had! And they remind us that the contender is a dangerous mother.

Nick: Dani Fuhrer, Vangelus Olsig. If we know anything about this man, it’s that the name doesn’t matter. He’s brutally effective in the ring.

Richard: Finally, a upstanding moral individual I can root for!

Nick: You stand behind a set of morals that would sanction sneak attacking Chandler Tsonda?

Richard: You seem to stand behind yours that sanction the same for Xavier Kannon.

The explosions that precede Fuhrer’s entrance feel like gut punches, rocking the Garden and feeding the boo-birds. Purple pyrotechnics interlaced with silver-flecked smoke only remind those in attendance that the man stepping out is worth a kingly entrance. The longest Intense Title reign, holder of all but one belt, several Pay-Per-View main events.

But none of that matters once Dani Fuhrer steps out, because all that PRIME fans remember is that he stopped Chandler Tsonda from delivering Xavier Kannon’s well-deserved payback. What’s more, his justification earlier in the night has the Garden brimming with hope that Chandler Tsonda can knock the challenger down a peg or two. But in the past, that’s been quite the proposition.

Vince Howard: The following match is for the Universal Title! The match will be contested under Roulette Lumberjack Rules. Each Roulette participant has been notified of their right to appear at ringside or send a single delegate in their place.

Nick: Interesting twist. As you can see, we don’t have a hundred percent participation tonight.

We can see this by the collection of famous faces at ringside. As Fuhrer scopes out the situation, slowly starting his descent down the ramp, he watches the lumberjacks. On his left, Lindsay Troy and Killean Sirrajin seem locked in intense conversation. However, if you think they don’t have those back-of-the-head-eyes on Fuhrer, you’re crazier than Sarah Palin. On his right, Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble are unusually subdued, probably because Shakur, in recent weeks, has digressed into near insanity.

Richard: Where’s Dawkins?

Nick: Grieving, I hope. Folks, Bryan Dawkins isn’t expected at ringside nor do I expect him to wrestle anytime soon. Let’s just take this time to once again send our thoughts and prayers to him and everyone affected by the grave news tonight.

Richard: I’m sure your condolences will make things all better.

Nick: Not tonight, Richard. Please.

Vince Howard: First to the ring…making his return to the PRIME ring after an eleven month layoff and weighing in a two hundred and twenty three pounds…he hails from Bogota, Colombia…DANI FUHRER!

Now, after the way that Dani Fuhrer decided to make his return, what would you expect of the Universal Champion? Complacence? Passivity? Don’t think so. No, Chandler Tsonda won’t stand for Dani Fuhrer taking even a second in the spotlight at his expense. So, milliseconds after Vince announces Fuhrer, we hear twelve familiar words.

I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’
These are truly the last days

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Really? That doesn’t sound like the right response for a choke artist like Tsonda.

Nick: How do you figure? He won the biggest match of the year at Colossus V!

Richard: Ataclysmcay.

Nick: PRIME took a black eye from SCCW at Cataclysm, but that’s no shot against the competitors. Hall of Famers and rookies alike took the challenge seriously and put in a great effort.

Richard: Effort is what losers use to justify being losers, Stuart.

Madison Square Garden holds a lot of people and right now, they’re all cheering for the Universal Champion. Over their hoots and hollers, one can hear the acoustic intro to "Welcome Home." And as the electric guitar thunders in, Chander Tsonda steps out for his first Universal Title defense. Unlike Lindsay Troy, who turned the belt into a haute couture fashion accessory on her waist, Tsonda keeps the thing slung over his shoulder at all times.

Nick: Notable in his absence tonight is one Xavier Kannon. Another week, another charade from the man who ironically calls himself the King of Wrestling.

Richard: He makes a fair point. PRIME does nothing to protect him from vigilante justice, but expects him to show up to work all the same. Maybe you’re okay with the Cantrell fascist regime, but not me.

Nick: So you reject your paycheck because of your staunch moral opposition?

Richard: I choose instead to think of my paycheck as slowly siphoning away his resources.

Vince Howard: And now…weighing in at two hundred and six pounds…he hails from San Diego, California…The PRIME Universal Champion, The Model Citizen, CHANDLER TSONDA!

Another powerful pop goes up at the official announcement, but Tsonda’s got his mind one step ahead. He jogs down to the ring and looks like he’s about to enter the ring when the camera shows him swing his head quickly towards the right. Rounding the corner and walking towards him is his Colossus opponent, Devin Shakur.

Nick: These two put on a match for the ages at Colossus. I don’t think Shakur’s over the fact that Tsonda beat him fair and square.

Richard: He has to live with the fact that he lost to that fairy. I’d be taking it pretty rough, too.

Nick: And after the confrontation backstage between these two men, I’d be shocked if Shakur didn’t use his role as Lumberjack to an advantage.

Only the last threads of whatever Shakur said to Tsonda are caught, but the word "pussy" comes loud and clear. Although he probably wants to get a dialogue going between his fist and Shakur’s jaw, Tsonda opts for the (relatively) moral high ground: flipping Shakur the bird and sliding into the ring.

Richard: How great would it be if Fuhrer upset Tsonda and left him out in the cold for the Roulette? Champion one day, Pay-Per-View no-show the next.

Nick: Can’t call it an upset. The name’s changed, but this man is a Hall of Famer. This match is as much a proving ground for Tsonda as champ as it is for Fuhrer.

DING DING DING!

Where a more conservative opponent might go for a lockup, Dani Fuhrer sees no need. He’s been this close to the big cheese before, so he knows that holding back in the early going ain’t worth a damn. So while it surprises the fans and announcers, it shouldn’t be so surprising that his first offensive move is a spear.

Nick: Whoa! Fuhrer’s getting right down to business.

Already on top of Tsonda, Fuhrer chooses to use that advantage to his....further advantage. From a mounted position, Dani begins a series of painful, alternating blows to the face.

One!

Two!

Three!

Four!

Five!

Richard: That’s a pretty bloodthirsty tradition we’ve got.

Nick: Hey, at least we’re not one of those feds with First Death matches.

Tsonda whips all of his momentum from side to side, flipping over and ending up on top of Fuhrer, reversing the roles. Instead of ten-count punches, though, Tsonda grabs Fuhrer’s legs and slingshots the challenger into the ropes. Dani catches his bearings, but his back is still exposed, and Tsonda comes flying in from behind with a dropkick that knocks his opponent through the middle ropes to the outside.

Richard: Lumberjackin’ time!

Nick: Tsonda knew what he was doing when he booted Fuhrer from the ring. Look at who’s ready to give Fuhrer some assistance.

Killean Sirrajin pulls Fuhrer up by the scruff of the neck. Fuhrer tries to hit Sirrajin with a European uppercut, but the two-time Universal Champion catches Fuhrer’s fist, and grabs him a front facelock. Sensing that he’s in trouble, Fuhrer falls back on a centuries-old tactic, slamming his knee into Sirrajin’s groin. The resulting "oof!" from Sirrajin suggests that this low blow is quite painful, and Fuhrer even has time to let out a laugh before he slides back into the ring.

FUH-RER SUCKS! FUH-RER SUCKS!

Richard: Can’t knock the man’s strategy. He doesn’t have to follow any rules when it comes to these lumberjacks, so why not put a knee in Sirrajin’s shriveled testes?

Nick: You do realize that the steroid thing was made-up, right? As in "debunked on national television and Son-

Richard: MR SILVER, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT LIASON TO PRIME!

Nick: -ny Silver admitted it was all a hoax?"

Richard: Nick, why don’t you take your cockamie conspiracy theories and go make a YouTube video about them? Because if Richard Parker stands for anything, it’s the truth. And the truth is that Canadian schmuck likes to combine needles and the flesh on his ass.

Tsonda’s on the opposite rope as Fuhrer comes back in, but it doesn’t take him very long to mobilize. He bounces off said rope and comes shooting in, taking down a still-rising Fuher with a flying elbow smash. It’s actually Fuhrer who reaches his feet first in the aftermath, but he winces at the pain currently residing in his forehead. Sensing an opening, Tsonda stays on the mat and pulls Dani down with a tight schoolboy.

One…


Two…


NO!

Olsig shoulders up authoritatively, and Tsonda pulls his opponent up by the head.

Richard: Does Tsonda think that fifteen pin attempts a match is a substitute for offense?

Nick: Orthodoxy gets you nowhere in this company. Our last two champions were dead-to-rights strikers in the vein of MMA. If you can’t switch your style up, you don’t belong in that ring.

Now on his feet, Fuhrer elbows Tsonda in the chest, then spins behind the champion and puts him on the mat with a picture-perfect full nelson suplex. Dani grabs Tsonda’s legs and weaves his right leg in the middle of them. He pulls Tsonda’s legs in tight and, even as the champion thrashes, trying to stack on his back, flips the Sultan of Style onto his stomach. The result, when Fuhrer squats is a sharpshooter, exactly the type of move Tsonda doesn’t want to deal with.

Nick: Fuhrer got the memo about Tsonda’s back and he’s unapologetically targeting it.

Richard: Tsonda better have a good escape plan. Like tear gas.

Fuhrer keeps the hold on tight. After ten seconds, Tsonda’s yells can be heard at ringside. That sound, to Fuhrer, means that he’s doing his job; he wrenches hard, eliciting an even louder cry from the Viet Viper.

Nick: Every Roulette participant is getting How To Beat Chandler Tsonda 101 right now.

Richard: Don’t speak too soon. I don’t know if Tsonda’s gonna make it outta this match with the strap.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

The seconds slip by slowly, with Dani Fuhrer’s sharpshooter nigh inescapable. Finally, whether inspired by the crowd or realizing that he’s in a bad way, Tsonda begins to crawl towards the ropes. Fuher, taxed from having the hold on going on about a minute, tries to hold tight.

Nick: Fuhrer’s sacrificing small losses of real estate, in hopes that Tsonda will have to tap.

Richard: Not a bad idea. That’s a fundamentally sound hold he’s got in there, and it’s not like Tsonda’s setting a land speed record.

Indeed, the crawl towards the ropes is slow, but Tsonda begins to make headway. Fuhrer lowers his base, squatting even further, and the result is a pained wince from the Universal champion. His fists are now both clenched as he tries to ignore the pain, en route to the respite of a rope grab.

Nick: Folks, I don’t know if Tsonda can make it to the ropes before he’s forced to tap. We’re talking about an injury that’s nagged him for ten months now.

Richard: You shouldn’t be allowed to hold onto the Universal Title if you’ve got such an obvious weakness. Fuhrer is taking advantage of this joke of a champion.

Another fist over fist slide towards the ropes put Tsonda just out of reach. He extends his arm once and whiffs, bringing a gasp from the crowd. Elbow over elbow, he tries to crawl further, but Fuhrer has gone into lockdown mode. His squat is so low, Tsonda’s body so contorted that he won’t get another inch of give towards the ropes.

Richard: He’s toast. Nothing else to say.

Nick: Dani Fuhrer is making an aggressive play for the Universal belt, and I’m not sure Tsonda’s got an answer for it.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

Maybe it’s something about a crowd in MSG, the fact that he’s on the greatest stage in the world, the fact that it’s his first defense of the title, the fact that Devin Shakur is at ringside loving his suffering. Maybe it’s none of those. But that ineffable something that allows athletes to keep going when it seems useless to do so, that provides Tsonda with the fuel to lunge one last time. He coils up as best he can, trying to ignore the pain. Fuhrer, feeling Tsonda squirm, keeps the hold locked on tight.

Richard: What’s Jackie Chan doing in there?

Tsonda explodes out of the coil, his right arm extended to a painful point. But Tsonda’s hand comes down on the bottom rope, anxious fingers closing as tightly as possible.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Tsonda’s to the rope!

Facing the crowd, Tsonda can’t see Bernie Roberts, which means that he can’t know that Roberts has just turned to try and see the cause of a disturbance in the crowd.

Nick: At a time like this?! Really?!

Richard: Tsonda should stop being a baby. He’ll be out of that hold. Eventually.

The champion cries out in pain, trying to attract the attention of Bernie Roberts, butt now a wide swath has been carved in the crowd. It appears as though several large men dressed in black are shoving other fans, creating a potentially explosive situation.

Nick: Get security out there! That’s not Bernie Roberts’ job!
Richard: It is when those crazies are heading for the ring.

Nick: They’re….oh dear.

It’s undeniable that the men are shoving their way towards the ring, pushing any other fan who dares to get in their way. On Bernie’s blind side, Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble are laughing at Tsonda from the outside.

Nick: Someone….DO SOMETHING!

With an evil grin akin to that of his partner in crime, Devin Shakur puts his hand on top of Tsonda’s hand that grasps the rope. Tsonda’s eyes, drooping from intense pain, stare dead ahead at Shakur. Devin arches his hand and plunges his nails into Tsonda’s wrist.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Nice move, Emo!

Coming to his senses, Bernie Roberts whips around just in time to see Devin Shakur dangerously close to the ring. However, he also sees Chandler Tsonda, hand resting inches short of the bottom rope. Roberts leans over the top rope to scold Shakur, who shrugs his shoulders in a "who, me?" manner. But on the opposite side of the ring, Lindsay Troy and Killean Sirrajin are nervously watching as the column of men in black (not Men In Black; they’re still dealing with Tony Zatarok) reach the barrier. They trade an unsure look, but then nod, as if to say: you come over that barrier, you’re fair game.

Nick: What a perfect storm for Fuhrer! Unruly fans distracted Bernie Roberts long enough that Tsonda’s escape was negated!

Richard: Pretty elementary. Bernie can lift that arm three times and make Dani Fuhrer the next Universal Champion.

The men in black come over the barrier at precisely the same time Bernie Roberts lifts Tsonda’s right arm for the first time. The arm drops to the mat as the men fan out. Only then does it become clear that the men in black are a little too organized to be fans. If there were any doubt, the sight of a familiar flash of red amongst all that black spells it out.

Nick: Dammit! Not again!

Richard: Oh man, now this is what I like to see from a heel!

Behind a half-circle of personal security is Xavier Kannon. Shock registers on the faces of Lindsay Troy and Killean Sirrajin. They remember what side Kannon chose when it came down it, but can’t take down a twelve-man security detail by themselves. Midas is untouchable.

Nick: Get his ass out of here! I can’t watch him disgrace another main event!

Richard: You forget that my man Kannon is licensed to be at ringside. He’s a lumberjack, bitches!

In the ring, Bernie Roberts lifts Tsonda’s arm a second time. Just like the first time, the arm falls to the mat, bringing a nervous gasp from the crowd. The Gardeners are so torn between booing Kannon and compelling Tsonda to get that arm up that you can’t really identify boos from cheers. It’s just noise, and a lot of it.

Nick: Not like this, Chandler!

Richard: Jesus, look at those bruises on Kannon.

With Tony Gamble and Devin Shakur looking on, happy as clams, Bernie Roberts lifts Chandler Tsonda’s arm for a third, and final time. He lets it drop, and limp muscles send the arm into a freefall.

Richard: Yes!

Nick: Dani Fuherer has–

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard; No!

Tsonda’s arm shoots up straight as an arrow. It doesn’t indicate much life, as the champion’s eyes are nearly glazed over, awash in pain as Tsonda is. Fuhrer drops the hold, mostly to argue with Bernie Roberts that Tsonda was too late in raising his arm, that it dropped far enough to make him champion.

Nick: No referee on the planet could end this match after Tsonda clearly got the arm up!

But Tsonda’s crumpled form is easy pickings for the Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble. Gamble reaches into the ring, pulling Tsonda out by his arm. Bernie Roberts turns back around to find Gamble pulling Tsonda to his feet. The diminutive former 5-Star Champion puts Tsonda on his feet, then jumps out of the way as Devin Shakur unleashes a ferocious roundhouse kick to the side of Tsonda’s head.

Richard: Good Times, Painful Memories! Look at the champ getting buried!

Nick: This is B.S. and I think you know it!

From out of the picture, Killean Sirrajin comes charging. And his big boot (which is mighty big) catches Shakur right in the domepiece.

Nick: Sirrajin with the save! He knows that this belt isn’t to be mocked! He may have his differences with the champion, but he won’t sit back and watch this highway robbery!

When Fuhrer sees what’s going on, he takes matters into his own hands. He runs at the ropes, spreads his arms, and lands with a suicide diva on Sirrajin. Both men topple onto the fallen forms of Shakur and Tsonda, creating a pile of bodies. Shooting a deathstare at Xavier Kannon, Lindsay Troy abandons her post near the Kannon entourage, trying to pull Sirrajin out of the pile. But the Supreme Machine can’t be tamed so easily, as he throws right and lefts at Furher, Gamble, and Shakur.

Richard: Anarchy! Anarchy! And look who rules the day!

It’s hard not to notice the smile on Xavier Kannon’s face, as he hides behind his security goons. With a snap of his fingers, the men in black are back over the barrier, pushing through the crowd towards the exit, with Kannon in the middle of a protective halo.

Nick: Oh, I guess his work here is done?!

Richard: Pretty much, yah.

Bernie Roberts looks down at the mess of competitors and lumberjacks and throws up his hands. He shoots a disappointed look over to the timekeeper, who abides by the senior referee’s decision.

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: The match has been declared a no conteAAAAH!

On the outside, Vince Howard narrowly misses being hit by a Tony Gamble projectile. Lindsay Troy acknowledges him with a slight nod, then grabs Gamble by the hair and slams him into the barrier.

Nick: Folks, this match is over, but I don’t think we’re out of time yet.

Richard: You wanna have a rock paper scissors tourney?

Nick: What? No.

Richard: Awkwardly dead air, then?

Nick: I’m just getting this in. It appears there’s a situation somewhere backstage involving Bryan Dawkins. Let’s go to live coverage while we try to clean up this mess at ringside.

Static. It's not the kind you see, but the kind you hear. In fact, we're still on a black screen when the first words crackle through.

"Truck to C.P."

The static buzz dies a little as we fade in to a backstge hallway and a scene reminiscent of a bad YouTube COPS parody. We see C.P. Cantrell from behind as he storms down this hallway, a radio chirping in his right hand. You probably didn't know that Cantrell carried a radio, but that's because he normally keeps the volume low. Right now, though, he's not in a position to be discreet.

"Truck to C.P."

As Cantrell storms down the hallway, it becomes increasingly obvious that something very big and very violent is happening at the other end.

Cantrell slows to a stop at the end of the hallway, keeping his distance. Just over his shoulder, it's a scene of chaos. Bryan Dawkins and Rhett Locke have broken into a full-scale war backstage, and the rubble around them in this open area is a testament to that analogy.

Boxes are strewn and smashed. Several metal poles are bent and rolling across the concrete floor. The bodies of several yellow-jacketed Enemigos are sprawled in between the debris...which, I guess, makes them debris themselves.

As the executive producer arrives on the scene, Dawkins lays into Locke with a running Yakuza kick, sending him tumbling into a stack of equipment cases. C.P. spots Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas across the room and jogs over to him.

C.P. Cantrell: How long's this been going?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: 'Bout since the one in the ring started. Dawkins rolled up on Ghostface like dude spit in his poi. Didn't even wait to open up a can - showed up wit' one half open.

C.P. Cantrell: Anything we can do to stop them? You know, minimize the property damage fees?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Been trying, if the wall-to-wall luchador carpetin' ain't no indication. Last 20 minutes looked a lot like this...

He snaps his fingers and points at one of the few standing members of Los Enemigos Security. Numero XXIV, quivering slightly at the responsibility, hesitates a little util Dam waves his hand frantically. With a deep breath, XXIV runs into the fray, trying to put himself between Rhett and Bryan. No sooner had he crossed their brows than Locke grabs him by the back of the jacket, knees him in the gut and DDTs him into the concrete.

Dam looks over at C.P., who bites his bottom lip, shaking his head at how horrendously inefficient that attack went.

C.P. Cantrell: How many more of them do you have?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Seems like they just keep comin'. Ain't willin' to try the limit, though, lest your boy have to step in and then shit gets real.

C.P. Cantrell: Right...don't want things getting real.

"TRUCK TO C.P."

The radio in the producer's hand chirps again, and he brings it up to finally respond.

C.P. Cantrell: Gary, this is C.P. I've kinda got a situation here.

"We've got one out here, too. We're short."

C.P. Cantrell: Short?

"See that camera in front of you?"

Cantrell and Dam both look up, straight into the lens staring across from them. Meanwhile, a packing crate crashes into the wall just beyond them.

"You're live."

C.P. Cantrell: We're twenty short?

"More line 19, but...yeah."

A blood-curdling yell rings out and the camera swings over to see Dawkins and Locke. The call comes from Dawkins, whose arm is being wrenched from its socket by his nemesis. A small crowd of Enemigos keeps a barrier around the two, but they remain at enough distance to avoid being sucked into the fray. The camera swings back to Cantrell and Fuqueiawytas, who watch the action with a shared grimace. But then, a lightbulb goes off over his head.

C.P. Cantrell: 19 short?

"18:30."

C.P. Cantrell: Is Bernie Roberts still in the ring?

"Looks like he's chatting with this blonde in the front row with great ti-"

C.P. Cantrell: Easy, Gary, don't cockblock the guy. Look, if any PAs can hear me, get Bernie back between the ropes.

He lowers the radio and looks at Dam.

C.P. Cantrell: You think your boys can guide that mess to the entryway?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Be like runnin' them bulls.

C.P. Cantrell: Dam, that's Spain, not Mexico.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Boss, these suckas ain't no more Mexican than they is Spanish.

C.P. Cantrell: Fair enough. (into radio) Alright, people. All due respect to Chan and Dani, but I've got a show to finish. Keep Bernie's eyes on the ring long enough to count a fall. Everyone between the loading dock and the gorilla position clear out - there's a riot coming through. We've got a new main event: Rhett Locke vs. Bryan Dawkins. Let's make it work.

He lowers the radio and exchanges a quick fist bump with his head of security. Dametreyus steps off and starts barking out orders to his team. The camera follows him and focuses on Locke and Dawkins, who continue to brawl as the Enemigos attempt to herd them toward the staging area.

Out of nowhere, Rhett Locke tumbles out from behind the curtain, followed quickly by Bryan Dawkins who, in turn, is followed by the group of Enemigos and Dam. The Enemigos create a small, yellow wall between the combatants and the entranceway, and Dam stands behind them as the enforcer to make sure that this matchup doesn’t make its way back to the backstage area yet again.

Bernie Roberts, Senior Referee of PRIME, reluctantly signals for the bell and deems this match official.

DING DING DING!

Nick: After all of the pain and suffering Rhett Locke has been causing him, Bryan Dawkins is finally going to get his hands on him inside the squared circle!

Richard: I could really care less. We should’ve just aired a hype piece for Great American Nightmare instead of filling up our remaining time with this garbage.

Dawkins, now aware that the match has been deemed "official," lunges at Locke, knocking him over with a Lou Thesz press. Bryan then begins to rain fists down into the pale white face of his opponent, sending Rhett’s head rocking back and forth with every punch. As Dawkins begins to gain momentum, he also begins to become more animated with his punches, pulling Rhett’s head up by his bleach-blonde hair before sending a fist crashing down into his face.

Nick: And Bryan Dawkins is wasting no time taking it to the man who has allegedly killed his wife!

Richard: How does he know he did it, Ni—wait, what do I care? I hate both of these guys.

The crowd, feeling incredibly sympathetic for their favorite Hawaiian and his situation, begins to count along with every punch…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

After that seventh punch, something in Rhett must’ve snapped, because out of nowhere, Dawkins was dismounted from his perch and sent flying back-first onto the cold metal of the stage flooring. Rhett, not wanting to give the Flyin’ Hawaiian a chance to recover, takes an angle and sends a sliding dropkick straight into the injured ribcage of Dawkins.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Hey, at least the fans feel the same way about this match as I do. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-ring.

Nick: Shut up, Richard.

Rhett ignores the response from the crowd and goes back to work, sending an array of kicks into the torso of Dawkins. Then, he steps back and lunges forward, sending both of his boots stomping down onto Dawkins’ sternum. He hisses at Dawkins.

Rhett Locke: It didn’t have to be this way, Dawkins. I told you that last week could’ve been it. All you had to do was leave me alone, and this could’ve been over…

Nick: What a scumbag.

PRIME’s Resident Hawaiian is left rolling about on the stage, while his adversary struts partway down the ramp before hopping down to the floor and walking back toward the stage. There, he finds an assortment of goodies, including a couple of steel chairs lodged into a trash can, a baseball bat, and more importantly, a ladder.

Richard: Ooh, this might get interesting. Weaponry.

Nick: Great, now Rhett’s going to try to subject Dawkins to the same fate as his wife.

The Albino tosses the trash can, bat, and chairs up onto the stage above, and slides the ladder up to the stage to finish his rummage. He then makes his way back around and up to the top, where an injured Bryan Dawkins is kneeling, tending to his injured ribcage.

Rhett Locke: Now look what you’ve done. You’re going to leave this kid without a father. I KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE, YOU FUCK!

Nick: What a scumbag.

Rhett pauses, staring down at the weakened Hawaiian.

Rhett Locke: But again, I’ll say it…it didn’t have to be like this. It was your choice, Bryan. (slowly) Your. Fucking. Choice.

Locke picks up one of the steel chairs nearby and lifts it over his head, ready to bring down the final crashing blow upon the cranium of Dawkins.

Nick: He’s setting Dawkins up for the Fuck Yourself!

Richard: …

Out of instinct, the Hawaiian leaps forward and tackles Rhett to the ground, much to the delight of the crowd.

DAW-KINS!

*CLAP CLAP*

DAW-KINS!

*CLAP CLAP*

DAW-KINS!

Nick: Dawkins might’ve saved the win for himself right there!

Richard: Dammit.

Favoring his ribs greatly, Dawkins slowly rises to his feet and drops a rising Rhett Locke with a spinning heel kick that sent the sound of boot meeting skull echoing throughout the arena. Moving slowly but surely, Dawkins picks the Albino up and swings a right hand toward Rhett, who ducks, but is met with a mule kick right in the chest. Rhett falls back to the stage, but monkey rolls through the fall and ends up back on his feet.

Nick: Dawkins had better watch out here, Locke rebounded and is back on his feet already.

Richard: Who cares, Nick. Honestly?

He catches an unknowing Dawkins by the neck and pulls him down, setting him up for a reverse-DDT, but instead of planting his head into the ground with the DDT, he instead begins to drop down, twisting his body and snapping Bryan’s neck down on his shoulder with a twisting neckbreaker.

OOH!

Nick: Wicked neckbreaker by Locke!

Rhett wastes no time, and signals for Roberts to come over for the attempted pinfall.

Richard: Awesome, a pinfall! GOOOOOOOOOO RHETT!

Nick: Are you serious?

Richard: No, not really.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

TWOOOOOOOOOO—KICKOUT!

Nick: Short two-count for Locke.

Richard: Oh how I wish it could’ve been a long three-count.

Dawkins kicks out after a short two-count and Locke goes back to work, this time kicking at the head of Dawkins before leaving to search for one of his weapons he threw up to the stage. Bryan, however, begins to slowly but surely hobble down toward the ring with hope that he’ll be able to gain some of his energy back.

Nick: And Dawkins is attempting to take this to the ring! Finally we may be able to see some real wrestling here.

Richard: I’ve seen chimps at the zoo do what these two do in the ring week-in and week-out. I don’t consider that wrestling.

Rhett sees Dawkins retreating up on the PRIME*View, and grabbing the ladder and one of the chairs, begins his descent down to the ring as well. Dawkins has already slid into the ring and is leaning against the far set of ropes, trying to catch his breath.

Nick: Locke has spotted that Dawkins is retreating to the ring!

Richard: Thanks, Captain Obvious.

Locke tosses the chair nonchalantly into the ring, and follows it up by sliding the ladder in, which he follows. Dawkins jumps the Albino, landing on the back of Rhett’s head with a running legdrop, which temporarily gives him the advantage. Then the Flyin’ Hawaiian grabs Rhett’s chair and sets it up at the far side of the ring, almost where he himself was resting not a moment ago.

Nick: Rhett’s weaponry looks like it’s gonna be used against him!

Richard: Good for him. Maybe somehow they’ll both get hit with the chair.

Picking Rhett up by his straggly blonde locks, Dawkins Irish Whips him into the near ropes and positions himself to set Locke up with a drop toehold, which sends Rhett’s face smacking into the seat of the chair, drawing a tremendous ovation from the crowd!

DAW-KINS! DAW-KINS! DAW-KINS!

Nick: And the crowd LOVES it!

Richard: So do you, Nick…So. Do. You.

Rhett falls to the canvas, writhing at his face obsessively after it cracked off of the steel chair. He peers down at his hands, which are now covered in blood, blood which is flowing freely from both of his nostrils, painting his pasty white face a crimson red.

Nick: Locke is busted wide open!

Richard: Okay Jim Ross.

Dawkins however is already planning his next point of attack and has positioned the ladder against the turnbuckle across from Rhett, who is now standing and fuming mad. Locke sprints toward Dawkins, who leapfrogs the Albino, sending him straight into the exposed ladder. Rhett crashes back-first into the mat, and Dawkins goes in for a quick cover!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

TWOOOOO—KICKOUT!

Richard: Dammit again.

Nick: Quick two-count for Dawkins.

Richard: WE KNOW.

In an even quicker pinfall attempt than the one Rhett had earlier on him, Dawkins barely got a two-count. However, careful not to throw himself off, Dawkins quickly applies a headscissor lock on his opponent, who is right by the ropes but can’t use them to help himself. Locke frantically claws at Dawkins’ legs, trying to pry them away from his throat, but to no avail.

Nick: Dawkins is trying to choke Rhett out! This is definitely different from the usual high-flying Dawkins we’re used to.

Richard: Well I’m not personally that fond of—

Nick: (imitating Richard from seconds ago) WE KNOW.

Suddenly, Rhett’s eyes light up, remembering that Dawkins has significant damage to his right leg. The Albino wastes no time, and begins to rock back and forth until he gains enough momentum to roll his legs to the outside of the ring. Locke then rolls to his right, cracking Dawkins’ leg off of the ring apron. Bryan releases the hold and clutches his injured leg while the Underdog leans against the guard rail to attempt to catch his breath.

Nick: Dawkins’ injured right leg was just smashed off of the ring apron, giving Locke some time to catch his breath!

Richard: Smart move by Locke to target Dawkins’ weak spot…even though Dawkins is a weakspot himself.

Finally, using the ropes as leverage, Dawkins makes his way to his feet, but fails to notice Rhett Locke, who has leapt from the top of the guard rail he was leaning on a moment ago and is headed straight for the High Risk Hawaiian. Rhett catches Dawkins’ head and pulls it down with him, using the top rop as a guillotine, sending Dawkins springing into the middle of the ring.

Nick: Dawkins head might’ve just been taken off!

Richard: Locke would’ve been doing the wrestling world a favor, if you ask me.

Meanwhile, the Albino goes to work under the ring to find more weaponry to use against his Hawaiian foe. Rummaging through the various tools and materials scattered under the ring, Locke finally finds yet another baseball bat, very similar to the one he used on Dawkins a week ago to cause so much damage. Rhett finally emerges from under the ring with the bat, which he is staring at with a malicious grin. He sneers at Dawkins.

Rhett Locke: And now…we end this.

Locke slides into the ring, and slowly stalks toward Dawkins, who is still grasping at his own throat and gasping desperately for air. Rhett raises the bat high above his head and swings down with the force of a Greek god…

CRAAAAAAAAAACK!

Nick: OH MY GOD!

With both competitors down on the canvas—oh, what’s that? You missed it?

Well, while Rhett was taking his good ole’ time raising that bat above his head, Dawkins used the adrenaline pumping through his body coupled with the natural instinct as a wrestler to take hold of the steel chair Locke had brought down to the ring earlier and swung it in the general direction of Locke’s knee just as Rhett was swinging the bat down on Dawkins. Okay, back to the action.

Nick: Dawkins and Rhett are both down!

Richard: Can we cut to a commercial or something?

With Dawkins clutching his shoulder and Rhett rolling around in pain, massaging his knee, Bernie Roberts just shrugs and continues observing the two PRIMEates obliterate each other. The crowd counts the downtime that the competitors keep on the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NI--

Nearly nine seconds pass before Dawkins is the first to rise to his feet, and he subsequently charges at Rhett, who rises to his quickly enough to evade a clothesline attempt. Rhett catches a returning Bryan with a back elbow, stunning the Hawaiian for just enough time for Rhett to tie up with Dawkins.

Richard: Wow, this is suuuuuuuure exciting!

Nick: Shut up. These two are pouring out their heart and soul, and I think we both know who deserves to win and who deserves to lose this match.

Richard: I think we all lose for having to watch it.

Rhett Irish Whips Dawkins into the corner opposite the one with the ladder and pummels him with hard right and left hands before backing away and venturing to the far corner to grab the ladder. Dawkins sits in the corner, breathing heavily and clutching his potentially broken ribs, which could have only been aggravated tenfold by this match. Locke finally grabs the ladder and sets it up square in the middle of the ring.

Nick: What’s Locke going to do with the ladder?

Richard: I don’t know? Paint a house? Put up Christmas lights? I’m spent.

The Underdog then picks up the chair that was used on his leg and slowly stalks Dawkins (limping). Out of nowhere, Locke rears back and gives that chair a baseball swing that would make Hank Aaron proud.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: OH MY GOD!

Much to the chagrin of the crowd, Dawkins was now slumped down against the bottom turnbuckle, a fresh cut right below his hairline gushing blood at a rate that will quickly cover his face. Locke grabs an arm and a leg of Dawkins and positions him sideways on the ground at the corner of the ring. He then retrieves the steel chair that busted Dawkins wide open, opens it, and places one of the legs across the throat of Dawkins.

Nick: LOCKE IS TRYING TO DECAPITATE DAWKINS!

Richard: GOOD.

Rhett begins to scale the ladder, rung by rung, quite slowly, before finally reaching the top. He pauses for a second and leaps from the top rung, and straightens his body out, his boots making a B-line for the seat of the chair.

Nick: DEAR GOD HE’S GOING TO TRY TO DECAPITATE BRYAN DAWKINS AGAIN!

Richard: Again…good?

Just before impact, Bryan Dawkins tips the chair just enough for himself to escape getting his windpipe crushed. The result? Rhett Locke’s legs split on either side of the chair and he lands crotch-first on the back of the chair. Locke immediately drops like a dead body to the mat and clutches at his manhood.

Nick: Bryan Dawkins just dodged a bullet there, and Rhett Locke ended up crushing his family jewels.

Richard: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Dawkins can do nothing but sit on his ass, leaning against the bottom two ropes, which are the only two objects keeping him upright at the moment. He breathes heavily and slowly attempts to raise to his feet, but the weight of his body on his right leg just results in the leg collapsing under him and leaving him in the same position as when he started. A single tear formed at the corner of his left eye and began to trickle down his cheek, fusing with the blood already staining his face.

Nick: Look at the emotion coming from Bryan Dawkins. After all he’s been through, he DESERVES to win this match.

Richard: …

Just as Locke began to stir to life, Dawkins felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his body, giving him enough energy to climb to his feet and meet Locke in the center of the ring.

The two combatants meet in the ring, leaning upon one another for support, and lock up. Locke gains the advantage and grasps Dawkins’ head in a fairly sloppy headlock. Dawkins somehow finds a way to power out of the move and send Locke into the ropes. Just as Locke returns, Dawkins leaps up and plants his boots into the face of Rhett with a leaping dropkick!

Nick: After all these two have been through, Dawkins has somehow found the energy to leave his feet and nail Rhett Locke with a textbook dropkick!

Richard: Blah, blah, blah…can we go off the air yet?

Not wanting to lose momentum, Dawkins quickly hobbles toward the turnbuckle and leaps to the top, springboarding himself into the air and crashing down upon Locke with a split-legged moonsault so pretty that Chandler Tsonda was probably somewhere backstage applauding.

Richard: Pin him. PLEASE. PIN. HIM. I WANT TO GO HOME!

Nick: Shut up, Richard. This is the culmination of two months of torture by Rhett Locke, and now he’s getting his just punishment!

Richard: So that means we have to be punished by watching this bore-fest?

Nick: ...

Dawkins pops up after the moonsault instead of going for the pinfall and sets his sights on the ladder. He carefully slides the ladder into the opposite corner and takes a glance back and Locke, who is now favoring his ribs. Dawkins then scales the turnbuckle and then continues his ascent of the ladder, until finally reaching the top rung. He blesses himself, points toward the sky, and leaps from the top, doing his signature Shooting Star Press!

Nick: THE HAWAIIAN HANGOVER!

Richard: Thank God, this may be over within the next ten seconds…

Dawkins crashes down upon Rhett Locke, and after regaining his composure, hooks his leg for the pinfall…

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: AND BRYAN DAWKINS HAS DONE IT, FOLKS! ON A NIGHT THAT HE FOUND OUT THAT HIS FIANCEE AND MOTHER OF HIS CHILD HAD DIED DURING THE EVENT, BRYAN DAWKINS HAS DEFEATED THE MAN THAT IS RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL OF THIS!

Richard: He won a match, Nick. A lackluster one, at that.

Dawkins releases the hook of Locke’s leg and rolls into the middle of the ring. Tears flood his eyes as Bernie Roberts raises his hand in victory.

Richard: Yay, Dawkins won…are we done yet?

Nick: From what I’m being told, we have twenty seconds of airtime left. Bryan Dawkins may have gotten the win tonight, but in the grand scheme of things, folks, he may have lost the most important thing in his life…his family. That’s all for us this week. Tune into ReVolution next week for more development on this story as we get it. Good night.

Bryan Dawkins kneels in the middle of the ring, unable to get to his feet, and stares up toward the heavens, as tears fall from his eyes. He then pounds his heart with a fist and points it up to the sky as ReVolution 174 goes off the air…