This is the beginning of ReVolution 184. There are no fiery explosions or fancy backdrops. No long stretch limos with mysterious passengers. The usual fanfare and drama has been left behind, traded for a single thoughtful countenance. The roguish features, outlined by the perpetual three days growth of stubble, tilt slightly downward. An angle more conducive to pondering. The tip of his tongue just barely juts between his lips. The pink eraser of a No. 2 pencil repeatedly bounces off his cheekbone. The man with the plan offers a question to those gathered in his office. And here in PRIME, when the voice of authority speaks, people listen.

Tyler Rayne: How many--

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s the sound of more than seventeen thousand people "listening." That is the sound of overwhelming approval. Every man, woman and child in the Arco Arena uniting their voices to show loyalty to PRIME’s premiere potentate. In case you hadn’t heard, people like this Tyler Rayne guy. They really like him. Wait a second… hadn’t heard? Please. That ovation this guy just pulled registered a 4.3 on the Richter scale. People in Sacramento heard that shit.

Tyler Rayne: How many bags of popcorn do you think it would take to fill Tony Gamble’s locker room?

The question is mostly rhetorical. Perhaps that’s due in large part to the fact that currently his office is only occupied by two other people, both of whom are extremely busy at the moment. There’s Nikki, to his left, hanging upside down from her pole, surgically perfected C-cups bouncing just in the corner of his eye. To the right, Vicki, a lithe little minx using only her thighs to hang perpendicular from her own pole. Vicki’s dark hair drapes from her head as she attempts to lean closer to the Power That Is. Oh, did we mention that she was topless too?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s right. Hooray for female nudity.

Vicki the Stripper: I think you should something messier. Like Jell-O. Or pudding.

Tyler Rayne: Way to think outside the box, Vick. A stripper suggesting I encase my wrestlers in Jell-O and pudding. Though, admittedly… there is a certain comedic value to the idea. Watching Tiny Gamble swim through a pool of tapioca would probably be enough to make me giggle. Feel like getting out of the office?

Vicki the Stripper: Anything for you, sir.

Tyler Rayne: Excellent. Head on down to legal and see what you can work out. I don’t want us getting sued by Habitats for Hobbits or some shit like that. Make sure that abusing Gamble doesn’t count as animal cruelty or something. PETA’s already up my ass for mistreating Kaiser Vashaun.

Vicki the Stripper: The Intense guy?

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Apparently they think he’s a cousin of some nearly extinct mountain gorilla species or some such. I dunno. Didn’t figure the kid had the intelligence to drop into a category of higher primates, but the world’s full of surprises. Oh. Also see if there’s any precedent set for cutting Gamble’s salary in half. Since, you know, he’s like half the size of the rest of the roster.

Vicki the Stripper: Anything else?

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Put in a work order for a geyser of Code Red. Like Old Faithful. But delicious.

His erstwhile assistant gives a mocking salute from her perpendicular post before sliding (quite sensually, we should add) down the pole. Vicki marches from the office to perform her task (and perhaps perform other tasks as well). Tyler notices the bikini top resting atop a stack of contracts on his desk. The top Vicki had previously been wearing. The top she was no longer wearing now. He looked back to the open door Vicki had exited through. He looked back down at the top and shrugged.

Tyler Rayne: Fuck it.

"So that’s what those girls are here for."

Ladies and gentlemen, may we introduce to you PRIME’s numero uno (if I knew the Spanish word for ‘only’ I’d throw that in here too) interview extraordinaire… Matt Mills. Tyler sticks the man with a piercing gaze.

Matt Mills: The uh… the door was open.

Tyler Rayne: Right. So what’s on your mind, Millsy?

There is no answer. Mills just stares over at Nikki as she does her thing. We’ll refrain from making comment about Mills and his ‘thing.’

Tyler Rayne: Mills.

Nikki is spinning. Oh, she be spinnin’.

Tyler Rayne: Mills!

Matt Mills: Huh? Oh! Uh… um…

Tyler Rayne: For the love of Hoyt, man. Act like you’ve seen some tits before. Sit down. Ask your questions. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Matt Mills: Right, well firstly I thought maybe we’d go over what happened last week with Hessian and the Shaklurnes.

Tyler Rayne: The what?

Matt Mills: The uh… the Shaklurnes. It’s kind of this name I came up with. You know. Like, Shakur and clones mashed together. Shaklurnes.

Tyler Rayne: Oh. I thought maybe it was some kinda Cylon joke or something.

Matt Mills: Cy.. what?

Tyler Rayne: Cylon.

Matt Mills: What the hell is a Cylon?

A heavy sigh releases from somewhere deep within Rayne. It was just damn frustrating working with ignorant people sometimes. Tyler rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers. His other hand moves to the little administrative communicator device… thing (look, we don’t work in a fucking office, so we don’t know what it’s called) and presses one of the call buttons.

Tyler Rayne: Ms. Branca, I’m going to need to see you in my office for a moment.

The boss returns his attention back to Mills, the momentary offense apparently forgotten. For the moment.

Tyler Rayne: Devin Shakur. Devin Shakur. That little emo son of a bitch. Was a day I would’ve been scouring this fucking building lookin’ for that cock sucker. Every nook and dark little corner. Fortunately for him, I’ve got business to attend to. See, now I realize everyone around here seems to think I’m the least likely candidate for this job. The fact of the matter is, though… I love PRIME. She’s been good to me. Even if some of the douche nozzles who’ve sat in this chair haven’t. All I wanna do is put on an entertaining show and treat the boys, well, most of the boys, right. Which is a handful all by itself. Shakur’s been stalkin’ me and playing his little games. He thinks he’s real cute. Real clever mother fucker. Well, here’s the part where I get clever. Shakur’s gone through a lot of effort to get at me. To fuck with me. He wants me real bad. Now he and I both know that, eventually, I’m going to end up in the middle of that ring tonight. He and I both also know that when I do end up out there… he won’t be far behind. Maybe even with that army of, uh… what’d you call ‘em?

Matt Mills: Shaklurnes.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Those. So way I figure it, I could waste a lot of time and energy searching for his pussy ass. Ignore all the important business I have to take care of around here. Or I could fulfill my role as commander of this ship better than anyone who’s ever manned the helm. I can put on the most entertaining few hours of professional wrestling the world has ever seen. I can do that. Then I can wait for Shakur and his clone army, like I know they will, and give them the ass beating they know is coming to them. Granted, patience is sort of a new thing for me to try, but the longer I wait to get my hands on that fuck… the more time I have to think of horrible, atrociously violent things to do with him once I do.

Knock Knock Knock

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Rayne?"

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Sweet. Come in. Come in.

The young brunette does as requested, striding into the office with confidence and… a chain? Yes. Both of her feminine (but presumably strong) hands are covered in thick working gloves (a stark contrast to the otherwise exemplary business attire she so elegantly models). Wrapped about her hands and clutched tight in their grip is a length of heavy-duty, industrial chain. While the beautiful Ms. Branca may have entered the office with regal grace, whatever vicious creature is leashed at the other end of the chain is not nearly as cordial. Primitive growls and grunts erupt from the hallway as the young woman tugs and yanks and drags some… beast… into the office.

By all appearances, this feral monstrosity was once considered a man. Those times had long passed. Its greasy grunge hair hangs in tangled plumes over wild, hungry eyes. The eyes of a predator. A grizzly mess of a beard hangs from the man’s chin. It covers his snarling lips. A large leather strap is fastened around this monstrosity’s neck. A tether to which the "leash" can be attached. Disgustingly thin but rippling with muscles, the creature lashes and snarls with animal ferocity. Long, dirty fingernails scratch in the direction of Matt Mills, now cowering in his chair. The man is like the live reincarnation of Animal from The Muppets (Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem say what!).

"Woman!"

See. Told ya.

Tyler Rayne: Careful, Millsy. I’m not sure if he’s been fed yet today. Ms. Branca, if you could get his attention please…

A sharp jerk on the chain and an even sharper whistle bring the beast to an immediate pause. He looks at his handler expectantly, waiting for the next command.

Tyler Rayne: Excellent. Renner. Renner, over here. If you, um… if you wouldn’t mind explaining to Mr. Mills here what a Cylon is…

The Renner straightens immediately. The feral demeanor seems to evaporate, replaced by something more, well… civilized. Authoritarian even. The Renner takes one deep breath before fulfilling the request.

The Renner: The Cylons are a cybernetic civilization created as the main antagonist for the science fiction series Battlestar Galactica. In the original 1978 series, the word Cylon referred to both the robot army that battled against the Twelve Colonies of humanity, as well as the reptilian race that created the robots to protect and expand their empire. In the recent and smashingly successful reimagining of the series, the Cylons are actually rogue creations of man. Originally designed as a cybernetic workforce, the Cylons of the 2003 television series turned on their progenitors, nearly eradicating the human race, before the surviving members of humanity could escape to the far reaches of space. In this new iteration, the term Cylon is actually an acronym short for Cybernetic Lifeform Node. In addition to the cybernetic Cylon armies, there are twelve Cylon variants which are nearly indistinguishable from human beings. They have infiltrated, and continue to attempt their eradication of, the human race.

Mills stares blankly back at the beastly man. The Renner, having completed his lesson for the day, reverts to the rabid animal seen just a few minutes before.

Tyler Rayne: Thank you, Ms. Branca. I’ll have a special treat delivered to the, um… holding pen. I think we’ve got some n00bs layin’ about here somewhere that I can spare. The Renner certainly deserves a little something for such a marvelous performance. Now, does that answer your question, Mills?

Matt Mills: I… uh… I don’t even know what just happened. I think I might have a concussion from when the fourth wall landed on my head.

Tyler Rayne: Mmm. Yeah. That does happen to people when I’m around. So… Shakur can go fuck himself. And you have now been educated in the origins of Cylons. Anything else I can help you with?

Matt Mills: You did book a somewhat surprising main event for this evening…

Tyler Rayne: Actually, I didn’t book that match. Prometheus handed down this edict from up on high. See, I booked a fantastic main event for next week and after they heard the idea, the fire bringers from up above thought it would be cute to schedule this little three-way. Usually I’d be down for a three-way, but…

Matt Mills: What match did you schedule for next week?

Tyler Rayne: Shit. Right. I haven’t told you yet. So much on my mind… Here’s the deal. Everyone and their mother was apparently watching last week when Tink and I had our little… spat. Things got heated. We both said things we didn’t really mean. Shit just got out of hand. I was hoping that would be the end of it. I tried to call Tink but that fairy fuck won’t answer my calls. Anyway, ever since that segment aired, we’ve been bombarded with… everything. Phone calls. E-mails. Text messages. We actually got a few letters through the mail. Hell, I didn’t even know people still used the post office. I think there was some sky writing over Lisa Tyler’s office. Some jackass started a campfire and was using smoke signals. Fucking every form of communication you could think of, Mills. Everyone was calling and writing and making themselves heard. We got a bigger response to that one segment than we get from some pay-per-views. And the one thing everyone wants to know is… when are Tyler Rayne and Chandler Tsonda gonna throw down?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne: Do I wanna fight Chandler Tsonda?

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne: No. I don’t. Unfortunately, I’ve made a commitment to this position and this company. I have always made a commitment to my fans. After that segment, it’s obvious what the fans want to see. So I set my own personal feelings aside and made an executive decision. Next week at ReVolution 185… Chandler Tsonda…
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne: …will square off against myself, Tyler Rayne…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne: …in a one-on-one match for the Universal Title.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Matt Mills: Whoa.

Tyler Rayne: I know.

Matt Mills: So this is for real.

Tyler Rayne: Real as my dick is large.

Matt Mills: You…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Matt Mills: …challenging Chandler Tsonda…

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Matt Mills: …for the Universal Title.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne: By popular demand.

Matt Mills: Whoa.

"State of the Union," by Rise Against bellows to a start, and ya'll know what time it is.

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, and almost slams into the imposing chest of Hessian. The lens pans up to the Murder Show's face, and is rewarded with a fist that crashes through the lens.

"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 Hank Cobb and Colby Korver of Delta Upsilon Iota and High Flyer and Tony Davis of Team VIAGRA slug it out in the aisle, while Mary-Lynn Mayweather watches on, frowning.

"COUNTDOWN! TO THE VERY END!"

Bryan Dawkins flies through the air, connecting with a missile dropkick.

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

Fusenshoff lifts an opponent up for the Domination, driving the helpless victim straight down to the canvas.

"READY! AIM! PULL THE TRIGGER NOW!"

Duke Williams strides down the ramp, basking in the crowd's adulation.

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

Jay Phoenix flies through the air, connecting with a shooting star press.

"STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS!"

Spinning left, the camera finds Kaiser Vashaun, the Next In Line. He sneers into the lens, then grabs it and focuses it on the Intense Title slung over his shoulder. Then he palms the camera and shoves it away.

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

The shot is brought to an abrupt halt, to find a wall of bodies blocking the way. Vejumin Rippa, Scraps and Ruby of Wicked Ways on the left, Jack Conway and Luis Gallegos of The Union in the middle, and Tony Borelli, Carlos Garcia and Dixie Normas of The Trust Fund, on the right.

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

The lens backtracks the opposite way, jetting further up the hall, where another door on the opposite side of the hall swings open, revealing a crutch-less Lindsay Troy in street clothes. She lifts the ROCS from her eyes and flashes the trademark smirk.

"ARE READ BETWEEN THE LINES OF THE RED!"

Thump.

"WHITE!"

Thump.

"AND!"

Thump.

"BLUE!"

"COUNTDOWN! TO THE VERY END!"

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

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

Tyler Rayne slugs it out with pretty much everyone we could find a clip of. It's a long montage.

"READY! AIM! PULL THE TRIGGER NOW!"

Jason Snow stands triumphantly on the turnbuckles following his Jewel in the Crown win, sneering at the plebes in the audience, both in the arena and at home.

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

The shot turns to black and white, revealing the faces of competitors as jagged blue lettering in the foreground presents their names. Behind it, the camera sprints down toward the end of the hall, where the silhouette of a figure stands.

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEEELLLLLLL!!!!!"

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.

"YOUR PLACE IN HEEEELLLLLLLL!!!!!"

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

The PRIME logo slams onto the screen.

Number One by definition.



This is P R I M E.

BA-BA-BA-BA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The arena is suddenly filled with the grizzled Stuka dive bomber-style bass bombardment of Lemmy and co. as "Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead hits the PA to a massive cry of cheers from the crowd. The lights dim down and strobe lighting fills the entrance as the massive silhouette of the Hardcore Monster fills it. Stepping forth into a spotlight shining up to the rafters, the fans become even louder as the spooky shadowed face of Hessian peers out over the packed house with a sinister look upon his face. Throwing his cape back he paces down the ramp, his eyes moving from fan to fan as flashbulbs explode all around and signs with his insignia wave all around.

Nick: Well folks as we kick things off it quite clearly looks like we're about to be graced with the presence of the man who put none other than Tyler Rayne down for the 3 count last week here on ReVolution!

Richard: A move which shocked a lot of people Nick, though you couldn't say Rayne was the least of them.

Nick: True enough, Tyler seemed more concerned about an army of doppelgangers getting the better of him!

Approaching the steel steps, Hessian suddenly flicks his wrist out and throws a fireball at them, causing them to light up to the joy of the fans. He ascends the flaming stairs with no concern for the burning, and moves along the apron, taking a moment to breathe in the atmosphere before taking the giant's route over the top rope to the middle of the ring where Vince Howard is waiting, ready to hand him a microphone as his theme music fades out.

Nick: Always one for theatrics, even now he seems to have settled down a little Hessian can't help but put on a little show for the fans with that fire routine!

With the mic in one hand Hessian strokes his beard with the other, glancing up at the fans before sinking his gaze to the canvas in thought. The fans continue to roar with applause as the Murder Show shifts on his feet and raises his head up again, clearing his throat as he brings the microphone to his lips.

Hessian: And a good evening to you Sacramento...

The crowd pops wildly for the mention of their hometown.

Hessian: I don't know where it's the raging hellfires that threaten to burn everything to the ground or the fact you're governed by the world's biggest action hero but something about this state of California seems to be having an effect on me. Last week in San Diego, Tyler Rayne bit the cold Cali dust courtesy of a Hellevator from yours truly and lost any credibility when he let Devin Shakur's mind games get to him. For a guy like him to go the distance and conquer the almighty Dual Halo and cash in his golden ticket on such a monumental position of authority it's a pretty piss-poor showing to be one-upped so easily by someone who just got his foot in the door.

The crowd react heartily to the jab at Rayne.

Nick: Hessian telling it straight to the sold-out Sacramento crowd!

Richard: He better watch his mouth or he'll be telling it straight to Rayne's fist...

Hessian: But who am I to judge? Live and let live as they say, if Tyler wants to carry the reputation of the company on his shoulders and get turned out like a prison bitch at the same time so be it. My concern tonight lies with the decision not to book me against anyone, but rather serve me up as a special guest referee in a tag match. It's funny how the Golden Boy had to win the Dual Halo before he could attain any sort of power in PRIME, whereas I've wrestled two shows and I've already been given the power of authority! Albeit it's just one match but it just goes to show PRIME management know potential when they see it...but I digress, sorry Ty.

Nick: Talk about persistent, Hessian is making sure Tyler Rayne knows who he got beat by!

Hessian: On to the business of tonight, as I said I'm down as a referee for a tag match. I didn't think much of it, in fact I thought maybe no one wanted to face me in the ring after witnessing the main event last week, but then I heard who I was refereeing and I couldn't help but wonder if someone has a grudge with Jay Phoenix and that other guy...the one that always reeks of wine and has a slightly irrational fear of Christmas trees.......Fue-...Fusey...Fuey? I'm not sure if it's Fuey, Dewey or Louie but you get the point. The three of us have been revolving around one another on ReVolution in one form or another since King of Kings and then last week that little son of a bitch Hong Kong Fuey calls me out in the middle of the ring? I would have expected that from Phoenix, at least I've heard of him...but not some twat-dodging gutter-snipe rookie who ought to know better...

Hessian shifts his gaze to the entrance for a more personal address while the fans jovially lap up the slanderous attack on Fusenshoff.

Nick: The Murder Show is making a habit of trash talking the talent here in PRIME!

Richard: I know I wouldn't be happy being called a twat-dodger by a guy that used to roll with a purple midget for company!

Nick: I believe Minion the Imp was one of the most notorious managers on the circuit Richard, hardly deserving of any insinuation you're making...

Richard: Nick, listen to me. Purple. Midget. Purple. He's fair game for a piss-take!

Hessian: How dare such an ignorant little asshole have the audacity to make me a target. Fuey-...Fue...goddamnit what is his name?

From ringside Vince Howard steps forward and cups his hands around his mouth, shouting 'FUSENSHOFF' to the Murder Show, who nods in understanding.

Hessian: Ok, "Fusenshoff". Nice name by the way. You have no clue about me regardless of how much research you think you've done you jumped up spermicide-monger. I've been in this business for nearly a decade putting mouthy little bastards like you down for the 1, 2, 3 week after week, month after month and year after year. I've fought champions and legends and win or lose they all remember the name of Hessian. I made the big names in Primetime Championship Wrestling sit up and take goddamn notice when I joined with the like of Xavier Kannon and Asa Fountain. I paved a road of broken bones over rivers of blood and tears in Old School Wrestling from it's opening night until it's curtain call. I brought a new kind of pain to Rush Pro Wrestling and made athletes like Chris Storm beg for the right to breathe. I WAS A PTC GLOBAL CHAMPION!! A. GLOBAL. CHAMPION.

His booming voice resonates throughout the arena and the fans sitting closer to the speakers jump a little as he roars down the microphone.

Nick: One thing you can say about Hessian when he has something on his mind he really lets you know about it!

Richard: It's a good thing he can back his words up......all the hundreds and thousands of them he crams into his promos...

Hessian: Back when Hin See ran the company I was brought to PRIME because I was the ONLY man in the entire wrestling industry capable of destroying Vampir Nosferatu. Yeah I know what you're thinking, "Here we go again!". Well shut up and listen because you're employed by a promotion where the OWNER chose me over all others to take him and his bum buddies Boda et al out of the game and bring the company stock back up! You have no idea who you're messing with Fusenshoff...

The Murder Show's eyes narrow as he channels more venom into words.

Hessian: Last week I beat the apparently all-conquering Tyler Rayne without even realizing he was a Halo winner and now you...the man with a name no one remembers, you want to make it known by facing me? I've had more than my share of idle threats from idiots like you my whole career, I've heard it for nigh on ten years and I'll here it for ten more after that. Understand you are less than nothing to me, think about it and ponder on it before you dare to bring this on yourself.

Stepping to the side, Hessian turns and leans on the top rope, studying the crowd once more as he continues.

Hessian: I have a harder time getting through doorways without bumping my head than wrestling morons like him. I'm not going to complain though, what better way to ease back into the swing of things than putting a mouthy little newbie prick in his place? Aside from maybe humiliating the company's Golden Boy in the main event - sorry again Tyler - not much at all. So I'll take this week off as it were and do my duty as special guest referee, if only to piss off certain individuals who don't know any better...oh, and remember the referee's word is final. So bearing in mind Phoenix was the only competitor in this tag match to show any form of talent whatsoever the other three involved in the match better be ready to dance like puppets if they want that precious win for their record.

The Construction of Destruction chuckles at the thought of having so much control of the match. He turns to leave, but not before holding a defiant hand in the air and pointing to the fans.

Hessian: But I'll be damned if I'm wearing a striped shirt! Over the years I've worn skulls, steel masks, body armour, capes and even a gas mask but I won't be caught dead in a zebra top so god help the sorry son of a bitch that's trying to find one big enough because the only place it's going is devoid of sunlight and a pleasant odour! Mark my words, and let the Murder Show roll on...

"Kingdom of the Worm" hits the PA once more as Hessian drops the microphone and exits the ring as the fans erupt once again.

Nick: Strong, strong words from Hessian there and a very serious start to the show!

Richard: Now let's kick it to something completely different!

What do you do when you are stuck between a rock and a hard place?

When you are one of the most recognized names in wrestling but, recently, it has been for all the wrong reasons; when you have held gold in every league you have wrestled in but, recently, you have been treated like a rookie; when you used to wake up each and every day with a smile on your face because you were living your dream inside the ring but, recently, every day has brought just another nightmare?

What do you do when you find yourself wrestling because you have to, not because you want to?

What do you do when not even five minutes ago – less than two minutes after you arrived at the Arco Arena in Sacramento, California – you were informed by someone - who looked barely old enough to wipe their own backside, let alone have a staff position in one of the industry’s leading federations – that the boss wanted to see you?

As Jay Phoenix stormed along the corridor, heading for the room he had been told to, those questions – and many more – were playing through his mind. Coming up short, stopping beside the only door in this section of the arena, any trace of a smile left his face as he saw the two words – the one name – that was written there.

Tyler Rayne.

Giving the wood a cursory knock he didn’t wait for an answer before throwing it open and walking in. Just a few feet inside the room, a sheaf of papers in one hand, stood the new installed ‘power that is’ and defacto decision maker in PRIME … and the man whose name graced the door while falling as a curse from Phoenix’s lips … Tyler Rayne himself.

Phoenix: What the Hell is this, Rayne?

Rayne: This is an office, Jeanie, specifically my office – and just to keep the formalities straight – ‘come in.’

Phoenix: Funny, I mean what did you want to see me for?

Rayne: Can’t an employer just want to spend some quality time with his people and let them know how much they are appreciated?

Phoenix: I haven’t felt much – if any – appreciation since I was railroaded into signing up with PRIME so I don’t see why anyone, least of all you, would suddenly care about my feelings!

Rayne: Try me.

Phoenix: What?

Rayne: Seriously, Jean, are you deaf or just a little slow? I mean I could probably arrange for you to get a hearing aid fitted or, if it’s the slow thing, maybe find one of those thinking-mind dogs …

Phoenix: … what?!

Rayne: It’s like a Seeing Eye dog for blind people but, you know… not. The dogs do the thinking for people who, um… can’t really do the thinking. If you know what I mean.

Phoenix: No, no I really don’t.

Rayne: Makes my case for me. I’ll have someone get right on that for you.

Phoenix: Is this what you wanted to see me about?

Rayne: No, but never let it be said I didn’t try and do somethin’ for ya. Always lookin’ out for my people. That’s me.

Phoenix: *SIGHS* … listen if you really wanted to show me some appreciation you could simply tell me what you wanted, well that and give me a secondary employee contract, of course.

Rayne: A what?

Phoenix: … maybe you should order two of those damn dogs!

Rayne: Cute. For real, though. What the fuck is a secondary employee contract?

Phoenix: You know all those guys out there who have a valet, a manager or an entourage of people around them at all times?

Rayne: Yeah…

Phoenix: Well they have them under contract to PRIME as secondary employees – similar to a wrestler’s contract in some ways.

Rayne: Ok – and why would you want one?

Phoenix: You wouldn’t understand.

Rayne: Do you see a thinking mind dog in here? No. Then I would probably understand. Out with it.

Phoenix: I never intended on coming back out on the road, full-time as a wrestler, but …

Rayne: …but you did. So?

Phoenix: So I was thinking that it would be a lot more bearable if there were someone out on the road with me - it gets kinda lonely …

Rayne: Ah. Tired of the ring rats, eh? Can’t blame ya. I’ve probably fucked most of ‘em already, anyway. You need some companionship, kid… say no more. I’ll have that fixed in a jiff.

Phoenix: No, I don’t …

Rayne: That wasn’t a rhetorical ‘say no more’ that was an actual ‘say no more.’ As in shut the fuck up and say no more. Leave it to me, Jean. Few phone calls and you’ll never be lonely again.

Phoenix: ….

Rayne: What, not even a ‘thank you’?

Phoenix: You said to say no more …

Rayne: C’mon, that is so two minutes ago. Now you are more than welcome to effuse with gratitude.

Phoenix: Erm … thanks?

Rayne: *SIGHS* Weak sauce, Jeanie. We’re gonna have to work on that… but it’ll do for now.

With a shake of his head, obviously more than a little bewildered, Phoenix walks back to the door and beings to leave Rayne’s office. Before he can, however, he is stopped short.

Rayne: Not so fast!

Phoenix: Changed your mind already?

Rayne: Of course not. Just can’t have you waltzing out without telling you what I called you here for in the first place. That would just be… ridiculous.

Phoenix: Nothing to do with dogs or contracts, then?

Rayne: No. Not really. Just wanted to congratulate you on getting through an entire match with Flyer without, you know, killing him or maiming him or something. So as a reward…

Phoenix: Wait a minute, Rayne …

Rayne: I’m still talking, Jean.

Phoenix: Yeah, well you know what? I am sick of people here talking to me, at me, or even about me. Let me do the talking for a moment and tell YOU something! I spent a good part of the last week thinking about things – my career, PRIME, where I am right now – and I realized something. I may not always have a choice about what I do but I sure as Hell have a choice about HOW I do things …

Rayne: …and your point is?

Phoenix: My point is that, like it or not, I am part of PRIME now. Like it or not Natas was injured on my watch. Like it or not shit happens … you just have to be ready to deal with whatever hand you are dealt.

Rayne: Too…many… cliches…brain… melting…

Phoenix: Rayne … Tyler … you may have the power right now and, believe it or not, I respect that, but you are also a wrestler. You KNOW what it means to strap-on …

Rayne: Whoa, kid! Whoa! You must have me confused with Tsonda. Now I know there was that one rumor a few weeks back, but I assure you, that hooker never got near my ass with her plastic peni--

Phoenix: … strap-on the boots and step foot in the ring. What happened to Natas was an accident and there was nothing at all I could do about it. He got in my face, he attacked me and – unfortunately – he ended up on the shelf because of it! Better him than me, if I am honest, and each and every time we step in the ring we are risking injury. I am not going to apologize for it anymore and I am not going to let it – or anyone – get in my way. If I am in PRIME, if I am going to wrestle, then I am going to do it my way and give 100%.

Rayne: Wow.

Phoenix: Ok, c’mon, give me whatever sarcasm is brewing inside you!

Rayne: Nope. I’ve got nothin’. Seriously, it’s that kind of attitude I’ve been hoping to see. You grew a pair, kid. Good for you. Hell, keep this up and I might even stop calling you Jean.

Phoenix: Really?

Rayne: Yeah – but don’t expect a group hug or some shit. I don’t like it – or you – that much. It’s just better than that woe is me, emo bullshit you’ve been spouting around lately. I’ve got enough emo fucks to deal with as it is, you know.

Phoenix: So – we good?

Rayne: Actually, no. I still haven’t gotten to the point, what with all your gum flappin’ and shit. I put you in that match with Flyer last week because I wanted to see how your candy ass handled going up against one of our more… ahem… top tier talents… for lack of a better term…

Phoenix: How I handled him? As I recall last time you faced High Flyer he took your title from you … last week when I faced him he threw everything that he had at me and, at the end, was left flat on his back staring up at the lights as MY name was called out as the winner. Is that ‘handled’ enough for you?

Rayne’s expression doesn’t change but the atmosphere in the room drops. Phoenix tenses, expecting the situation to suddenly escalate out of control but, without warning, Rayne reacts in a way that obviously surprises Phoenix.

Rayne: Actually, the last time I faced Flyer I steamrolled over his bitch ass to the finals of the JitC. However…touche. You handled yourself well last week, so as a reward… I’ve booked you tonight. Thought we’d see how you handled yourself in a team situation. You and Fusenhoff in a little tag team action, right out there in that very ring, against the Union.

Phoenix: I didn’t think that we had one?

Rayne: No, not the union – we still don’t talk about that – The Union. This tag team I hired recently as part of my ‘Make Sure Flyer Never Wins Another Title in PRIME’ initiative.

Phoenix: I don’t get it – why me and Fusenhoff. We don’t know each other – we don’t have anything in common.

Rayne: Actually, you do. I forgot to mention that there would be a special referee in the match – someone that our little Fuse seems to have beef with. Hessian.

Phoenix: *rolling his eyes* … the vampire wannabe? I hate vampires!

Rayne: So I heard. See, you’re becoming more like me every day. ‘Sides, you’re so cocky after beating Flyer after he beat me… Does that even make sense? … I figure you’d do me the favor of keeping an eye on Hessian. Also, seriously… keep an eye on him. Those goth fuckers are creepy. Now peace out, kid. I’ve got work to do.

So ends another exciting installment. Tune in next week for more Jay Phoenix and Tyler Rayne shenanigans. Well... maybe. We haven't actually planned that far ahead. Seriously, though... tune in. There's probably going to be some good shit on there. Even if we're not. Which... we will be. Just maybe not together... in the same seg...

Devin Shakur is sitting in the middle of the corridor, back against the wall, staring straight ahead at the wall. Clad in his black trench coat that protects his expensive Armani dress from the floor, he cradles back and forth, clutching his knees. The focus in his eyes is that of a killer. Ever since coming back, his objective has been to dethrone The Underground Pimp and make sure that he leaves PRIME, never returning.

Devin Shakur: Tyler Rayne. Ty-ler Rayne. All I have to do is speak those three syllables and I feel like I need to empty an entire bottle of liquid soap down my throat. Just saying the name Tyler Rayne corrupts the air with seediness. Oh, but of course the general population and most of PRIME find that acceptable, because they themselves exhibit the same qualities as this man. He is the poster child and the deity of social debauchery. To translate that into modern English, Tyler Rayne is "cool" and "hip". He is on the lips of every man, woman, and child attracted to PRIME because of his outlandish antics and crude words. Because he doesn't give a fuck. Because that is who he is. That is why he is on your lips. Because you are drawn to him. He is the teenage crush you can't stop thinking about.

Taking his eyes off the wall, Shakur stares over into the camera that he has placed at his right side.

Devin Shakur: His name is on my lips because, while on his selfish tirade to become the alpha male of PRIME, he took away my livelihood and my ability to hurt people. His name is on my lips because he believed that I was just another victim who would succumb to his brutality, and end up steamrolled into the PRIME statistics book. Oh, how wrong you were, Tyler. How wrong you were.

Shakur places the camera on his stomach.

Devin Shakur: You see, you are a man who refuses to think before he acts or before he speaks. Thinking requires you to use muscles that you don't often use because they aren't between your legs. I've warned you ever since 176 about how vicious a man I am, but you don't seem to believe it. You don't seem to know what you've started, or how agonizing I can make life for you. Let me drop some intellectualism and enlighten these ignorant masses, which include you, about just who and what Devin Shakur has in his arsenal.

Devin Shakur: The one person on this roster, Tyler, that you don't want to engage with is me. Why? Because of our history by connection. In the life before PRIME, the men and women that I consider to be my best friends made your acquaintance on a weekly basis in the squared circle. Oh yes, Tyler Rayne had a fulfilling life even before he walked onto the PRIME scene and became Tom Walczak's literal bitch. I just happen to be the ever so lucky soul who is one degree of separation away from having complete access to the past exploits of Mr. Rayne.

He smirks and wipes the hair away from his forehead.

Devin Shakur: In the weeks that I was away from the limelight, I called upon them. I asked them to collaborate and acquire as much information as they possibly could. To go through all avenues at their disposal and leave me the results. I'll spoil the ending for everybody who is curious, he hasn't changed one bit, but boy does he have some interesting stories. Ones that you will definitely be hearing about on upcoming ReVolutions.

Devin Shakur: And yet, I have to think that in the back of your mind, you knew this Tyler. You just didn't think I would ever put two and two together to use such methods against you. But this is war, Tyler, something that you are very familiar with, and have been your entire life. You know the tricks. You know the games...And now they are going to be played against you. You will find yourself the subordinate. You will find yourself the victim, because I know you like the back of my motherfucking hand...And you want to start a war with me?

He looks down into the camera with a calm presence, an expressionless look in his eyes, and then he explodes.

Devin Shakur: HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU, TYLER? YOU THINK A CLONE SHOW WITH FLICKERING LIGHTS IS THE WORST THING I CAN DO TO YOU? SON, I HAVEN'T BEGUN TO FUCK WITH YOUR HEAD! I HAVEN'T BEGUN TO SHOW YOU JUST HOW MUCH PAIN YOU PUT ME THROUGH WHEN YOU SHATTERED MY ANKLE!

Chuckling uncontrollably, Shakur moves the camera back to his right side and resumes his position of staring straight ahead.

Devin Shakur: Tyler, I've told you every step of the way that our war wasn't going to be pretty. By the time all the chips have fallen, I am going to ruin you. I am going to go through your history and expose you as the decrepit piece of shit that you actually are. I am going to desecrate your legend. What I am telling you right now, I don't expect you to take seriously, because they are just words. Sticks and stones will break your bones but words won't hurt you...Wait until next week, Tyler, when I start parading my results in front of you, and in front of the PRIME universe. Then you will see how serious I am. Then you will see how far I am willing to go just to get my delicious revenge.

Switching his eyes over to the camera, Shakur gives his final words.

Devin Shakur: The end comes when I say it does, Tyler, not when you do. I hope you are ready kid, because you have no idea what you are in for. As a parting note for tonight, Ty, I want you to remember three words. Three words that were once a calling card to you. It's my mentality. It's how I'm going to think from now until I deem this war to be over.

"Murder...Death...Kill...

Murder...Death...Kill."

Shakur shuts the camera off.

Fading back into the squared circle, PRIME cameras spot Duke Williams and Vejumin Rippa inside the squared circle, having entered during the parade of segments which aired a moment ago.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, to my left, he weighs in at 303 pounds, standing 6'6 tall...THE PCW HALL OF FAMER...DUKE WILLIAMS!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Vince Howard: And his opponent, representing Wicked Ways, he also stands at 6'6 tall, weighing in at 278 pounds...THE SWEDISH SHARK...VEJUMIN RIPPA!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

DING! DING! DING!

Vejumin Rippa and Duke Williams slowly walk toward one another and stand eye to eye in the center of the ring. The verbal jawjacking happens instantaneously, both members trying to establish ground in the Tag Division for their respective teams. Rippa shoves Duke. Duke shoves Rippa. Rippa delivers a thumb to the eye and catches Duke off guard. A right hand between the eyes staggers The Malice Man back into the ropes. Rippa closes the distance and lands a forearm shiver to the side of the head. Rippa acquires wrist control from the 300 pounder and launches him into the ropes with authority. Rippa drops into a three point stance and bulrushes ahead, clotheslining Duke with a considerable amount of force. Unfortunately for Frosty, nothing is accomplished and Duke is standing, flat footed, in the middle of the ring.

Nick: That clothesline didn't phase big Duke one inch.

Richard: Big Duke? If we are talking about nicknames for our junk, then I got some great nicknames here myself.

Richard reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrolling list, the tip of which ends up at ringside.

Nick: Do you know how shallow you are?

Duke points to the ropes and begs The Swedish Shark to make his day. Never needing much to oblige, Rippa bounces off the ropes and charges to the center of the ring again. Duke stands his ground and points to the West side ropes, asking Rippa to do it again. Growing a little infuriated that his previous two attempts weren't successful enough, Rippa darts off the ropes one more time and gets the same result. The Malice Man doesn't flinch for the third time, and now it is Rippa who is asking Duke to bounce off the ropes.

Nick: Duke has been around the ring for ages, no way is Rippa going to knock him down this early in the contest.

Duke lumbers off the ropes and heads straight for Rippa, who drops down, forcing Duke to leap over his prone body. Quickly getting up to a vertical base, Rippa drops his head and expects Duke to fly over in a back body drop. Instead, Duke uses Rippa's positioning and clamps his right arm around The Swedish Shark's head. Locking his left hand on the tights, Duke hoists Rippa high into the air and lets all the blood rush to the Shark's head. Sacramento eagerly counts the time.

"ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX-"

Nick: Look at the strength of Duke Williams. The man is almost pushing 50 and he's still got the strength to hold Rippa in the air.

Richard: Pushing 50...Good job Nick, that was one of the names on this list.

Nick: I'm just going to stop trying.

"FOURTEEN-FIFTEEN!"

Duke falls backwards and sends a resounding impact throughout the Arco Arena. The Malice Man rises to his feet and puts a boot into the side of The Swedish Shark's head, causing him to roll out of harm's way and underneath the bottom rope. Duke steps through the ropes, hops down to the floor, and is right there to catch Rippa with a knife edge chop when Frosty believes himself to be safe.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Duke connects on an elbow to the top of Rippa's head and grabs hold of his wrist. The Malice Man puts some power into his legs and whips the PRIME newcomer into the steel stairs. Ringside fans cheer in delight as one half of Wicked Ways defies the laws of big man gravity, flying through the air in a somersault over the stairs.

Nick: Duke Williams is not going to be on the defensive out here around the ringside area, that you can bank on.

Rippa grunts and groans on his way back to a vertical base, using the ring apron to help him up while The Malice Man stalks around the ringside area. Duke clinches his hands together and delivers a double axe handle to the back, and a right hand to the side of the head pushing Rippa's head against the ringside steps. Duke sticks his hands into the ring to break the referee's ten count before going back to work on his rival. Putting a boot into his shoulder, Duke continues the assault and lands a barrel kick into the sternum of Rippa, sending him on his back in agony.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: He might not have the power that he once did, but make no mistake that Duke Williams still has a ton of accuracy when he laces up the boots.

Richard: Ton of Accuracy...Heh...Yep, you've got two names so far, Nick.

Nick: Wonder what I get for the third one...

Richard: Yeah, you don't want to know.

Duke takes a hold of Rippa and rolls him underneath the bottom rope, following in quickly to keep the offense flowing. A boot to the back of the head precedes Duke hoisting Rippa from the mat and throwing him into the ropes. Rippa returns to the center of the ring and finds himself upside down and on the mat after a bodyslam from The Malice Man. Duke bounces off the ropes and plants an elbow into the sternum. Duke puts his forearm into the chin of Rippa and goes for the first pinfall cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Kickout by Rippa. Duke grabs a hold of Rippa's shoulders and uses his three hundred plus pounds to yank The Shark from the mat. A right hand grazes the temple, and a left elbow puts Rippa back against the ropes. Rippa is Irish whipped into the far side with Duke following very close behind. When Rippa recoils, Duke attempts the clothesline, and receives a "knee to the lower abdomen" that crumbles him in a heap. In the little space that he has, Rippa charges ahead and lands a Shark Bite (spear) which leaves the Malice Man clutching his abdomen.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: Rippa gained some momentum there and is hoping to finally get on the offensive in this match.

Richard: Do you want me to just read the names off the list?

Nick: I think we should just throw it over to Mega Job at the Spanish announce table because we're obviously still hung over from the night before.

Fade to Mega Job at the Spanish announce table.

El Janito: El Dude, Sen-ior Duke Williams, is in much-o trublè

Steve: IMBÉCIL.

Rippa pulls at Duke Williams, yanking him off the canvas, grabbing a hold of his neck, and turning him around quickly for a swinging neckbreaker. The Malice Man rolls around on the canvas, while Rippa grinds his way back to a standing position, bounces off the ropes, and lands a big splash that takes the air out of Duke's lungs. Rippa rises to a standing position and taunts the American crowd, swearing in a language that they can't understand, but feel compelled to boo anyway.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

After insulting the crowd, Rippa turns around and observes The Malice Man rising back to his feet. Rippa rushes in and lands a big overhand right, stumbling Duke back into the ropes. Rippa connects on a knee to the head and launches the big man into the ropes. When Duke comes back, he receives a high boot to the face, but the impact only sends him back into the ropes. Rippa is more than happy to meet Duke a second time, delivering a high chop to the temple. Amazingly, Duke doesn't go down on the comeback, forcing Rippa to lock him around the waist and throw him overhead in a belly to belly suplex.

El Janito: The RZA de Wu Tang Clan-

Steve: RIPPA.

El Janito: Is dropping el PWNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

With Duke almost incapacitated, Rippa advances forward one more time, hoisting Duke from the canvas and delivering a forearm to the side of the head. Showcasing his youth and tenacity, Rippa puts one hand on Duke's chest, and another around his kneecap, effortlessly lifting The Malice Man into the air with a body press. With a captivated audience seldom accustomed to seeing a three hundred pound man bench pressed in the air with relative ease, Rippa has achieved stunned silence in the Arco Arena. Positioning himself in the corner, Rippa drops the body press down, putting Duke over his right shoulder. He runs out into the middle of the ring and lands a beautifully executed powerslam that extends into a cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Duke powers out just before the three count. Rippa looks over at referee Bernie Roberts (SOMEONE OTHER THAN ELVIS NIXON?) who puts two fingers into his face. With a grunt, Rippa rises to a standing position and takes Duke up with him. A knee to the gut is followed quickly by a gutwrench suplex. Rippa transitions over into what appears to be another cover, but is only a disguised attempt to prolong a choke hold. He receives two extra seconds before Bernie Roberts becomes wiser and rushes over to break up the goozle. One...Two...Three...Four...Rippa breaks on five and stands up, much to the chagrin of Sacramento faithful, who are content to boo him out of the building.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Rippa grabs a hold of The Malice Man, almost completely drained of energy, and slowly pulls him back up to his feet. When Duke has spaghetti legs underneath him, Rippa releases hold of his shoulders and connects on a backhand slap that sends spittle flying down to the ringside mats. Rippa bounces off the ropes, feeling he has ample time to pull off another power move before putting the stamp on this match. When his arm locks, preparing for a decapitating clothesline, the instincts of Duke Williams kick in. He ducks underneath the clothesline, leaving the Swede in a panic. Duke grabs a hold of Rippa from behind, locks his arms underneath Rippa's and transitions his hands into a locked position around the neck. Rippa attempts to put his foot through and block, but Duke has already made his moves. Mustering up lower body energy, Duke flips Rippa backwards, causing The Swede to land on the back of his neck and in an unflattering pinning predicament.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Rippa jukes his body forward, somehow able to throw off Duke's massive frame, and kicks out at the last possible moment. Duke uses the momentum from his second wind to fight off the massive amount of pain that Rippa has inflicted upon him. When a stunned Swedish Shark wobbles up to his knees, Duke takes a hold of him around the throat and hoists him high into the air, dropping him down hard for the chokeslam. Duke goes for one more cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Rippa manages another kickout, even to the surprise of The Malice Man. He's gone through about every move in the arsenal and hasn't been able to put this newcomer away. Rolling over onto his knees and up to a standing position, he deduces that it is time to put Rippa away once and for all. Pulling the 278 pounder up to a standing position, Duke lifts Rippa over his right shoulder and sends the crowd into a frenzy. They know the legend and they know what move is coming next. Ignoring the burning sensation in his legs, Duke rushes forward and slams Rippa's back into the top turnbuckle. Spinning around, he goes for the conclusion to the Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound, but Rippa starts squirming vehemently to avoid the second part of the move. Duke feels a series of knees being driven into his back and struggles to keep the weight on his shoulders. Teetering to one side, Rippa continues delivering knees while fighting to get a hold of the ropes, turnbuckle, or the referee, anything that he can get his hands on.

Nick: Duke Williams is on the verge of having a PRIME victory and Rippa is not allowing him to finish the job.

Richard: GO MALICE! PUT HIM DOWN!

Rippa has a hold of the rope and locks his right arm tight, preventing Duke from moving out to the center of the ring and planting him. Finally, Duke relents and drops the hold. Unfortunately for the Malice Man, Rippa puts a two fingers into the eyes and sends him stumbling backwards. Seizing the opportunity, Rippa grunts forward, grabs a hold of Duke, hoists him high into the air for a body press, and segues into a Brainbuster DDT, the Shark Attack DDT. Rippa manages to cover Duke before his head slumps down to the mat.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of our opening contest...VEJUMIN RIPPA!

Nick: Well Mr. Rippa can put a huge feather in his cap after tonight. He has managed to defeat a PCW Hall of Famer in Duke Williams and gained some traction for his team, Wicked Ways.

Richard: Ah balls.

Nick: It's alright, Richard, you've still got two other matches where you can cheer for people.

Richard: I suppose you are right.

Nick: Duke came close to putting away the 29 year old, but Rippa used his heelish ways to come out on top for the victory.

"This might be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done. And this is you we’re talking about."

The woman talking is The Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She really needs no introduction. Her name is practically synonymous with PRIME. The company’s most profitable (and successful) performer. Ever. All things great and admirable about PRIME or professional wrestling in general are passed through the filter of Lindsay Troy. She is the benchmark of success for this business. Also, she’s smokin’ fucking hot. Got that whole ‘ass that sears corneas’ thing going on.

What? We said she didn’t need an introduction. Not that we weren’t going to give her one.

"Most ridiculous? Please. What about that time I dropped a ninja fight in your lap?"

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The man she’s talking to? That’s Tyler Rayne. He’s running this show. Honestly, we give this guy introductions all the time. He’s a pimp. ‘Nuff said.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t remind me. You still owe me a power suit for that night.

Tyler Rayne: Not like it’s the first article of clothing of yours I’ve ruined.

Let it not be said that The Queen of the Ring was taking it easy during her time off. She was training. She was preparing. Lindsay Troy isn’t the type to let herself fall behind. LT (as the kids affectionately call her) kept up with as much of her training regimen as possible. So when she balls a fist and waylays Rayne in the bicep… it is not a weak and ineffectual little girly punch. This is a full contact blow that staggers the Underground Pimp from where he stands.

Tyler Rayne: Joke. Sheesh.

She smiles triumphantly. Both return their eyes forward, studying the humungous block of marble before them. Three European artisans are gathered around the hunk of stone. Chisels pound with expert precision as they chip out the finer details of Rayne’s face. A basic outline has been formed for the soon-to-be-statue. The male (now that details are beginning to form, obviously it’s Rayne) stands triumphantly with his lightsaber raised high in the air. Below him, striking a provocative pose with her blaster at the ready, a female that one can only assume will be sculpted in the image of Lindsay Troy. Gross misappropriation of company funds would be an understatement.

Lindsay Troy: I always pictured you as more of a Han Solo type of guy.

Tyler Rayne: I am, but this image is iconic. We’re talking McQuarrie concept here. You don’t fuck with that.

The Queen may be one of the wittiest daughters of Hermes to ever crack a snide remark, but nerdspeak is practically lost on her. She’s learned to just smile and nod when Rayne says things that don’t make any sense to someone who isn’t named the Codemaster.

Tyler Rayne: Wow. We’ve been standing here a whole ten minutes and that Kaiser bastard hasn’t shown up to ruin our good time. I think that’s a new record.

Lindsay Troy: Great. Now that you said something he’ll probably pop right out of the marble and start bitching about--

Tyler Rayne: Everything.

Lindsay Troy: Yes.

"Whoa, bruh. What is that?"

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He may not be known for his intensity, but that reaction certainly claims that ‘The Flyin’ Hawaiian’ Bryan Dawkins is none for something. The fastest rising star in PRIME since, well, since Tyler Rayne… Dawkins stands behind the power duo, staring up in awe at the statue-in-progress. Oh. He’s also munching on some tasty looking pineapple. But at this point, you should really just assume that’s the case. I mean, seriously… when isn’t he?

Tyler Rayne: That, Hawaii… is fucking awesomeness incarnate.

Bryan Dawkins: Is that… is that your face?

Tyler Rayne: Indeed.

Bryan Dawkins: Hmm. Always figured you for more of a Han Solo kinda guy.

Lindsay Troy: (looking triumphant) See?

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, yeah. Look, kid, I’m glad you, uh, stumbled by. I was, um, wondering if you’d talked to Tink this past week.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, Christ, if you’re going to start talking about your boyfriend again I think I’ll just find a nice, clean wall to beat my head into.

Tyler Rayne: You’re such a bitch sometimes.

Lindsay Troy: Only sometimes? (Frowns) I must be slipping. And, for the record, you’re always an asshole.

Tyler Rayne: Point. So, I’ll find you later?

Lindsay Troy: I’m sure you will.

The Queen flashes a smile before her exit. It’s obvious the trading of insults was some weird sort of way of showing affection between the two. Dawkins was more of the traditional sort. You know, get engaged, have a couple kids, raise a family. Maybe not necessarily in that order, but… oh. He’s still here. Maybe we should just move on…

Bryan Dawkins: Nah, bruh. He won’t answer my calls.

Tyler Rayne: Mine neither. Fuckin’ fairy.

Bryan Dawkins: He’s probably still pissed about last week, ya know?

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. Damn kid’s got such an ego. It’s impossible to even talk to him. Ever since he got that belt he’s gone all… paranoid. Keeps thinking I’m out to get him.

Bryan Dawkins: You do kinda talk about it an awful lot.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, but… it’s me. I talk about a lot of things. Shit, kid, I just like to talk. If you hadn’t noticed.

Bryan Dawkins: Oh, I think everyone’s noticed, bruh.

Tyler Rayne: Cute. How’s the pineapple, by the way?

Bryan Dawkins: Delicious.

Tyler Rayne: Better be. Had that shit flown in straight from the island.

Bryan Dawkins: Really?

Tyler Rayne: Of course. Only the best for my employees. Except for Gamble. We buy all his shit half-price. Anyway, Tink, I… I don’t even know what to do with this guy anymore. He’s fucking delusional. Look, you know, if I really wanted to take his title, I’d just schedule a match and fucking take it from him.

Bryan Dawkins: Isn’t that what you just did?

Tyler Rayne: What? No. I … but… fuck.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, bruh.

Tyler Rayne: There’s no way I’ll convince him I didn’t do this for me, is there?

Bryan Dawkins: Nope.

Tyler Rayne: Well this has been… sobering. Look, about tonight.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, bruh. I know. It wasn’t your idea.

Tyler Rayne: Right. Well. I feel like an ass.

Bryan Dawkins: Is that new?

Tyler Rayne: Cute. Seriously, though, good luck tonight. Best man and all that.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian doesn’t respond with much more than a shrug. It’s obvious these events are weighing heavy on his shoulders as well. Dawkins trudges off, probably in search of more pineapple, leaving Rayne to stare up at his marble visage.

Tyler Rayne: May the Force be with us.

Arrivals are a funny thing. They occur for the first hour or so of the show, and most of them don't get shown on TV. Some people are actually showing up, others just doing laps until a camera catches them. Ladies and gentlemen, what you are watching is a real life double arrival: one of the rarest happenings on PRIME television. Shhh. Be quiet or you'll scare it away.

Chandler Tsonda's jaw has dropped. Some ungodly large vehicle has been driving around the parking lot for several minutes now, its driver appearing to be hopelessly lost, even while in the midst of a host of available parking spots. Now, the stretch Cadillac Escalade finally pulls up to the side door. The Model Citizen, in his street clothes, which cost more than a medium-scale wedding, is watching with curiosity. Yes, the Universal Title is over his shoulder. He watches as the door opens...

Chandler Tsonda: Why am I not surprised?

...and several other champions file out. First, it's Hank Cobb, a giant of a man built country strong. Next up is Duke Williams, he of past and present fame. And bringing up the rear, the recently suspended but now back amongst the living Colby Korver. And following him? That would be the telltale cloud of smoke that immediately explains the incessant parking lot laps.

Delta Upsilon Iota, bitches. Nationals would be so proud. That's not even to say anything of their own gold. The PRIME Tag Titles are held in the possession of Misters Williams and Cobb. Two more intimidating mamma jammas would be hard to find.

Hank Cobb: Probably because we fucking told you so.

Chandler Tsonda: You told me so?

Hank Cobb: 'Bout a couple months or so back. You ain't fixin' to conveniently forget now, are ya boss?

Chandler Tsonda: And you used that as fuel for your current tag team title run? Welcome, kiddos.

The Malice Man is still giving Tsonda a once-over.

Chandler Tsonda: Something I can do for ya, cowpoke?

Duke Williams: Just a little incredulous that you're the hoss people call champion around here.

Chandler Tsonda: Got to beat up the lead singer of My Chemical Romance in doing it.

Duke Williams: What's a Chemical Romance?

Colby Korver: And...back to topic.

Chandler Tsonda: Certainly, gents. You were thanking me?

Hank Cobb: I don't believe that we were doin' anything of the sort, pardner.

Chandler Tsonda: Awww, and I was just starting to like you, Hulk.

Colby Korver: Allow me to let you in on a little secret, captain.

Korver glances right and left furtively, before sending a whisper Tsonda's way.

Colby Korver: Cantrell's gone. We're still here.

Chandler Tsonda: I'm still not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Duke Williams: Well I've been drunker'n a skunk since that fucker left. My vote's for a good thing.

Colby Korver: I think my man is referrin' to the fact that his buddy Tyler is now the reignin' BMOC around these parts.

Hank Cobb: So then why is the champ here facing off with his two boys in our main event?

Colby Korver: Great question. I love where your head's at. Anyone?

Duke Williams: Dunno, but if anybody tries to make me fight you two hosses in a main event, I say we go rogue. Viva la revolution and all that mumbo jumbo.

Chandler Tsonda: I'm still standing here.

Colby Korver: Which works out well, considering what Rayne and Dawkins said about you earlier.

Up until now, the conversation has been rapid-fire. The Model Citizen blinks several times before he responds.

Chandler Tsonda: Wait, what?

Duke Williams: No need to take our word for it, hoss. You're welcome to follow along for yourself, thanks to the wonders of high definition television. Compliments of our little rent-a-car here. (points to the limo)

Colby Korver: Rayne gave us the keys to the PRIME expense account, carte blanche, in an effort to avoid any further "vehicular indiscretions."

Chandler Tsonda: You saw Rayne and Dawkins talking...about moi?

Duke Wiliams: Hashin' it out.

Hank Cobb: Shootin' the shit.

Colby Korver: Like they said, talking.

Chandler Tsonda: Always good to get in touch with my immature side, but I might have to go punch out a possibly ex-friend of mine.

In a huff, Tsonda jogs off.

Duke Williams: Boy needs to learn to enjoy himself, shake out some of that hair gel and let loose a little. Instead he's running around still trying to prove himself.

Hank Cobb: And just when I was fixin' to cordially invite him to our lil' get together later this evening. Might have done 'em some good.

Colby Korver: Or......it might have lowered our dude-to-slut ratio. Let's roll.

Standing outside yet another door, in the warren of corridors that forms the backstage area of the Arco Arena, Jay Phoenix pauses – hand raised ready to knock – and mutters to himself.

Phoenix: Hi there, my name is Jay.

He drops his hand, shaking his head as he rolls his eyes.

Phoenix: No, no, no – that makes me sound like a newbie at a wrestler’s anonymous meeting. OK, how about – you don’t know me, but …

He sighs, turning around and pacing before the door.

Phoenix: Doofus, of course he knows you, he was in a match with you last week! Plus it makes you sound like a stalker! I know, I know – play it cool and keep it simple. So, how about – Fuse, thought we should chat as we are going to be partners …

"Well that one makes it sound like you are trying to pick me up, Jay."

Phoenix jumps and spins in mid-air, coming to a stop as he faces the now open door and the figure of Fusenshoff who stands there, a grin on his face.

Phoenix: Erm … no, I mean … well, you aren’t my type, sorry!

Fusenshoff: Well thank God for that. I was just messing with you anyway man.

Phoenix: Oh, ok – I knew that.

Fusenshoff: Tell me, though, do you normally wait outside people’s locker rooms and talk to yourself?

Phoenix: Normally? No, not normally.

Fusenshoff: This must be pretty important then.

Phoenix: No … yes … no … I mean …

Fusenshoff: Hey, it’s cool Jay. Just stop, take a deep breath and tell me why you’re here. We’ve seen enough of each other-in PRIME and outside it-to skip the small talk and introductions.

Phoenix: I just got told that we are teaming up tonight.

Fusenshoff: Yeah I heard too. Rayne gave me the heads up earlier.

Phoenix: We are taking on …

Fusenshoff: The Union. I’m looking forward to putting on a show. I know we can pull this one out if we work together out there.

Phoenix: That isn’t all, though; there is a special referee …

Fusenshoff: Hessian – yeah I know that too.

Phoenix: If you could breathe water like sea mammals and still breathe air, where would you choose to live your life, on land or in the sea?

Fusenshoff: What?!

Phoenix: Sorry – just checking to see if there was any damn thing that you DIDN’T know!

Fusenshoff: Oh – ok. So you were basically loitering outside my locker room to tell me what I already knew?

Phoenix: Yeah, looks like it. Well that and to let you know that while I have no idea why we are in a tag match together I will have your back and I expect you to do the same.

Fusenshoff: I think that I can manage that, but I’m not sure that the Union will …

Phoenix: *interrupting* I am not talking about the Union – there is a frickin’ Vampire involved in the match! I HATE vampires.

Fusenshoff: ... you know he isn't a vampire, don't you.

Phoenix: Guilt by association!

Fusenshoff: … ok …

Phoenix: So, listen, I’ll catch up with you in a few – got a call to make, mmkay?

Fusenshoff: Sure thing – oh, and it would be on the coast.

Phoenix: What would?

Fusenshoff: Where I would live if I could breathe air or water. Why choose between them when you can have both?

With that he grins, closes the door and leaves Phoenix to stand, bemused, for a few seconds. With a shrug he turns away from the locker room and walks around the corner to the very next door – this one with his own name on it - and, putting his hand on it, opens it slightly before a voice behind him makes him pause.

"Jay…"

Turning around Phoenix pauses, eyes widening slightly as he comes face to face with Jonathon Winters. A whole lot of water has passed under the bridge known as ‘Ember’ since Winters was last in PRIME … at that time Phoenix was still known as Ember and those two had a history going back a few years and two federations. Bad blood was an understatement for how Ember and Winters felt about each other … but that was before Winters became a changed man. A different man. For Phoenix – who had once been known as Ember – that was something that he could completely understand. However understanding and facing up to a moment that you had dreaded, was two different things.

Phoenix: Jon …

Winters: Hi.

Phoenix: Yeah, hi … erm … heard you were back.

Winters: Yeah.

Phoenix: Cool.

Winters: Yeah … you too.

Phoenix: Yeah, not my choce, but hey what can you do?

Winters: True. So …

Phoenix: … so.

Winters/Phoenix: Listen – I’m sorry!

Both men do a double take, realising that they have said the same thing at the same time.

Phoenix/Winters: No, really – I’m sorry!

Again the same words. The same time. With a smile they stare at each other, a lot of unspoken words passing between them.

Winters: Who I was – what I did – that isn’t me anymore.

Phoenix: I know what you mean. Ember … damn it is hard to explain …

Winters: No, you don’t have too. Honestly. I understand, that isn’t you anymore.

Phoenix: That was NEVER me, Jon.

Winters: So I heard … either way it seems that we have both changed.

Phoenix: More than you know.

Winters: Actually, I am probably the one guy who DOES know.

Phoenix: Yeah, maybe. I may not be ‘him’ anymore but I am sorry for what he did …

Winters: Me too … I said I needed to make amends and I meant it. I wanted to start with you. I wanted to come to you, face to face, and do this.

Stepping forwards, getting into Phoenix’s personal space – and he can’t help flinching slightly – Winter’s simply holds out his hand, steady, as he looks deep into Phoenix’s eyes. After a second Phoenix smiles, a genuine one, and reaches out to take Winter’s hand in his own. They hold tight, for a few seconds, and then Winter’s nods as he releases his grip.

Winters: We should catch up properly, Jay – this was just a ‘hello’ …

Phoenix: Definitely. Seriously! I would love that Jon – we have a lot to talk about … but not right now, I have to make a call and then prepare for a match. Raincheck?

Winters: Sure thing, Jay. Look after yourself!

With another smile Winters walks off into the backstage area as Phoenix walks into his locker room.

The scene fades to another part of the arena, where we see Jack Conway and Luis Gallegos. Jack is wearing some protective gear, including a helmet, hard knee and elbow pads, and wrist guards. He looks over to Luis, who has his arms crossed.

Conway: I still don't see what this has to do with feeling empathy for my fellow man.

Gallegos: Dude, that's not what this lesson is about. It's about being chill and letting go.

Conway: You're asking me to propel myself on a board attached to wheels with nothing but the ground to stop my fall.

Luis shrugs and as the camera pans back, we see that there are two skateboards leaned against the wall near Luis. Gallegos picks up one of the boards and tosses it towards Jack. Conway catches it with alarming speed, and looks at it. Meanwhile, Luis mounts his skateboard and zooms off without a word.

Conway: Gallegos, get back here!

The Los Angeles Beach Bum turns the board around in record time, comes back, and pops it up. Meanwhile, Jack starts taking off his skateboarding gear, talking in frustration the entire time.

Conway: Look, I know that you want to have fun, but I. Am done. With this stupid. Gimmick search!

He slams the helmet to the ground and drops the skateboard.

Conway: We don't need to do stupid stuff for a ring entrance! We represent the American people! So let's just be regular guys!

Luis: Dude, chill. I figured that the fans would think it was cool, seeing a couple of guys skateboarding down the ramp. If you don't think it will work...

Conway: Of course it won't work!

Luis: Okay. Do you mind I still ride around backstage for a while? We've still got about five minutes or so until our match.

Conway: Go for it.

Gallegos nods.

Luis: Excellent.

Suddenly, they hear music, and a couple of people yelling, "TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!" The two men look at each other, then have a sudden realization.

Conway: Delta Upsilon Iota Toga Party?

Luis: Sounds like it?

Conway: How about we go after our match?

Luis: Well, I've never been much of a frat boy, but parties are cool.
Conway: Good, then. C'mon, let's get going. We'll just shove this stuff someplace you'll remember it.

The two grab all of the skateboarding gear and place it in a corner, then go off in the direction of the entrance to the stage area.

Nick: I’m told we have a special video –

"Hi, San Diego!"

The baritone voice that rips through ARCO Arena is... if you had to shoot a recorded voice into space so that aliens would know what a douchebag was, it would be this voice.

PRIME*View, take us away.

A man’s face fills the length and breadth of the screen for these people, who are most assuredly not in San Diego. His smile is so wide that it seems he’s got more than the standard allotment of teeth, his crystalline blue-green eyes sparkle over the rims of a pair of thin, gold-framed sunglasses, and his honey-brown hair is so spiky it could pass for a porcupine.

This, my friends, is Hunter Sabuani. Peerless Hunter Sabuani to his friends.

PHS: My name is Hunter Sabuani – y’all can call me "Peerless". And it turns out that my check I wrote a couple weeks ago for that bullshit with the lobster crackers maaaaaay have been a little bit bigger than it was supposed to be.

A feminine sigh from off-screen confirms this to be true.

PHS: So not only did I clear myself of the bullshit debt that Ceeps dude had attached to my name – that’s why my credit is a seven-eighty, mofos! – but I also bought a block of space here on ReVolution. I thought I’d use it to show this really wicked YouTube video where this kitten totally misses its jump and faceplants it – seriously, check it out, people. Would I steer you wrong?

Nick: Can I bet my entire salary the answer to that question is "Yes"?

Richard: Stop being a jerk. I kind of like this guy.

PHS: But it turns out we’d have to license the video and ask permission and run it past standards and practices – yeah, I was surprised PRIME had one, too – and that’s an awful lot of work when I’d just rather sit shirtless in front of my computer and watch Battlestar Galactica on the Internet. So instead, I’ve decided to talk about something near and dear to my heart.

Zoom out slightly; the Raja of Roguishness (for, as we have mentioned, so he is named) is standing in front of a... a shrine to himself, really. There are six title belts in a glass case (yeah, only five of them are his, but he won the other tag title belt in a game of poker – don’t ask). There are newspaper clippings. There’s a button, which, if y’all want to pause your DVR, does indeed have a sticker nearby that says, "Push For Awesome."

PHS: Me.

"BOOOOOOOOO!" – it’s just a smattering (he’s not Devin Shakur or anything), but wrestling fans know asshole when they see it.

PHS: Ever since Sin City was bought out by Rupert Giles, there’s been a whole lot less respect for Your Sovereign. And, sure, jealousy has a lot to blame for that, but, hey, who am I if I can’t fix that, right? So I figured I’d tape up this spot, pay a little bit extra when I got the chance –

From off-screen, a woman barks, "You did that on PURPOSE?!"

She is summarily ignored.

PHS: To let you, the PRIME fans who are used to being spoon-fed guys like fucking Dusk and puffed-up models and actors what a real talent is. See, I’ve been in the bigs for, like, almost twelve years now. It started in this sweet place called Georgia Championship Wrestling, which was the first GCW and is still the only one that matters. It also happens to be the federation I put on the map when I won this fancy thingamabob called the National Wrestling Council World Heavyweight Championship. Which would be kinda like Wyatt Connors and Steve Knox’s Elite Title, only without the super-lame name. I won the inter-federation Purgatory tournament, and went on to be a champion in Georgia until some assholes in New York bought it, but New Yorkers fuck everything up, am I right?

There’s a small cheer for that – New York does suck.

PHS: Then, when I got bored and kind of nappy, I decided to quit nobly, wandered around like I was motherfuckin’ Kwai Chang Caine. Then I helped close the place and got, like, super-rich. If you say the name "National Wrestling Council," even today, I get, like, half a cent. True story. So I roll up last year in Sin City – ‘cept they used to call it FUSE, which was a bad name. And I kick ass, but people are all, like, "Uhhh, Alex Pierce Is giving your orders" an’ shit, and that didn’t fly too good. Because, like, I could give orders. If I had an army of hot women who could kill you, I would totally run places.

He pauses here, touching his fingers to his chin – it’s possible that he’s imagining it now.

PHS: Nah, who am I kidding? I’d be, like, dead in seven hours. Point is, I got hurt – some dickweed hit me in my arm when the lights were out, just as I was about to film my Pro Wrestling Illustrated award nominated program, Peer Pressure. And how does Sin City reward the Raja? Kicks me out to the curb – the curb of my spectacular Arizona mansion, but the curb nevertheless. It’s the thought that counts. They took the greatest superstar in the history of the National Wrestling Council – a man who saved the Infinite Gauntlet from the likes of Jakob McKail – and they went, "Ehhh, not interested."

On the east coast feed of ReVolution, a phone number appears across the screen under the Raja’s picture. Tape-delayed versions of the show just have gold blobbies.

PHS: If you -- yeah, you at home – are running a nationally syndicated, top-flight wrestling program and you’re saying to yourself, "Man, I do not want to book another Wade Elliott-Tony Gamble match," call the number you see on your screen now. If you do, I might still be available, ready to come racing out of retirement and kick the shit out of the odd Native American and/or minority douchebag you really don’t like so much. Act now and receive a free sample of the all-new, not-yet-available-in-stores Peerless Hunter Sabuani "PHS: The Sublime Rise to Peerless Heights" autobiography and DVD set. In the interim, like, watch the rest of these indie talent or something. Or, better yet, go buy a copy of the Best of the NWC: From Steve Sire to Devin Fox DVD set. Because that’s money in my pockets, dude.

Hunter walks off frame, and the camera? It zooms in on the "NUFF SAID" on the back of his t-shirt and, fittingly, cuts back to ringside.

Nick: ...did we just watch an infomercial?

Richard: It would appear we did.

Bryan Dawkins is often an energetic backstage presence before most PRIME shows. He is one of the happiest people roaming the roster, always excited to engage in backstage conversation and let his positive energy rub off on others. Often seen at the catering area woofing down entire pineapples, everybody from the greenhorns to the veterans on the roster rate him as maybe the most overzealous person in PRIME.

So when he's spotted by PRIME cameras quietly shuffling pineapple onto his plate, the scene is nothing short of an aberration. His face is full of confusion and angst. Tonight, he's got to step into the ring with two of the toughest competitors in the world and two men he's got novels of history with. Ever since stepping through the ropes of PRIME, he's had interaction with one of the men that he'll face later this evening. Chandler Tsonda mentored him from one of the flock that entered PRIME at the Dual Halo into the company's most promising prospect, and Tyler Rayne has been on his short list of "friends".

A PRIME stagehand gives him a pat on the back and tells him to "loosen up" as Dawkins removes himself from the catering table, intent on heading back to the locker room. Dawkins glances back in his direction and gives a half hearted nod in agreement. Loosening up is an impossibility. If he wins tonight, PRIME will have no choice but to allocate another spot in the Main Event scene. If he wins tonight, all of his critics will be silenced for good.

Taking a bite out of pineapple, Dawkins rounds the corner and comes face to face with a black blob. Although, if you asked Devin Shakur to describe himself in an alliterative phrase, black blob won't be the first one conjured.

Dawkins perks up in Shakur's presence, immediately noticing that he is no longer the lanky and lean depressed man that left PRIME after Great American Nightmare. His face is blank and his powerful fists are clinched. Dawkins does a double take and puts his pineapple slices on a nearby equipment table, not wishing to be caught off guard in case a fight breaks out.

Bryan Dawkins: Uh...Something on your mind, bruh?

Keeping his statue form, Shakur doesn't respond. Instead, the Man in Black steps forward toward Dawkins, causing them to be a few inches apart.

Bryan Dawkins: ...Bruh?

Devin Shakur: You look sad...Bruh, why the long face?

Bryan Dawkins: You seen the lineup tonight? Not exactly a walk in the park for the future 5 Star Champion, y'know?

Devin Shakur: I'd give everything I have to be in your position, throw a cage around the ring to make it even more enticing.

Dawkins scratches at the back of the head and shifts his eyes away from The Man in Black before blurting his response.

Bryan Dawkins: Given your track record against Tsonda, bruh, I wouldn't like your chances.

The crowd gives out a resounding "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and expects the fisticuffs to fly. Shakur hasn't been the friendliest bloke on the block ever since stepping back into the PRIME scene.

Instead, he lets the comment bounce off him and cracks a crooked smile like his friend, Mr. Gamble.

Devin Shakur: Funny little kid you are, you know that? And yes, I've got something on my mind, something that is very paramount to you and your match tonight.

Bryan Dawkins: Go on.

Devin Shakur: Well you don't seem too enthralled about stepping into the ring with Tsonda and that miserable hoodlum, Rayne.

Bryan Dawkins: What was your first clue, bruh?

Devin Shakur: What if I were to give you an incentive, raise the stakes for you a little bit?

Whenever someone of Devin Shakur's ilk describes a scheme, anybody becomes skeptical, especially someone he's already scammed in the past. Nonetheless, Dawkins entertains the proposition, perhaps because he's still a little awe struck by the new Shakur.

Bryan Dawkins: What'd ya have in mind?

Devin Shakur: Well, you aren't exactly the most volatile man on the roster, and I hardly suspect anybody would believe you to come into a match with malice intent. However, what if you did? What if you went out tonight and made yourself a legend in PRIME?

Bryan Dawkins: I honestly don't like where this conversation is headed.

Devin Shakur: You will. Trust me. Now, it's no secret that I think Tyler Rayne is the lowest form of shit to ever grace this Earth, and I would love nothing better than to deliver the final blow that puts him out of the wrestling business permanently.

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, you two've got some animosity, that's for sure, bruh.

Devin Shakur: What if you were to be known as the man who took Rayne out of professional wrestling?

Dawkins cocks his head to the side, finding it impossible not to let the potential run through his head. If he were to accomplish that feat, his name would be cemented in PRIME lore, and his star would shine brighter than ever before. But he would betray the people that he goes out to perform for each and every week, not to mention he would wear the proverbial scarlet letter throughout the locker room. He would be Public Enemy number 1, much like Tyler Rayne himself was when he took out Danny Ferguson at the Dual Halo.

He reluctantly shakes his head "No"

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh, no offense, it's great that your back, a fresh face around the locker room, but I think I'm going to have to take a pass on this "offer" of yours. It's just not my thing to do that. I'm going out there tonight to compete, not mess with someone's well being and cripple them.

Devin Shakur: You sure you want to put that on the record? Because I can make the job very easy for you.

Shakur reaches into his trench coat and retrieves a long metal pipe. Dawkins takes a step back and stares at the weapon while Shakur brandishes it.

Devin Shakur: All you have to do is carry this out to the ring with you, hell I'm sure one of the guys around the backstage area would be willing to accommodate you, take it out for you. After the match is over, you just sneak out to the floor, pick up the weapon, and smash him in the knee once. That's all you have to do. Of course, I'm sure you'll have to run like hell afterwards, but you are a natural athlete, nothing you can't handle.

Dawkins takes a long look at the pipe, knowing what a weapon like that in the hands of Shakur usually indicates.

Bryan Dawkins: Why can't you do that yourself? You seem to have the plan already thought out, just go out and handle your business.

Shakur exhales deeply and puts one of his hands on Dawkins shoulder, while clutching the pipe with his other hand.

Devin Shakur: You really don't understand the art of psychological warfare do you?

Bryan Dawkins: Can't say that I'm a big fan, bruh.

Shakur grunts deeply and spins the pipe around his fingers while still maintaining eye contact with Dawkins.

Devin Shakur: So you aren't going to do this for me?

Bryan Dawkins: If I outright refuse, are you going to clobber me with that pipe?

Shakur cackles with laughter, but still doesn't take his hand off Dawkins shoulder, leaving The Bruh feeling a little uncomfortable. He goes to slide out of Shakur's grasp, but The Man in Black clinches his hand down a little tighter, pushing Dawkins against the wall to void any escape plan.

Devin Shakur: No, no, I'm not going to do that...

Removing his arm and any traces of laughter, Shakur closes the distance on Dawkins and retrieves the blank face with eyes full of hate that has been his trademark as of late.

Devin Shakur: But the next time you want a favor, or decide to get in my way...I'm going to remember this, bruh.

Shakur puts the pipe back into his trench coat and menacingly walks past Dawkins, rounding the corner and going out of sight. Dawkins is left rubbing his shoulder and takes his pineapple slices off the equipment table.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a special guest referee tag team match! Making his way to the ring first...

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead hits the PA and the fans rise up out of their seats as the Hardcore Monster appears on the stage. Looking around the arena with a stern look on his face he ignores his pyrolicious entrance and simply walks down to the ring.

Vince: He is the special guest referee for this contest...hailing from Detroit, Michigan he is the Murder Show...HESSIAAAAAAAN!!!

Nick: Coming off his surprise victory last week against Tyler in the main event I don't think judging by the look on his face Hessian guessed he'd be put in a position like this where he isn't routinely kicking ass!

Richard: At the same time Nick you gotta realize Hessian is officiating a match concerning two men he put down like Ol' Yeller, one of whom decided to call out the big man last week in this very ring!

Hessian acknowledges his introduction with a roll of the shoulder and a crack of his neck as he steps up onto the ring apron and glides over the top rope. Stopping abruptly he turns and flicks his wrist, a black and white wristband worn in favour of his usual all-black band and signifying his status as referee. The Murder Show flings off his cape and allows it to float to the floor at ringside as his music stops, replaced suddenly by Annihilator and "Phoenix Rising".

Vince: … from Flagstaff, Arizona, weighing in at 215lbs, standing 5'11", this is the HOTTEST star in wrestling … JAY PHOENIX!!

A haunting guitar melody plays over the PA system as on the VideoTron flames start to appear, curling up to completely cover the blackness of the screen.

A drumbeat fills that air as words, sung in a powerful, pure voice can be heard mingling with the melody as a bass driven counter melody joins with an electric guitar to complete the music.

"Day by day, watching you disappear
Wishing that you were still here beside me
On my own, swimming against the tide
There's nobody on my side but your memory"

The flames on the VideoTron die down, leaving the screen completely black again … until suddenly with an explosion of light and noise the flames reappear, this time in the easily distinguishable form of a Phoenix that fills the whole screen.

"Then I'll rise, right before your eyes
On wings that fill the sky
Like a Phoenix rising
Like a Phoenix rising"

The crowd are on their feet, cheering and screaming as the realisation of just who it is hits them.

"Wings of fire, tearing into the night
Screaming into the light of another day
Carry me out of the hurricane
Into the smoke and flame and we'll fly away"

On either side of the ramp way two bursts of flame leap out, sending two fan shaped flares of fire across the entrance, through which a silhouetted figure walks as on the screen, superimposed on the mystical flame bird symbol, two words appear … JAY PHOENIX.

"And I'll rise, right before their eyes
On wings that fill the sky
Like a Phoenix rising
Like a Phoenix rising

Higher, higher hear the thunder roar from above
Fire, fire, fire make me whole"

Phoenix stands on the ramp way, the flame still bright behind him, as the music still plays. He is dressed in a black leather look body suit, flame motifs running up the side of both legs, meeting at the thigh where they join together to form almost a belt of fire. The arms are cut off at the shoulders exposing muscular biceps, the left one covered with a glistening tattoo of a stylised Phoenix in flight surrounding by bands of gold and red flames. Black and red elbow pads are met by taping that covers his forearms and wrists. A silver necklace hangs around his neck, falling down to his chest, and when the light catches it at the right angle it can be seen to be a disc containing thin interlocking strands, a bright purple amethyst at it's centre … a dreamcatcher.

"And I'll rise, right before their eyes
On wings that fill the sky
Like a Phoenix rising
Like a Phoenix rising

Wings of fire, tearing into the night
And we'll fly away ... "

A smile plays across Phoenix's face as he pans his attention around the arena before slowly walking down towards the ring. When he gets to the ring, Phoenix, with a quick move, jumps to the ring apron and climbs the turnbuckle, holding an arm up to the fans, who resume their cheering in response, before vaulting over the ropes to land in the centre of the ring in front of Hessian.

Richard: Phoenix looks fired up as he awaits the arrival of his partner in this match.

Nick: He should be after pulling out the win last week against Flyer! Keep in mind coming out of last week's show, with the exception of the special guest ref, only the Eternal Flame came away with a W, so he'll be carrying the momentum against three men who want to even up their win loss records!

Richard: How analytical of you...

Nick: Hey it's what we're paid for Rich!

Paying little mind to Hessian, Phoenix does a little shadow-punching, throwing kicks and jogging on the spot as "Wherever I May Roam" by Metallica fills the air.

Vince: Introducing his partner! Hailing from Kamloops, British Columbia and weighing in at 261lbs...he is FUSENSHOOOOOFF!!

"And the road becomes my bride,
I am stripped of all but pride.
So in her I do confide
and she keeps me satisfied.
Gives me all I need."

Fusenshoff steps out from the entrance. No fireworks, just a spotlight, no superfluous spectacles. He's wearing a black leather jacket, wife beater, black jeans and black boots.

"And my ties are severed clean.
The less I have the more I gain.
Off the beaten path I reign.
Rover wand'rer nomad vagabond
call me what you will...."

He makes his way down to the ring without even looking out at the capacity crowd. His focus and concentration remains unwavering. The only thing on his mind is what lies ahead. He's not here for the fan support, the achievements, the glory. He's here because wrestling is his release. Wrestling eases his pain.

"Wherever I may roam
where I lay my head is home.
Carved upon my stone:
My body lies, but still I roam... yeah, yeah!"

Fusenshoff trots up the steps and climbs under the top rope. He walks over to his corner and lies his head on the turnbuckle, waiting for the bell to ring. Phoenix walks over and taps him on the shoulder, going over a game plan with his partner while Hessian watches the two of them with a sly grin growing on his face. Looking up, Fusenshoff locks eyes with the giant and marches over to him, pointing at the referee wristband and shouting abuse at the Hardcore Monster. Jay shakes his head and watches as Hessian looks on while Fuse throws obscenities at him and demands for a fair officiation. Unimpressed with Fuse's speech, Hessian yawns and holds up a fist, motioning to the wristband and jabbing a finger into his chest before digging it into Fuse's shoulder with a seriously straight face. Snarling, Fuse backs off and maintains his composure as Phoenix once again approaches him and successfully enters negotiations for a strategy as Metallica stops, replaced by "I Predict A Riot" by The Kaiser Chiefs.

Vince: And their opponents! At a combined weight of 440lbs they hail from Detroit, MI and Los Angeles California respectively...they are Jack Conway and Luis Gallegos..the team of THE UNIOOOON!!

Jack and Luis walk with purpose down to the ring, keeping their eyes glued to Phoenix and Fuse. Sliding into the ring they take to a corner each and taunt to the fans who give back a warm reaction, with a few notable deep whoops resonating from around the arena.

Nick: Would you listen to that Blue Collar Holler from the fans! The Union has its fan base firmly rooted after only one match here at PRIME!

Richard: Blue Collar Holler...I like that!

The Union stick to the corner by the steel steps next to the ramp while Fuse and Phoenix head over to the corner by the steps next to the announce table. As Vince Howard retreats from the ring, Hessian glances nonchalantly at the competitors and raises a hand in the air, flicking his finger and signalling the bell.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Fusenshoff reluctantly steps out onto the apron, obviously raring for a fight while Phoenix sizes up the first man in for The Union: Jack Conway. Hessian calls for them to lock up and at once Jay and Jack begin stalking one another, arms out ready to tie up. The fans' cheering dies down a little, becoming calmer as the Eternal Flame and The Motor City Maniac lock up and jostle for position. Phoenix uses his smaller size to nip behind Conway for an armbar, only for the Union man to bolt with surprising agility behind Phoenix, wrenching out of the armbar and countering into one of his own. Using his size and strength over Phoenix's, Jack quickly forces his opponent into a sleeper hold. Struggling for a moment Phoenix copes with the pressure of the submission and wraps his arms around the neck of Conway, and to a chorus of cheers from the fans hoists himself up off the ground, kicking up into the air and holding his head under Conway's on the descent as the moment carries through and allows Phoenix to connect with an unorthodox jawbreaker that separates the two men and sends Conway stumbling back into the ropes.

Nick: Nice offence from Phoenix there.

Getting back up Phoenix rushes Conway, leaping up onto the ropes next to him and springboarding off, connecting with an enziguri that smacks Jack in the back of the head and sends him tumbling forwards again onto his knees. Hessian watches on from the corner adjacent to Fusenshoff, arms folded and observing the action as Phoenix moves in for the Shining Wizard! The fans become louder as Jack gets to one knee - the perfect setup - and dazedly catches sight of Jay running at him looking for the jump up on that very knee. As he plants a boot on Conway's thigh however, the blue collar brawler snaps to life and whips his right arm up underneath Jay's right leg and uses the momentum of the shining wizard to swing Phoenix over onto his back with brute force!

Nick: What a counter! Jack Conway turns a shining wizard into a dragon screw!

Richard: That took some skill I gotta say!

Jumping to his feet Conway maintains the hold on the leg of Phoenix and grabs the other one, shifting his grip to the knees and straightening up. Checking his bearings he turns so his back is to his partner's corner and takes a couple of steps back as Phoenix shakes the stars from his head and looks up to see Conway growling back at him as he falls back and propels Phoenix up and over with a toss that sends Jay colliding into the turnbuckles. As he falls to the mat once more Conway stomps over his body and tags in Luis Gallegos to a cheer from the crowd. Firing over the top rope Luis slams his feet into Phoenix's gut and rolls back to his feet as Conway pulls the Eternal Flame back to his feet and checks to see if Hessian is keeping note of the transition time between tags. Shrugging half-heartedly, Hessian moves across the ring for a better view as Conway grins and executes a powerbomb, lovingly accented with a leg drop from Luis. As Jack leaves the ring Luis makes a quick cover on Phoenix.

...

...

...

Richard: What the hell, there's no count!

Nick: Hessian isn't counting!

Richard: Maybe he's still coming all the way down from giant level to get to the mat to make the count!

Indeed the fans are in uproar as Hessian stands on the spot refusing to count. Jack hollers abuse at him and Luis immediately gets to his feet and confronts the Murder Show. Waving his arms around and spouting off to the big man warrants nothing but an unconcerned furrow of the brow from the Hardcore Monster who simply steps to one side. Confused, Luis turns back to his partner only to see Phoenix already back on his feet! Sprinting towards Luis, Jay fakes a clothesline, spinning under a counter clothesline from Gallegos and springboarding off the top rope, on the rebound leaping up and hoisting himself up and over Hessian's shoulders for added height to a roar of applause from the crowd!

Nick: Holy mother of Mercy! Phoenix is using Hessian for momentum!

Richard: What a stupidly brave stupid move by the Native American!

The speed with which Jay flies over the goliath doesn't faze the Monster too much as he falls towards Luis and connects with a vicious hurricanrana that spins Gallegos furiously to the mat. Bouncing on impact Luis clutches his torso as Phoenix jumps to his feet to rapturous cheers! Hessian brushes off his shoulders as Jay capitalizes on the move and goes for the pin. Looking up at Hessian he roars at the giant to make the count. With a slow sarcastic response, Hessian drops to his knees shaking the ring then finally slams an open hand into the mat, the resounding slap exciting the fans.

Nick: Hessian's making the count!

1...

Richard: Oh that is total bias!

2...

KICK OUT!

Luis raises a shoulder then slides out from under Jay and both men get to their feet as Hessian dusts his hands off and gets up a few seconds after them.

Nick: Maybe the big man is trying to stoke the fire in The Union's belly and get some more action out of them?

Richard: What, so Hessian thinks just because he's here to raise hell he's going to force everyone else too?

Nick: Given his position as referee in this match I'd say he can do whatever the hell he wants, after last week who's going to argue?

Locking up again Jay gets Luis in a headlock and shouts to the crowd for support, met with a small ovation from the crowd. Holding an arm out he attempts a swinging neckbreaker, only for Luis to power through the execution and counter it with a reverse inverted DDT! The fans show their love as Gallegos bounces to his feet, pulling Jay with him and whipping the native American across the ring. As Jay rebounds Luis leaps into the air with a picture perfect dropkick that connects with nothing but thin air as Phoenix holds onto the ropes. He laughs as Luis drops to the mat like a stone weight, but has the chuckles whacked out of him from behind as Jack Conway moves across the apron and swings a leg out, slamming it with vigour into Phoenix's back sending a whoosh of air from his lungs and sending him stumbling forward.

Nick: Good looking from Conway there!

Richard: Shame about the hang time on Luis there!

As Phoenix falls forward Luis sees him approaching from the mat and brings both legs up, planting his boots into Jay's gut and propelling him over with a toss. Phoenix hits the ropes close to Fusenshoff who extends the arm and yells out for the tag. Seeing his partner, Phoenix rolls towards his corner only to be mushed into the turnbuckles with a dropkick from Luis, already back on his feet. Crumpling into the foetal position in the corner Phoenix looks up to Fuse for the tag, and as he reaches down for contact, Luis rushes the corner, stepping up on Phoenix's body for height and slamming his full weight into the 6'3" Fusenshoff, who reels back but maintains his stance on the apron.

Nick: Luis Gallegos trying to take out Fuse before he even gets into the match!

Angrily swiping out at his foe, Fusenshoff barely connects with a punch to the jaw that sends Luis flopping back, giving Fuse enough time to throw half his body over the top rope and barely touch Jay's shoulder with his fingers. Hessian signals the tag with another resounding slap of the hands as Fusenshoff enters the ring and guns down Luis with a clothesline! Cries of 'Fusenshooooff!' echo throughout the arena as he brings Luis to his feet and whips him off the ropes, catching him on the comeback with a belly to belly suplex that sends Gallegos into the ring ropes, tangling him up before he slumps back to the mat. Giving his opponent no time to rest Fuse jumps back to his feet and drags Luis into the middle of the ring by the hair, growling at Hessian who seems a little more agitated now as his arms come away from their folded position and he shifts on his feet. Bringing Luis to his feet, Fusenshoff locks him up and hoists him into the air for a suplex, stalling for a short moment before driving Gallegos to the mat with a brainbuster. Luis grabs his neck and kicks at the mat in pain as Fusenshoff connects with a series of kicks to the mid-section before once again pulling Gallegos to his feet and drilling him with a snap DDT. Making the cover he looks to Hessian for the count. In a heartbeat Hessian is on the mat!

1...

Nick: Fast count by Hessian?!

...

...

...

2!

Richard: HA! The look on Fusenshoff's face!! He thought he was getting a fast count!

...KICK OUT!

Fusenshoff gets up and meets Hessian face to chest, pointing harshly and cussing at the referee for the abismal slow count. Hessian regards him for a moment before turning his back to Fusenshoff and making his way over to the corner, turning and cool as a giant killer cat on valium lazily rests against the turnbuckle. Fusenshoff roars at him in anger and turns back to Luis who is almost on his feet. Grabbing his arm, Fuse pushes him back a step and with all his strength flings Gallegos across the ring towards Hessian's corner with an Irish whip! As Luis catches sight of his trajectory however he screams and throws his arms out in front of him, sliding to the mat at a halt before the referee, who hasn't taken his eyes off Fusenshoff. Casually sidestepping the corner, Hessian watches on as Fusenshoff snarls and runs across the ring, hopping over Luis's body and onto the second rope. Quickly bouncing off it he uses the momentum to throw his body up almost 90 degrees in the air and comes splashing down on top of Gallegos! He does connect, unfortunately with two knees tucked up over Luis's torso that send Fuse tumbling off and coughing for air! The Union fans in the audience cheer as Luis jumps to his feet and doggedly ascends the turnbuckles to the top, turning and sizing up Fusenshoff as he staggers to his feet still holding his stomach.

Nick: Nice defence by Luis Gallegos there! Whatever problem Fusenshoff has with Hessian must be distracting him enough to allow the Union man to capitalize!

Richard: Problem? Fuse tried to slam Luis into Hessian!

Turning to the corner, Fuse is surprised by Luis who leaps off and connects with a rana that drills Fuse into the canvas! Without missing a beat Luis makes the cover and Hessian is down making the count just as fast.

123NO!!!!!

Richard: THE FASTEST COUNT IN HISTORY!

Nick: Fusenshoff doesn't look happy with that at all as he barely kicks out in time!

Indeed, Fuse bursts out of the pin as Hessian rolls to a sitting position and bursts out laughing at the agitated man from British Columbia. Planting a fist into Luis's head, Fusenshoff jumps to his feet and drops a big elbow into the heart of Luis Gallegos, once more pinning his opponent and looking to Hessian with ferocity in his eyes.

1...

2NO!!!

Hessian stops the count and gestures to the ropes. Fusenshoff turns to see what the fuss is about expecting to see Luis's leg on the rope, but finds nothing. Turning back to Hessian he argues the count, to which Hessian adamantly gestures that Luis got his leg onto the rope, while a cocky grin grows on his face. Fusenshoff screams an obscenity, gets to his feet and stands over Hessian who is holding his stomach as the deep guttural bellow of a laugh suddenly escapes his throat. Looking around him Fusenshoff shrugs hopelessly and balls his fists and clenches his teeth. He kicks imaginary dust at Hessian, who slowly gets back to his feet and wipes a tear from his eye before nodding to something behind Fuse and pointing with a shocked look on his face. Instinctively ducking, Fusenshoff turns to find Luis has quickly made it back to his corner, and once again roars at Hessian, his face turning red with rage. Barrelling towards the Union's corner, Fusenshoff slams his full weight into Luis as he makes the tag back to Jack Conway, the force sending Conway flying off the apron as Gallegos crumples to the mat. Hessian allows the tag and at once Fusenshoff throws himself through the ropes into Conway, taking him down with a press and mounting him for a series of stiff punches. From his corner Phoenix jumps at the sight of the ring-out and drops to the floor, running around to aid Fusenshoff as he dismounts from Conway and brings him to his feet, locking up and attempting a whip into the steel stairs that Conway counters into a hip toss that he routinely follows up with a leg drop!

Nick: The action is moving to ringside here folks and it could get ugly!

Richard: With the added tension Hessian's slack refereeing is bringing, this could get uglier than a Duke Williams Gone Wild DVD special!

Nick: .........They exist?

Richard: Type Hoss into Google and hit the Feeling Lucky button and find out for yourself

Turning the corner, Phoenix hops up onto the ring apron as Conway gets back to his feet and launches himself through the air, connecting with a jumping knee that smacks into Conway's chest and sends him tumbling over Fusenshoff and onto his butt at the foot of the guard rail. The fans go crazy as Phoenix pulls Fusenshoff to his feet and together they lay into Conway with kicks and punches while in the ring Hessian begins a ten count.

1...

Nick: Hessian's doing his duty now with a tentative count!

Richard: Ten count. You got a stutter?

Nick: Ten-ta-tive. Tentative. Means 'hesitant' you sarcastic mouth-off!

Pulling Conway to his feet, Phoenix and Fuse fail to notice Luis Gallegos has climbed to the top rope, and to a roar from the crowd leaps off and takes all three men down with a massive cross body assault! The four men fly in all directions as the crowd goes wild, while Hessian carries on the count in the ring.

2...

No one is up but everyone is rolling around holding various body parts that are aching from the fallout of the splash. Phoenix is the closest to rising, moving to a sitting position next to the steel steps.

3...

Hessian seems agitated no one is complying with the count as Phoenix pulls himself up to his knees followed by Jack Conway, while Fusenshoff kicks out at Luis Gallegos while still on his back.

4...

Phoenix spots Conway trying to assist Luis back to his feet as Fusenshoff rolls away and gets to his knees. Still aching from the attack however he sizes his opponents up from behind the steel steps.

5...

Hessian is counting louder now and becoming increasingly annoyed as Phoenix gets to his feet and hops up onto the steel steps, leaping towards Conway for a face plant only for the Motor City Maniac to turn at the last second and catch him in mid-flight! The Phoenix fans jeer as Conway adjusts Jay into position and turns, executing a fall away slam that sends Phoenix colliding with an approaching Fusenshoff!

6...6...6!!

Hessian makes the count and begins pacing back and forth as Conway pulls Luis to his feet while Fuse and Phoenix jump back to theirs. The two teams momentarily stare out their opponents before rushing forward into a brawl, throwing punches and kicks between each other. Fusenshoff kicks Luis Gallegos in the groin and hoists him up for a powerbomb, turning to the steps for the execution at the same time that Phoenix charges into Conway only to be thrown overhead and straight into Luis, who topples forward landing on the floor with Fusenshoff underneath him!

Nick: An unorthodox senton splash thanks to some even more unorthodox team work by The Union!

7!!

Hessian roars the number out as Luis rolls off of Fuse and is helped back to his feet by Conway. Together they grab Jay Phoenix by the arms and drop him with a double spinning armbreaker that drives the Eternal Flame's face into the floor. All the while they ignore the ten count.

8...

The Union plant a couple of boots into Phoenix's gut for good measure and move on to Fusenshoff who is stirring by the ramp. Pulling him up to his feet Jack Conway strikes with a forearm smash that dazes Fuse, but somehow he finds the strength to hit back with a straight punch of his own that sends Conway reeling. As Luis stalks Fuse from behind the Union fail to notice Phoenix slowly getting back to his feet behind them.

9!!!

Hessian looks around the arena and throws his arms in the air. Turning to Vince Howard he is met only with a confused shrug not unlike his own.

Nick: Looks like Hessian doesn't know what to do about the count. I don't think he likes the idea of it ending like this!

Richard: Why should he care? It doesn't affect his record or profile!

Taking a deep breath, Hessian storms forward and climbs over the top rope, dropping to the floor and grabbing Jay Phoenix. Pulling him to his feet by the throat Hessian hoists him up in a Gorilla Press Slam position and effortlessly tosses the native American back into the ring! Turning to Luis he strikes out and grabs the surfer around the waist, sizing up the throw before flinging him around and through the middle ropes so he too is back in the ring!

Nick: I guess he's found a solution! He's going to make the match continue himself!

Richard: Never a stickler for a crap finish is old Hess eh?

Finally he separates Fuse and Conway, whipping Jack back into the ring and wrapping a massive hand around Fusenshoff's head, tossing him back in and chasing after them. The crowd are going wild now as all four men get to their feet in the ring and turn at once to Hessian, who looks back with a disappointed snarl on his face and roars "LET'S GET IT ON!!" loud enough for the people to hear. Pointing to Phoenix and Luis he throws his thumbs back motioning for them to retreat to their corners, while Fusenshoff takes the opportunity to launch himself at Jack Conway, dropping him with a press before laying into him with more punches. As their respective team mates move back to their corners in complete disbelief at the actions of Hessian the goliath moves in on the action as Fuse gets up and throws himself into the ropes, returning with a knee drop that forces the air from Conway's chest. Once more he tries for the pin. Hessian obliges this time and drops to the mat for the count.

1...

2...

KICK OUT!

Nick: Fuse nearly had it there!

Richard: Never mind that Hessian's finally realized how to count properly!

Conway holds his arm in the air to signify the kick out while Fusenshoff gets back to his feet and moves to his corner, tagging in Phoenix. The Eternal Flame composes himself before climbing up onto the top turnbuckle and waiting as Conway pulls himself to standing. The fans let out a resounding roar as Jay gracefully twists through the air and brings his weight down on Conway, dropping him again with a beautiful corkscrew moonsault!

Nick: Thunderstorm!! Jay Phoenix with the Thunderstorm!

Richard: He could be looking to end this one right now!

Indeed Phoenix pulls himself on top of Conway as Hessian once again makes the count.

1...

2NO!!

Luis Gallegos hits the ring and slams a dropkick into Phoenix, sending him tumbling off of his partner. As Luis gets up, Hessian slaps him on the chest and cautions him, to which Luis backs off to his corner holding his hands up innocently. Jack Conway shakes the daze off and gets up, meeting Phoenix with a knee to the gut before whipping him off of the ropes. As Phoenix rebounds Conway propels him past again, this time quickly hitting his corner and tagging in Luis, who mounts the top rope as Phoenix rebounds once more, this time being scooped up by Conway and dropped with a body slam. The crowd cheer on as Gallegos flies off the top, landing a massive frog splash on top of Phoenix and holding for the count. Again Hessian hits the mat.

1...

2...

3NO!!!

This time it's Fusenshoff who makes the save, driving the bottom of his shoe into Luis' face and forcing him off of his partner. Hessian steps in once again and cautions Fusenshoff, but this time Fuse hits back, pushing Hessian in the chest with both hands!

Nick: What the hell is he doing?! He'll get disqualified!

Richard: After Hessian forcing the match to continue rather than make it a count out do you really think he's bothered about disqualifying people?

Hessian cocks his head and stares at Fusenshoff for a moment as he mouths off again to the goliath. Having had enough Hessian reaches back for an almighty haymaker that glides through the air missing its target as Fusenshoff ducks and rolls out of the way back to his corner, a sly grin on his face as Hessian huffs angrily and returns to the action in the ring. By this time Phoenix is on his feet, stalking Luis and giving himself a momentary respite as one half of The Union clutches his head and dazedly pulls himself up using the ropes. Moving in, Phoenix whips Luis off the ropes and ducks for an overhead toss as Gallegos rebounds only to hop over Phoenix's head, landing a swift punch to the back of the head that dazes Phoenix for a moment, allowing Luis time to return off the ropes again and flip over Jay once more, this time executing the 3/4 facelock bulldog and planting the Eternal Flame into the mat!

Nick: ANGEL CITY SLICE!! This one has gotta be over!!!

Richard: That came outta nowhere! I was expecting a shoulder barge or something!

Nick: It hardly came out of nowhere Richard...

The crowd are going nuts now as Luis jumps to his feet and taunts for them. he glances at Jack only to find his partner is holding a hand out and shouting something with a wide-eyed look of shock. Confused, Luis turns around in time to be gored by a spear from Fusenshoff that sends him cascading across the ring to the ropes!

Nick: Fusenshoff wise to take Luis out before the count can even be made but I'm not sure what Hessian will make of that!

Hessian waits for Fuse to get back to his feet before backhanding him across the chest and reprimanding him for the interference. Looking Hessian up and down like a bitch, Fuse turns and grabs Phoenix, dragging him back to their corner and leaving him to recuperate for a moment as he returns to the apron. Hessian follows him continuing with the warning, unaware that Jack Conway has slipped into the ring and dragged Luis Gallegos back into his corner. As he palms off Fusenshoff and looks back to the ring, he sees Conway tagging himself in and oks it as Conway paces back and forth in his corner, waiting for either Phoenix to charge in or Fusenshoff to tag himself in. Sure enough Jay pulls himself to his feet as Conway taunts them from across the ring, but as he steps forward to engage his opponent a hand comes down and slaps him on the back.

Nick: Fusenshoff tags himself in!

Richard: I sense...the dark side in him...young Padewin...

Phoenix spins on his heels as Fusenshoff enters the ring, standing before him with arms outstretched in confusion. Fuse moves him aside and gestures that he was supposed to be tagged in. Shaking his head in yet more disbelief, Phoenix exits the ring as Fuse turns to Hessian and once again runs his mouth before glancing at an approaching Jack Conway.

Nick: I guess Fusenshoff is in against Conway yet again!

SLAP!

A hand comes down on Fuse's back, and he turns around to see Phoenix entering back into the ring.

Richard: Phoenix back in against Conway!

Hessian chuckles and oks the tag as Fusenshoff groans irritably. Phoenix and Conway lock up as Hessian looks Fuse up and down and turns back to the action, only to turn back as Fuse shouts something at the big man. Taking a step towards Fuse, the two men square up and begin arguing as Phoenix kicks Conway to the mid-section and whips him off the ropes. On the return Conway dodges a roundhouse kick from the Eternal Flame and capitalizes, booting Phoenix in the ghoulies and hoisting him up for a piledriver while Hessian and Fusenshoff become more heated in their argument, now in each other's faces.

Nick: Jack Conway is going for the Mechanic's Drop and the referee is distracted!

Before he can execute the piledriver however, Jay somehow overcomes the pain coursing through his nether regions to wriggle free of the move, swinging his legs back until Conway finally drops the Eternal Flame on the mat. Landing on his feet Jay quickly kicks Conway to the gut once more and locks his arms around Conway's. The fans burst into an ovation as he signals the Phoenix Rising and at successfully drives Conway into the canvas with the double underhook face-first piledriver!

Nick: PHOENIX RISING! PHOENIX RISING! HE'S GOT IT!!

Richard: This one is over!!

Crumpling into the mat Jack is quickly turned over and pinned by Phoenix.

1!

2!

3!!!!

The crowd chants the three count and Phoenix rises to his feet with his arms in the air victoriously...until he realizes Hessian is still squaring off with Fusenshoff and indeed it was only the crowd who counted the three count. Throwing his arms in an uproar into the air he storms over to the arguing wrestlers and prises himself in between them. Firstly he pushes Fusenshoff back, making him aware his attitude just cost them a potential win, before turning to Hessian and getting in his face for his poor officiating. Meanwhile Conway lies flat out on the mat while his partner Luis is now on his feet on the apron, shouting support to his team mate. Back in the opposite corner Fusenshoff is now right in Hessian's face blaming the Hardcore Monster's poor refereeing for costing them the possible win. Phoenix backs off and turns to see Conway stirring, moving slowly on all fours back to his corner and takes off after him, connecting with a dropkick to the gut that sends Conway rolling into the ropes.

Nick: Something's going to go down between Fusenshoff and Hessian!

Richard: Something better damn well happen! No way can all this foreplay lead to an anti-climax!!

Nick: How quaint...

At last Hessian has had enough, as Fusenshoff lands a punch to his chin! A momentary pause and a glance at the baying audience before Hessian strikes out, wrapping a hand around Fusenshoff's throat and hoisting him into the air to rapturous applause from the crowd. With a swift turn Hessian hauls Fuse over the top rope and plants him on the mats at ringside with a beastly chokeslam that leaves Fusenshoff lifeless and contorted on the floor!

Nick: Chokeslam! The referee just took out one half of that tag team!

Richard: It was bound to happen Nick! Fuse just wants to kick up trouble with Hessian and it looks like he's going to get it now!

As he turns back to the ring Hessian sees Phoenix pulling Conway to his feet having missed the Chokeslam only for the Motor City Maniac to charge forward, hiking Phoenix up and spearing him into the Union's corner. Luis immediately tags himself in as Jack slips out of the ring and lays out exhausted. Landing a couple of punches to Phoenix's head, Luis scoops him up and plants him with a scoop slam piledriver. The second Jay hits the mat Gallegos is up and climbing the turnbuckles. Turning he faces Phoenix and gestures a Wave motion to a cheer from the crowd. He launches himself into the air, flipping en route and extending the leg for The Wave!

Nick: The Wave! Phoenix is going to ride The Wave!

Richard: IT WILL FINISH NOW!

But no. Jay Phoenix rolls out of the way and nips up on his feet as Luis bounces ass-first on the mat. Wasting no time Jay connects with two round kicks to the stomach and face, laying Luis out in the position he was in a moment ago. The crowd go crazy as Phoenix signals for a big move and heads to the top rope once more!

Nick: Phoenix moves out of the way of the Wave! What's he got planned now??

With a quick smirk Phoenix leaps off the top rope and connects with a shooting star press to awesome cheers from the crowd! Holding his position on Luis, he watches as Hessian drops to the mat and makes the count.

Nick: FROM THE ASHES!! Phoenix hits the Star Press on Luis Gallegos!! Can he clinch it?!

1...

2...

...

...

3!!!!!!!!!!!

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Nick: PHOENIX DOES IT!!

Richard: The Union are gonna be in uproar about this!!

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! Your winners...the team of FUSENSHOFF and JAYYYY PHOEEENIIIIIXX-AAAHHH!!!!

Phoenix celebrates his victory in the ring with a triumphant fist thrown in the air, thereafter rolling out the ring and heading back up the ramp to much applause from the crowd. Following shortly after are the gutted team of Jack Conway and Luis Gallegos who glance at the crowd every so often while their hands rest disappointedly on their hips as they make their way to the back. Hessian meanwhile is still in the ring, and as he prepares to leave himself someone slides in under the bottom rope holding something in their hands.

Nick: Oh my god Fusenshoff is back up, and he's got a steel chair!!

Richard: Hessian has no idea!!

Seizing his opportunity to exact revenge, Fusenshoff races across the ring and lashes out with the chair before Hessian can turn around. The giant takes a shot of steel to the back of the head and stumbles into the ropes, still staying vertical however. Holding his head he turns around with a look of hatred on his face as Fusenshoff once again swings the chair, connecting with a sickening shot to Hessian's face. This time the goliath collapses back into the ropes and slips. He falls to the mat, holding his head in both hands. Fusenshoff takes a step back and smacks the folding chair off of the canvas, sizing up another shot and swinging forth with all his might. Dropping his hands from his eyes however Hessian sees the incoming attack and pushes his back against the ropes, sliding forward so that he is flat on his back as the chair narrowly whacks the ropes where his head was. Fighting through the pain throbbing in his head Hessian pulls his leg in and shoots it straight back out, aiming for Fusenshoff's knee. The resulting impact bends Fuse's knee back in the wrong direction ever so slightly, with enough force to drop him like a bag of spuds on the mat, the chair falling from his grip.

Nick: Hessian narrowly avoided having his head knocked off his shoulders there!

Richard: Did you see the way Fusenshoff's knee jerked back there? That's disgusting!

Another boot to the face gives Hessian the time he needs to roll out of the ring onto his feet, still holding his head and wobbling on his legs. Shaking off the hurt he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them wide as the stars spinning in his head slowly fade away as he sees Fusenshoff getting back to his feet and grabbing the chair again as he approaches the ropes with a limp.

Richard: Fusenshoff isn't finished here, he really wants to show Hessian what he's made of!

Stepping between the ropes Fuse stands over the Murder Show as he turns the chair and holds it by the top of the back rest and the bars wielded between the legs. Leaping into the air he brandishes the chair over his head ready to bring it down on Hessian! The crowd cheer wildly as Fuse comes down and strikes out with the chair, only for Hessian to side-step at the last second and thrust an open hand down on Fusenshoff's back, sending him smacking into the floor and cracking his face off of the chair as it lands before him! Rolling around and holding his face in his hands now, Fuse cries out as Hessian kicks the chair away and pulls his foe to his feet. Grabbing him by the back of his pants and the scruff of the neck, Hessian takes a couple of steps away from the ring before turning and with all his monstrous strength throwing Fusenshoff across the floor and under the ring apron like a human bowling ball. He hits the proverbial strike as the sound of crashing metal echoes from under the ring as Fuse collides with all manner of hidden weaponry and steel support beams.

Richard: STEEEEEEE-RRRRRIIIIKKAAHH!!!

Nick: It's frightening just how strong this monster is!

Richard: Well Nick he gave fair warning at the top of the show that this was the kind of ride Fusenshoff was in for!

After a moment with no noise or movement, Hessian finally turns to the ramp and raises a triumphant hand, taking his leave to the sound of "Kingdom of the Worm" while somewhere under the ring Fusenshoff lies hidden amongst a slew of weapons and other under-apronly goods, after his first true clash with the Murder Show.

He's lying flat out on the cold concrete floor, using his kit bag as a pillow. A washcloth soaked with cool water lies across his closed eyes and soothes the pulsing headache as he holds his cell phone to his ear and groans quietly while a voice on the other end of the line barks at him. Raising his other hand he massages his temples as the mere tension of the call floods his head with a niggling ache.

Hessian: ...Yes I understand......I know, it's getting better thanks to that win last week.........no, no problem at all. I'll keep delivering, don't worry..........yeah, aha........yeah same time next week. Goodbye.

He folds the face of the phone over and slides it into a side pocket in his kit bag and embraces the welcoming silence as his body cools down on the concrete while the refreshing water on the cloth trickles down his face amidst beads of sweat. Peace and quiet after the match, lovely.

...Until the locker room door creaks open and someone enters, breathing heavily and stomping over to him. Sighing quietly Hessian hopes it's not someone looking for him as he shifts on the ground, allowing a low crack to emit from his spine as he eeks out a troubling pang in his back.

"Great! If it isn't the Jolly Red Giant in the flesh!"

Hessian grumbles and removes the cloth from his face, looking up and squinting in the light to see none other than Fusenshoff standing over him, sweat running down his face and a big vein pulsing on his neck, obviously still irate from the post-match beating, though strangely holding a kind of composure about him. Sitting up calmly, Hessian swivels around and leans against the wall, bringing a knee up and clasping both hands together over it.

Fusenshoff: What makes you think you can show such bias with the pinstripes on and get away with it, huh?

Hessian: What the.......what the hell do you want boy? I thought I left you laid out like one of Seung-Hui Cho's classmates at ringside?

He moans and straightens his legs out, stretching and cracking his knuckles as Fuse stands over him, becoming agitated already. Fusenshoff sneers at the giant who’s been finding new and creative ways to make his life miserable each and every week.

Fusenshoff: Looks like you did a half-assed job then didn't ya? Kind of like your last stint in PRIME! I'm not Count Chocula and this isn't the General Mills Wrestling Federation Hessian. You can take your vampire slaying act back to early retirement. I’ve had enough of your antics. Keep your nose in the opium where it belongs, not in my business!

The Hardcore Monster dabs his face with the washcloth, smirking behind the towel as Fusenshoff watches him, getting more and more agitated by his nonchalance each passing second.

Hessian: Well, at least you know who I am...personally I still don't have a damn clue how to pronounce your name. Fudge-N-Shove was it?

Fusenshoff smirks at this pot shot. Hessian clearly has no respect for him, which is a little vexing, but doesn’t matter much in a profession where fists do the real talking. Plus, it’s more fun to trash talk than just treat your opponent inferior anyway.

Fusenshoff: I know what you are is more like it. Hessians have quite the reputation over here in the U.S. Your great, great, great-granddaddy and his buddies were sold to King George and fought in the American Revolutionary War. How does it feel to know you're a direct descendant of a man who bent over and took it up the tailpipe, compliments of George Washington's musket?

Hessian doesn't miss a beat in his retort, even though the shot at his family cuts a little deeper than he would like as he shifts off the ground and moves to a nearby bench, sitting his kit bag next to him and zipping it open.

Hessian: I couldn't really answer that...maybe if you told me how it feels to have your ass handed to you by the direct descendant of such a man?

Fusenshoff’s aggravation reaches its boiling point now. He’s still mad at himself for being the man with his shoulders on the mat when their match ended two weeks ago. He knew Phoenix wasn’t mentally prepared that night, yet he still allowed himself to take the fall. Fuse grabs the water bottle off of Hessian and throws it across the room, standing in front of Hess as its contents drain out over someone else's sports bag. Hess furrows his brow and cocks his head, looking around the empty room and trying to make sense of Fusenshoff's presence here.

Fusenshoff: So far you've backed up your words, so go ahead and talk smack gumpy. There are two types of people in this world Hessian; the humble and the soon-to-be-humbled. You'll get what your arrogant ass deserves soon enough.

Fusenshoff turns and walks away as The Construction of Destruction can’t help but chuckle. Hessian gets the last word in, though it’s unclear if Fusenshoff can even hear him as he leaves.

Hessian: When I said I was going to run through everyone and raise all kinds of hell, I didn't mean I'd entertain the likes of you and your visions of glory. You're one of a long line of stepping stones that I'm just crushing underfoot as I go along my merry way, but you'll find that out soon enough...

The door is half-way open, slowly rocking on its hinges. Perhaps misreading that as a ‘come on in!’… or perhaps just not caring (cuz he’s an asshole) Kaiser Vashaun slams his right fist on the surface of the door, knocking it all the way open, more so than just knocking.

Kaiser Vashaun: Hate to bother you, "boss"… but we have a problem.

Stepping into the room, Kaiser folds his arms across his chest. Turning to face The Next in Line, Tyler Rayne greets Vashaun’s uninvited appearance with a sly grin.

Tyler Rayne: If by we you mean I and by problem you mean you… then yes, I’d have to agree. Though I did have a feeling you’d come ‘round to bitching at my doorstep.

Kaiser Vashaun: Bitching? Harsh choice of words. Call it what you want… I just stopped by to let you know you’d be best served keeping your nose out of my business. I’m well aware of your little ‘crush’ on Princess… but I suggest you worry more about that big Uni title match you handed yourself, and less about Ms. Troy.

The newly self-crowned #1 contender gives a chuckle before turning away from Kaiser.

Tyler Rayne: Thanks for the career advice, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got this ‘running the show’ thing locked down, Dr. Phil.

Kaiser Vashaun: Go ahead and brush me off. At the end of the day, you know I’m right. While you should be busy focusing on finally reaching the top of the mountain, and meanwhile making sure half the roster doesn’t split for greener pastures… you’re busy playing the knight in shining armor.

Tyler Rayne: Knight in shi…

Rayne stops himself, not taking the bait. Instead, his eyes dart up, accessing the creative realm of his brain. A quick rub of the chin and the smirk once again returns to Rayne’s face.

Tyler Rayne: Ya know what? I just thought of a fantastic idea. That title defense at our special show coming up in two weeks… I’m thinking we need to make this big. Huge main event. Just for you. Inside a steel cage, even. Ought to be perfect for someone as intense as you, right? And if you’re lucky enough to make it out of Tacoma still champ, you can defend that belt every week on the way to Culture Shock. Every ReV between here and the pay-per-view will feature Kaiser Vashaun in all his arrogance, defending the title he defeated… shit. Who’d you win that thing off of again? Screw it. Whatever. Title match. Every week. We’ll call it… the "Intense Gauntlet". Pretty good, huh? Hopefully you’ll wind up title-less. Or broken in half. Ooo, maybe I’ll get really lucky and it’ll be both.

The Intense Champion nods his head with a laugh.

Kaiser Vashaun: Boy, I bet Miss Princess just looooves you fighting her battles for her. Guess she isn’t capable of standing up for herself. Surprising for a Hall of Famer.

Tyler Rayne: Uni’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Turns out… I’m just a dick. And you annoy me.

Kaiser Vashaun: Guess maybe I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time about rushing to her defense. Ya know what, forget everything I said earlier. Go ahead, Mr. Lindsay Troy, go right ahead and protect her. She’s gonna need it.

Rayne’s eyes narrow, as he stares right through the Next in Line.

Tyler Rayne: Is that a threat? That sounds like a threat. And, as a responsible manager, I can’t have you running about threatening my employees. Ya know, if we could just be honest, between the two of us… I actually think you run that cock trap of yours a little too much anyway. So, next week at ReV 185… while I’m busy winning the Universal Championship in the main event… I think it’d be great to see you curtain jerking in our opening match.

Kaiser: I…

Tyler Rayne: In fact, let’s make that a handicap match. Let’s say… you versus Tony Gamble and… High Flyer. Oh, fuck it. You can face Dildo Baggins and all three members of Team V.I.A.G.R.A. Yeah. I like that. Now, you feel like talkin’ shit about my girl again, hot shot?

This time, the Intense Champ keeps his mouth shut. Shaking his head in disgust, Kaiser slowly turns and walks out of the room with a very different road to CS ahead of him than had been the case just minutes earlier, courtesy of the new man in charge.

Tyler Rayne: Didn’t think so. Prick.

"The jig is up, kid."

Bryan Dawkins nearly jumps out of his chair. The voice can only belong to one man.

Bryan Dawkins: Chan?

"Goddamn right, Chan."

Bryan Dawkins: Uhh...what're ya doin' out there, bruh?

"Waiting 'til I hear Rayne's voice so I can barge in there and catch you two in the act."

Bryan Dawkins: I meant why didn't ya open the door?

For a moment, there is silence. The door slowly creaks open and a distressed-looking Chandler Tsonda can be seen. The toe tapping, the face, and the slightly frazzled hair (between five and six hairs are out of place; that's a new record) indicate an unhappy Chan.

Chandler Tsonda: I'm being petty, Dawkins. It's a superb negotiating tactic. Woulda taught it to you, but you're too busy betraying me with that scuzzy boss of ours.

Bryan Dawkins: Ty?

Chandler Tsonda: No, Chet Worth.

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh, I don't know who-

Chandler Tsonda: UNIMPORTANT! Those beer-guzzling tag champs of ours just told me they saw you and Rayne colluding against me.

Bryan Dawkins: Chan, you been drinkin' a lotta coffee today?

Chandler Tsonda: YES! I got really stressed on the way over here and pounded like six or seven espresso shots at catering, why?

Bryan Dawkins: Right. Me and Rayne were just figurin' stuff out, bruh. You weren't here yet.

Chandler Tsonda: Rayne tell you to say that?

Bryan Dawkins: No. What?

Chandler Tsonda: It's all about the gold, kid. All about the gold.

Bryan Dawkins: C'mon, bruh. He's got as good a claim for a title shot as anyone. If Cantrell couldn't see that, who says that a new boss is gonna be able to? Heck, who says we're even gonna get a new boss. I think Ty's doin' a pretty good job.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh, so you like being booked against your two compadres?

Bryan Dawkins: That wasn't Ty, bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh?

Bryan Dawkins: Musta come down from those weirdos on the Board or somethin'. Doesn't matter, though, 'cuz we're gonna put on a hell of a show for all the fine folks here in Sacramento. Right, bruh?

Chandler Tsonda: (grumbles) Right, kid.

Bryan Dawkins: There ya go. Feel better?

Chandler Tsonda: No. Coffee rush. I think I need to sit down.

Feeling somewhat woozy, Tsonda takes a seat in Dawkins' locker room. The Flyin' Hawaiian shakes his head, gives a chuckle, and the scene fades.

Coming through the arena corridor a tired, but happy, looking Phoenix walks up to his dressing room. Opening the door he steps inside and immediately reaches into his sports bag. Pulling out his cell phone he flips it open, hitting his first speed dial as the LCD flashes up a single name: "Rick".

As he listens to the ring tone he walks further in, closing the door behind him.

The phone drops from his hand, a tinny and tiny voice calling out ‘Jay’ just audible, as Phoenix eyes the back of the door in horror. Dripping down the surface, in bright red letters that he hopes is paint, is a simple phrase:

"You will be judged!"

As is usual the past few weeks, it has been one long and grueling night for Tyler Rayne. The pressures of both running ReVolution and competing as one of its premiere talents was taking an unexpected toll on the Golden Boy. His patented grin appeared with increasingly less frequency. His quips and insults flowed with less mischievous mirth and more unintentional malice. Sure, he did a decent enough job of hiding these stresses. A toga party and a keg stand went a long way to relieving some of that stress, too, but as the Underground Pimp rounded the corner and removed the toga from his scarred body, the relief washed away with under the current of a new tide.

In just moments, Tyler would be stepping into the ring with two people he considered friends. More than that. Two (out of the three) people he felt like he could trust in PRIME. Now he had fought against friends before. Hell, it had happened plenty of times in the past. Those were always friendly contests, though. Much like bouts between himself, Dawkins and Tsonda had been in the past. Now, though… now things were different. Somewhere… something had fallen off the track. The friendship had derailed and was now skidding toward an inevitable collision. Chandler Tsonda, PRIME’s Universal Champion and default torch bearer, no longer trusted the motives of his former(?) Jewel Halo partner. Tyler Rayne knew in his heart that there was no ill will in any of this. He knew that things had just gotten out of control. He wasn’t out to "get" Chandler. He didn’t want to take his title. He didn’t want to steal his limelight. He didn’t want any of that.

He also knew there wasn’t a snowball’s fucking chance in Hell of convincing Tsonda of any of that.

The toga crumples to a pile of white rags on the floor. Tyler shuffles, his head hung low, toward the ring. The match he wanted no part of. The one match, even with all of his supposed power and authority, he couldn’t get out of. He shuffles on, trying to ignore the whispers and accusations as he passes. Tonight felt like an oppressively lonely night for one of the most beloved performers in PRIME. His zombie-like march leads him toward the gorilla position with slow and pondering steps. He ambles forward, not thinking that there are others who may be doing the exact same thing as he. Other men who may be making this same walk. Or have already. Two other men to be precise.

Chandler Tsonda and Bryan Dawkins standing a handful of meters down the hall. Talking, of course. The master and the student. Their whispers become even more hushed as Tyler approaches. They stop altogether when he looks up in their direction. For a moment, Tyler’s eyes lock with Tsonda’s. A dozen emotions sweep through the corridor between them. Anger. Betrayal. Determination.

Chandler Tsonda: Well, if it isn’t the reigning tyrant of PRIME. Is this the part where I’m supposed to bow humbly in your presence? You want me to go ahead and hand over the Universal Title now, my liege?

Tyler Rayne: Tink, I--

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t. Just… don’t. I’ve heard about everything I want to hear from your mouth, friend.

The last word was more than an insult. It was a curse. Something foul and distasteful on the tongue of the Model Citizen.

Tyler Rayne: Look, shit got outta hand. I’ll admit that. There’s no reason we can’t be civil about this. If you’ll just calm down and listen to--

Chandler Tsonda: Listen to what? Another one of your eloquent soliloquies? You made your move, Rayne. Finally showed your true colors. The bullshit isn’t going to work anymore. You want this title, you’re going to have to pry it from--

Tyler Rayne: If I wanted that fucking title, Tink, I’d have taken the gods damned thing off your waist any fucking time I pleased. Unlike some people, though, I don’t need a strap of gold to justify my status as a main event draw.

This is about the time when someone should step in and try to cool things before they get too heated. That someone goes by the name of Bryan Dawkins.

Bryan Dawkins: Whoa, bruhs. I think everyone should just chill and--

Chandler Tsonda: Ty, Iet’s get some facts straight here. I was holding up the main event scene while you were still scrapping around with Johnny Noble and that 5-Star title.

Tyler Rayne: Holding up the main event scene? Is that what you call jobbing to Lindsay Troy and Devin Shakur for months on end? Seriously, Tink, how many times did it even take you to win that fucking thing? Two? Three? More? At least when I got my shot, I only needed one chance to seal the deal.

Chandler Tsonda: And because you couldn’t earn a shot at a real title, you decided to give yourself one.

Bryan Dawkins: C’mon, Tsonda. You know it’s not like--

Tyler Rayne: A real title? Who the fuck have you even defended that thing against? Danny Ferguson? Well by the way… you’re welcome. How fucking impressive that our great Universal Champion was able to hold off a has-been that I put out on the shelf for nine months. I took out Hollywood to save your ass, Tink.

Bryan Dawkins: Rayne…

Chandler Tsonda: Which you never fail to mention week after week after week. There ever going to be a time when you stop talking about what you did in the Dual Halo? That was a year ago. Get over it.

Bryan Dawkins: Chan…

Tyler Rayne: Tell ya what. I’ll stop talking about it around the same time you actually do something noteworthy as Universal Champion. Right now the only thing it looks like you’re doing is shining it for the first time you actually face a legitimate contender.

Chandler Tsonda: Fortunate for me then I don’t have any legitimate contenders lined up until Culture Shock.

Bryan Dawkins: Guys…

Tyler Rayne: Funny. That’s real fuckin’ funny, Tink. You think you’ll still find this comedic when I’ve got my boot shoved three-fourths of the way up your fairy ass.

Chandler Tsonda: Please try. You wouldn’t be the first flash in the pan I’ve put in his place.

The two men take one menacing step forward. If not for Bryan Dawkins, who unfortunately finds himself now wedged between the two, this would be a face-off for the ages.

Bryan Dawkins: Seriously, dudes. That’s enough.

Tyler Rayne: Just say when, pretty boy.

Chandler Tsonda: When.

There is a triple-threat main event scheduled for tonight, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to make it that far. Tyler Rayne pulls back to throw the first punch, the first legitimate blow of this suddenly escalating feud. Nothing would be more satisfying right now than to rock Chandler Tsonda across his ball-catching chin.

Bryan Dawkins: ENOUGH! Ya know what? … Fuck both you guys!

The sudden outburst was unexpected. The expletive is downright shocking. It’s enough to bring even these two to pause.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m tired of all this bitching! I’m tired of being stuck in the middle of this! If you two wanna tear each other’s throats out, go right ahead. Throw away your friendship! But let me tell you both something. Tonight isn’t about Chandler Tsonda and Tyler Rayne. Tonight is about a triple-threat match. Tonight is about us. You two think you’re the biggest, baddest pair of… of pompous ASSHOLES… this company has ever seen. Well you’re wrong. So tonight, you two can squabble and bitch and act like a couple of school girls all you want. I’m going out to that ring to wrestle. I’m going out to that ring to win. And at the end of the night, I’m going to prove to everyone that it isn’t Chandler Tsonda or Tyler Rayne that’s the dominant male in this group!

The Flyin’ Hawaiian storms off. None of the tension leaves with him.

Tyler Rayne: He’s right you know.

Chandler Tsonda: You think?

Tyler Rayne: Oh yeah. You really are a pompous asshole.

Chandler Tsonda: I’m really going to enjoy beating you. Again.

Tyler Rayne: In your dreams, kid. In your fucking dreams.

Richard: After the night that we have had already I am not sure how any match can live up to the heading of ‘main event’!

Nick: True, but if anything can then having Chandler Tsonda, Bryan Dawkins and the ‘boss’ of PRIME – Tyler Rayne – in the ring at one time can!

Richard: I can’t wait!

Nick: Hmmm – looks like you will have to, though.

For the second time that night a familiar haunting guitar melody plays over the PA system as, on the monitors around the arena, flames start to appear, curling up to completely cover the blackness of the screens. ‘Phoenix Rising’ rings out, the audience jumping to their feet, as Jay Phoenix walks out onto the entrance ramp.

He is dressed in his street clothes, once more, with his long hair wet and tied into a tight braid that falls down to his waistline. With a purposeful stride he makes his way to the ring and, grabbing a microphone from ringside, he steps between the ropes. Pausing, looking around the expectant sea of faces, he seems to gather his thoughts before bring the microphone up to his lips.

Phoenix: Apologies for not being what – or who – you expected but I promise to not keep you from the main event for too long but …

Richard: Of course, there just HAD to be a ‘but’!

Phoenix: There is something that I want to say, to get off my chest, and as it involves you …

Pointing out into the audience he turns a full circle, indicating that he is addressing everyone in attendance, which elicits a large cheer.

Phoenix: … I thought that it only fair that you hear it directly from me rather than tuning into the PRIME website, or other wrestling forums, to just read about what I have decided.

Nick: I wonder what he is going to say?

Richard: The way that he is talking – the way that he looks, so serious, it can only be one thing!

Nick: He is going to audition for America’s Next Top Model?

Richard: No, you idiot … retirement!

Phoenix: You know I am not really one for coming out here and talking. I prefer to do my ‘talking’ inside the ring but, this time, it is my words that are needed rather than my ability to kick ass.

The crowd cheer, and laugh, at the unexpected joke.

Phoenix: You see, not all that long ago, I was ‘forced’ to come out to this ring by C.P. Cantrell. At that time he decided to make me work for PRIME under a contract that didn’t have my name on it … I resented that, I resented him and I decided to do my own thing rather than play his game.

Phoenix rubs a hand over his hair, smoothing it down further as he thinks about his words.

Phoenix: Then, not all that long ago, I was under the impression that a couple of really good guys – guys you know as DUI who, despite not knowing me, had my back when Cantrell tried to force me into wrestling – were about to lose their contracts.

The crowd cheer again at the mention of the current tag team champions.

Phoenix: So I signed a contract – a legally binding contract – even though I didn’t want to. No offence guys, you fans are the people that have kept me going in my twelve years in the ring but I never actually wanted to wrestle for PRIME … I was ready to retire, you see.

A few boos are drowned out by chants of ‘NO’ and ‘PLEASE DON’T GO’.

Phoenix: … but to save DUI’s careers I gave up my own choices. I signed the contract and so, even though I didn’t want to be, I was a full-time PRIME employee. Then, two weeks ago I was jumped at ringside by Jason Natas and, during the scuffle that followed, he was inured. No, that isn’t true – I injured him. I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t my intent but, ultimately, it was my fault. Rayne made me realise that last week when he made me wrestle the High Flyer.

At the name of the living legend the crowd are a sea of mixed reactions. The cheers are louder than nearly anything heard that night but, at the same time, there are some boos. He is just that sort of person … the Marmite of wrestling, the Doctor Pepper of sports entertainment – you either love him or hate him.

Phoenix: Believe it or not the Flyer is a bit of a hero of mine. Even when I was on the road myself I always ensured that I would catch him live when I could or on PPV when I couldn’t. Until PRIME I had never wrestled him, thought that was always a dream of mine. So now, thanks to Rayne, I got to live my dream … I got to wrestle the High Flyer, one on one …

The crowd quieten as Phoenix pauses, turning full circle to look at as many people as possible.

Phoenix: … and I beat him!

The crowd cheer … well, half of them do. The other half – the ones who love marmite, probably – boo.

Phoenix: When I got to PRIME I didn’t want to be here. When I signed that contract I wanted to find a loophole. When I was entered in the Chrismas Melee match all I wanted to find, in my present, was a pink slip. All I wanted to do was retire. I have been screwed around here in PRIME; I have been entered in tournaments where MY success or failure was being used against someone else’s career; I have been forced to wrestle in matches that I have had no say in – like tonight; I have had some idiot leave me a little calling card in red paint telling me that I am going to be judged as if I should be scared and I have had to step foot into the ring against a hero and a legend.

As Phoenix again pauses so do the crowd. The anticipation rises as Phoenix’s body language makes it obvious that he is building to a crescendo and that he is about to say what he came out to say.

Phoenix: … and finally I have come to my senses! I may not have chosen to be here but I AM here; I may not have wanted to be here but I AM here. Something that I had almost forgotten was just why I got into wrestling in the first place – why I have kept on wrestling since nineteen ninety-six.

Some of the younger members of the audience blink in shock as they realise that the man they are watching, their hero, is old. To a six year old, after all, thirty-two is ancient.

Phoenix: … because I LOVE this job. This business. This life! I am not going to stand here and tell you all that I am better than the rest of the guys in the back … you get to hear that most weeks anyway … but I am going to tell you that it isn’t the six different federation titles that keep me going strong – it isn’t the fact that I am the only man in HISTORY to have been part of every GTT – it isn’t even the fact that, one on one, I can go toe to toe with my own heroes and beat them … it is the simple fact that I love what I do.

The fans cheer again.

Phoenix: Now that I remember that, now that I know who and what I am, I am going to never forget it. I am not just going to be a part of PRIME … I am going to be the best that I can be. I am not going to sit back and let others walk over me and take my place … I am going to carve out my destiny and leave everyone in my dust. I am here, in PRIME, and I am here to stay. I am here to triumph. Like I said, I am not going to come out here and state that I am better than anyone … but I sure as Hell am here to tell you that no matter who they are, or what they think that they have accomplished, there isn’t a single wrestler in PRIME that can tell me that they are better than I am!

Nick: Big words.

Richard: The thing is, Nick, that when he first came to PRIME I wouldn’t have believed a word of this but now … this is the Jay Phoenix that we have heard about, this is the man that really has done the things that he says he has. This is the Jay Phoenix that the fans wanted and C.P. Cantrell thought that he was getting.

Phoenix: Today is the first day of the rest of my PRIME life – and next week is the first step on my road to destiny.

Phoenix reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, silver box. Opening it he takes out a small piece of paper hand holds it up.

Phoenix: This was one of my ‘presents’ at King of Kings … it is a guaranteed shot at the 5-Star Title at a time of my choosing. Well, that time – MY TIME – is now. I am calling this shot in now, Flyer. I am calling you out! Next week, the week after, whenever you want. Don’t make me wait, Flyer, it will just delay the inevitable. I beat you last week with nothing on the line, my friend – next time your title, and my destiny, will be on the line. You thought that you had seen me at my best? Not even close. With that on the line you will see what I can do, Flyer, and the result will be the same. You on your back, the lights above your head, and my name being shouted out across the arena.

The crowd cheers.

Phoenix: The only difference, this time, is that you won’t get to walk out with the gold. I will.

Dropping the microphone to the canvas Phoenix steps through the ropes and walks back up the rampway as the camera flashes strobe out their fanfare of light.

Richard: And now, the moment I've been personally salivating over all night...Rayne and Tsonda are no more! If we could just work some kind of awesome swerve heel turn by Dawkins in there, I'd be happier than a clam in shit.

Nick: I don't think that's the phrase.

Richard: Well, whatever. I'd be erect, that's all I'm saying.

WOO HOO!

"Song 2" by Blur.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: If Dawkins thinks he's gonna take down that Lunatic at Culture Shock, he'd do well to show me something tonight.

As he steps out from behind the curtain, Bryan Dawkins comes face-to-face with his cheering section. And it's pretty damn big. Maybe it's the amount of Hawaiian transplants in Sacramento or maybe people just dig the Flyin' Hawaiian. We'd guess a combination of both. To the rampant cheers, Dawkins responds with his traditional "hang loose" gesture, smiling for only a second before he puts the game face back on.

Vince Howard: The following is a triple threat non-title match and will be decided by one fall! Coming to the ring, first...weighing in at 202 pounds...from Hilo, Hawaii...The Flyin' Hawaiian, BRYAN DAAAAAAAAAAAAWKINS!

Nick: Interesting tidbit about this match: all three competitors are from the Pacific coast.

Richard: Interesting for who? That pivotal "geographers who watch wrestling" demographic?

"Song 2" cuts abruptly as the lights go out. Where this was once a cause for mystery, PRIME fans are a savvy bunch, and so they respond to the darkness in a slightly different way.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Rayne watched too many rock concerts as a kid.

The faintest sounds of rain can be heard from outside. No. Not outside. 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.

Nick: He knows how to make an entrance, that's for sure.

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."

Richard: Boondock Saints swagger jacker!

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.

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

"WhatWhatWhat HIT IT!"

The PRIME spotlights quickly find Tyler Rayne as he jogs through the crowd. He breaks into a sprint and hops the barrier like it ain't no thang.

Vince Howard: And now...weighing in at 217 pounds...from Baja, California...the Golden Ticket Holder, the Underground Pimp...TYLER

"MOTHERFUCKIN'!

Vince Howard: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYNE!

Nick: Rayne's actually the heaviest man in this match, at 217. You'll likely see him use that to his advantage.

From the sounds of Quarashi, there's another sound cut, as the arena is bathed in dancing green and silver lights.

"I said, 'kiss me, you're beautiful'
These are truly the last days

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

In the same way that the darkness is a sure sign of Tyler Rayne, that old man's voice is the harbinger of Chandler Tsonda. The acoustic section to "Welcome Home" by CoCa always sounds a little strange, but it's supposed to be. Because it's a lead-in to...

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

...green and silver pyro, perfectly timed with the heavy electric stuff. As the guitars screech, the lights come up slightly to show Chandler Tsonda stepping out from behind the curtain, Universal Title in its favored position on his shoulder.

Vince Howard: And the final competitor...weighing in at 202 pounds...from San Diego, California...YOUR Universal Champion, The Viet Viper...CHANDLER TSOOOOOOOOOOOOONDA!

Tsonda doesn't waste time making it to the ring, where Rayne and Dawkins have already fist bumped. After he slides under the bottom rope, he gives a nod to both men. They've seen enough of each other tonight not to waste time with pedantic pre-match gestures. Everyone and their mom recognizes the pride that's on the line.

DING DING DING!

No one moves a muscle. Six eyes dart around the ring, while the tens of thousands outside the ropes try to decide which superstar to focus on.

Richard: Hey idiots, someone's gonna have to hit somebody.

Nick: These three have spent months watching one another's backs. Much easier said than done, Richard.

And like that, the gloves come off. Tsonda charges Rayne, who couldn't be less surprised. The Underground Pimp catches Tsonda and unleashes the match's first offense, a powerslam, onto the Model Citizen. Dawkins joins the fray by running at Rayne, whose back is turned, and does Rayne one better by catching him with a quick German suplex. In a flash, Dawkins is on Tsonda, whipping him towards the opposite ropes. On the comeback, Tsonda goes for a shoulder block, but Dawkins sidesteps and hits Chandler with a snap DDT.

Richard: Who taught Dawkins to wrestle?

With Tsonda and Dawkins both rising to their feet, Rayne rushes them but gets the 2-on-1 advantage turned on him, as the entity known as TsonDawkins hits a double hip toss. A second later, Rayne's back up. All three men look around once again, trying to hide their respective grins.

Nick: Look at that! They all know the challenge ahead, and no one's stepping away from it. The gamesmanship amongst these three is admirable.

Richard: 'SCUSE ME? Rayne and Tsonda looked ready to slap each other's mommas like twenty minutes ago.

Nick: It's a weird dynamic, that's for sure.

Turning to his left, Rayne goes for a quick spear, knocking Dawkins to the ground. He doesn't waste time with ground offense, not while the dangerous Viet Viper is behind him. Rayne rolls to his right and up. Tsonda swings a right hand, but it's blocked by Rayne. Tsonda swings a left, which is again blocked by Rayne. The Underground Pimp now returns the favor with front kick to Tsonda's gut. He bounces off the nearby ropes and drops a big impact elbow into the back of Tsonda's neck. It doensn't fell Tsonda, so he goes for a repeat performance. This time, Rayne adds some flourish, prefacing the elbow drop with a jump off the bottom rope. This time, Tsonda drops and Rayne goes for the cover.

One...


NO!

Bernie Roberts holds up one finger, a signifier that nobody's getting out of this thing easy. Rayne doesn't waste time crying over spilt milk, noticing a blur out of the corner of his eye. The blur's name is Bryan Dawkins, and he likes dropkicks. Specifically, running missile dropkicks from behind Rayne that knocks the Underground Pimp into the turnbuckle. Seizing a rare opportunity against Rayne, Dawkins grabs his left arm, bounds up to the middle rope, and backflips off, pulling Rayne down with him.

Nick: Holy canoli!

Richard: Moonsault armbreaker? Yawn.

Dawkins lands on his feet, wrenching Rayne's arm so hard that the Underground Pimp drops. But there's no time for celebration, a lesson Dawkins learns the hard way, as a momentary glance at his handiwork is rewarded with a facecrusher from Chandler Tsonda. The Sultan of Style pulls Dawkins up and forces the youngster back on his heels with some strong right hands. He goes for stiff kick with his left leg, but Dawkins catches it. Tsonda, though, always adept at adaptation (try saying that five times fast), snaps his right leg around and catches Dawkins square in the jaw with a potent enziguiri.

Nick: Rest holds be damned, this is high octane stuff!

Tsonda goes to pull Rayne up to his feet, but Tyler catches him with a kick in the chest. Tsonda spins away from Rayne, trying to catch his breath. Dawkins starts crawling to his feet, and has just gotten to all fours when Tsonda, seeing an opening and runs towards it. He dives over Dawkins, but as he goes airborne, perpendicular to the Flyin' Hawaiian, he grabs the opposite side of Dawkins's chest and pulls Dawkins with him, down into a cradled pin.

One...

.

Two...NO!

Nick: Pinfall stopped by a stomp from Rayne right there.

Richard: Tsonda, he doesn't want you to win! He'll do anything to stop you! He's always been out for number one! Kill his ass!

Nick: Who do you talk to when you do that?

Richard: I like to think that Hoyt hears my prayers, thankyouverymuch.

Tsonda climbs to his feet and is quickly assailed by Rayne. The Model Citizen blocks a spinning elbow, but this forces him back a couple steps, back towards Dawkins. A second's glance between Rayne and Dawkins spells doom (in the short-term) for Tsonda. Rayne steps into an inside hook kick at precisely the same time Dawkins sweeps out Tsonda's legs. The result...is that Tsonda gets hit both high and low. When he hits the mat, he rolls towards the ropes, looking for a moment of peace. Rayne and Dawkins lock up, and after a knee to Rayne's gut, Dawkins connects with snap suplex. As quickly as Rayne can get back up, that's how quickly Dawkins hits ANOTHER snap suplex.

Nick: Still think Dawkins can't hang?

Shaking his head, Rayne rises once again. But for whatever else he is, Tyler Rayne is no coward. He goes right back at Dawkins, barely missing the Flyin' Hawaiian with a chin-level roundhouse kick. Dawkins shoves Rayne towards the corner, but Rayne just uses his momentum to bounce off the middle rope and come flying back at Dawkins with spinning wheel kick that takes both men down. But it hurts Dawkins more since, ya know, dude got kicked in the side of the head. Again.

Richard: Dawkins Jr. is gonna be raised by a vegetable if that idiot keeps leaving himself open to get booted in the noggin.

Nick: Dawkins doesn't apologize for his high-risk style. Sometimes, it's going to leave him open, but that's the chance he's willing to take.

With his two opponents even more dazed than he, Chandler Tsonda makes a move for the ropes. He pulls himself up, and climbs. One, two, three ropes. He stands on the top rope, looking down at Dawkins and Rayne.

Richard: This would be the dumbest thing in the history of dumb.

Nick: Tsonda isn't quite the aerial fanatic he once was. He's even got a ground finisher to make up for the fact that his back can't handle this type of....ohmigod!

You see, as Nick as was talking, Tsonda was ignoring that small flaring pain in his back. Ignoring it long enough to jump onto the third rope, and use it as a springboard to launch himself at Rayne and Dawkins, both of whom are in the process of getting up. Flashbulbs shimmer in the lit arena as Tsonda takes off, body spinning in counter intuitive ways, and connects on both opponents with a corkscrew body press.

Nick: Perfect 10! Perfect 10!

Richard: Someone tell Jet Li that this isn't a title match. There's no reason to be jumping around like a goddamn Capuchin.

It's not a move you see every ReV, especially from Tsonda, who used to fly about as often as Delta. But the fans respect the hell out of someone who puts on a show, and a chant that was small just moments ago now swells in celebration of the move.

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

Fairly sapped from the high-flying, Tsonda crawls onto Dawkins, who after two kicks to the head and a high-impact suicide springboard corkscrew body press (Jesus, that's a mouthful), might be the match's weak link.

One...



Two...



ThreeNO!

Nick: Shoulder up by Dawkins!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: These people need to figure out who the hell they want to win.

Nick: I'm pretty sure they just don't want this to end.

The first man to his feet is Tsonda, but not by much. He catches sight of Rayne and swings with right hand, which Rayne ducks. Tsonda brings a knee into Rayne's mid-section, and goes for a Capoeira back roll, but Rayne knows Tsonda's offense too well. As Tsonda puts his weight onto Rayne's back, the Underground Pimp locks his arms around Tsonda's and pulls the Universal Champion down into a crucifix pin.

One...



Two...



NO!

Nick: Nifty counter there by Rayne!

Richard: Not nifty enough.

After the Tsonda kickout, Rayne pulls his frienemy up to his feet. They lock up, and both men appear to be leaning, somewhat, on one another. They're a little winded, but far from done. Rayne slips out of the lockup and around the back of Tsonda. He wraps his arms around Tsonda's neck and lifts for a vertical suplex, but Tsonda's got great balance, and is able to land on his feet behind Rayne. He spins Rayne around, but Tyler busts him with a right hand right to the side of the face. With Tsonda momentarily dazed, Rayne goes for the gusto. He hooks Tsonda's arms and gets him in a standing headscissors.

Nick: Rayne could be for his patented Deathscythe!

Richard: He better check himself before...something crappy happens to him.

Nick: You're the picture of eloquence.

Rayne's primed (ha!) to lift Tsonda, and doesn't see Bryan Dawkins climbing the turnbuckle, slowly but surely. Rayne tries to lift once, but Tsonda lifts Rayne by the legs, holding him as though he's about to hit a Canadian Destroyer. Fuck if I know what that move is actually called, I'm not Mike Renner over here. But unaware of his surroundings, Tsonda inadvertently turns RIGHT into a 630º Senton that puts all three men on the mat.

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

Richard: Tsonda was the meat in that sandwich. Probably the best day of his life.

Nick: After that counter, Tsonda ended up absorbing almost the entire impact. Rayne got dropped on his back, but is relatively unscathed.

True story. Tsonda's eyes are open, but the only thing they can seem to do is stare up at the ceiling. Dawkins is stirring, but only enough to grab at his back. Rayne, on the other hand, crawls towards the ropes.

Richard: Now Dawkins is the favorite? Do you people know what the word "fickle" means?!

The staggered Rayne pulls himself up with the ropes. He looks down at Dawkins and Tsonda. The Flyin' Hawaiian is moving slowly towards Tsonda, presumably for a pinfall. Rayne waits, waits, waits...and moves. He leaps to the turnbuckle, then out onto the rope, and what happens there is pretty gnarly.

Nick: Whatthe...

This match is all about "anything you can do, I can do better" and Rayne's in the spirit of things. So when he comes off with a springboard shooting star press, both arms cocked, elbows prepped for a bumpy landing, flashbulbs are the rule. The fuckin' rule, ya heard me? Dual elbows come down with the force of...something very forceful, as Rayne finishes the graceful aerial assault.

Richard: This is getting ridiculous. Why don't they just all take turns and see who can get the closest to breaking their neck off the top-rope?

Two chants immediately start up. Both are deserved.

RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

Nick: What a show!

Richard: And now everybody's too damn tired to cover. Great.

Not everybody. Tyler Rayne's got gas enough left to crawl towards Tsonda and cover, sans leg hook. Everyone in the arena is counting with Bernie Roberts.

One...




Two...




Three!


NO!

Nick: Tsonda's still in it! He got the shoulder up!

Frustrated, Rayne rolls onto his back. He takes a breath, then kicks up into a standing position. Several women faint at his athletic prowess. Bryan Dawkins stumbles to his feet, meeting eyes with Tyler Rayne. And then they bumrush one another. Dawkins goes high with a flying forearm smash that surprises Rayne. Dawkins, finding a second wind, hops right back up to his feet, and when Rayne approaches him, surprises him once again with a spinning back elbow. With Tsonda reaching his knees, Dawkins waits for Rayne a third time.

Richard: You wanna put money on this? Because I cannot abide watching this without some sort of rooting interest.

This time, Rayne waits for Dawkins to come to him. The Flyin' Hawaiian runs at Rayne and slides under his leg, popping up behind him. He tries to put Rayne in a full nelson, but Tyler uses his slight brawn advantage to pull Dawkins over his shoulders and put him on the mat with a fireman's carry. Rayne runs at the opposite ropes as Dawkins tries to get back up...

Nick: Tyler Rayne with a running start isn't a good sign for an opponent!

...and the first thing Dawkins sees as he stands up are two knees aimed dead at his chest. Instinct takes over, and Dawkins dives to the left, rolling just out of the way. Now, you'd think that with all his experience, Bernie Roberts would know where to stand and where not to stand in the ring. But he's not a quick study, apparently. The full force of Rayne's flying double knee strike catches Roberts, knocking him through the middle rope and to the concrete surrounding the ring.

Richard: Well...shit.

Nick: Holy hell, Tyler Rayne may have just finished Bernie Roberts!

Whether he's acting as boss or just concerned wrestler, Rayne immediately slides out of the ring to check on Roberts. He tries shaking Bernie, but the ref's lights appear to be out. In the ring, Dawkins just looks on in horror. Chandler Tsonda, across the ring, leaning against the turnbuckle, is similarly quiet. All three men are puffing for air.

Richard: You're the boss, you stupid ass! Do something!

Nick: I don't think this situation is in the PRIME handbook. Folks, we may need to take a commercial break. Bernie Roberts is a tough man, but he just took Tyler Rayne's Foreplay, as well as a fall on concrete.

But there is no commercial break. There is only an eerie silence. And a stir among the crowd. Behind Tsonda and Dawkins, there is a disturbance. A disturbance moving very quickly towards the ring.

Nick: Thank goodness! That must be the EMT team coming through the crowd.

Richard: Don't EMT's usually come down the ramp?

As the EMT's push through the crowd, Tyler Rayne is trying to shake Bernie Roberts back to life. Rayne looks over at Dawkins, who can barely offer a shrug. Three EMT's hop the barrier, in standard white shirts and white hats. They rush towards Bernie Roberts, and the head EMT begins to check Roberts for vital signs. Rayne takes a step back, but keeps his eyes trained on the referee.

Nick: Every PRIMEate knows the danger of entering that ring, but this is a rotten way to end this night, Richard.

Richard: Hey, what the...? That EMT just-

What Richard would've said, were his next couple words heard, was "grabbed a chair." Of course, he can't be heard over the...

CLANG! CLANG!

Nick: WHAT THE HELL?!

The third EMT happily takes out his two comrades with dual chair shots. They fall alongside Bernie Roberts. Tyler Rayne gets a forearm up to block the next chairshot, but the EMT jabs the chair into his stomach, and then brings it crashing down onto Rayne's back when he doubles over.

CLANG!

Richard: Jesus, that EMT is a renegade.

Nick: This absolutely stinks of trickery!

Indeed, it does. The EMT now slides into the ring, and Bryan Dawkins rushes to greet him unceremoniously. But that chair makes the EMT a dangerous force, and he uses it deftly, jabbing Dawkins in the stomach and bringing it, from the side, right into Dawkins's skull.

CLANG!



Nick: Dammit!

Chandler Tsonda tries to come in from the blind side with his own assault, but the EMT apparently knows his way around the wrestling ring. He sidesteps Tsonda's charge, and swings with the chair. Tsonda rolls out of the way and expodes up into a uppercut. The force of the blow finally knocks the hat from the villain's face.

Richard: YES! YES!

Nick: I think I'm going to be sick.

Richard: OOOOOOOOOH BABAAAAAAY!

Or rather, the Villain's face.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Jason Snow recoils from the blow, spitting out of the ring. He drops the chair as Snow and Tsonda trade rights.

Nick: If Tsonda blasted him in the face with a chair, it'd be better than Snow deserves! This is, pardon my french, B.S.!

Richard: Who's gonna tell him off, Nick? Snow just busted the boss's face open with a little sweet chair music!

Indeed, such is the case. Tyler Rayne is trying to get to his feet on the outside, a valiant feet, but one can't discount the toll that a match proceeded by a chairshot takes on a man, even a hardy man like Rayne. In the ring, Tsonda takes the advantage, whipping Snow at the ropes and catching him as he comes back with his patented lift implant DDT!

Nick: Golgotha Drop! There's some damn justice in this world, after all!

Richard: Don't speak too soon, junior.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Justice is as fickle as the PRIME fans. Down the ramp comes Tony Gamble, sprinting as fast as his little legs will carry him. In hand is a kendo stick. Tyler Rayne snarls as he sees Gamble, steeling himself to defend the ring like it's his personal residence.

Nick: Why the HELL is Gamble out here?!

Richard: If the Universal Champion doesn't take you seriously, Nick...you gotta take that respect for yourself.

Nick: Are you kidding me? We're in the middle of a damn match, Bernie Roberts needs medical attention, and this cretin wants to make a power play?!

With a running start and a head full of steam, Gamble rears back and swings the kendo stick...

Nick: RAYNE CAUGHT IT! HE CAUGHT THE KENDO STICK!

...yep, that just happened. Gamble's eyes go wide as he sees the rage in Rayne's. But when cornered, there's one thing that Tony Gamble knows how to do.

Richard: YEEHAW!

Nick: LOW BLOW! NO!

That one thing is kick people in the jewels. And his boot into Rayne's nuts STILL isn't enough to loosen dude's grasp on the kendo stick.

Tony Gamble: Let go, you stupid hero jerk!

Tyler Rayne: (breathes heavily)Fuck. (pants) You.

And with that, Tony Gamble winds up with a kick that connects squarely with Rayne's jaw. Really, he issues a mid-air stomp onto Rayne's face. And when the Underground Pimp finally drops, the kendo stick is Gamble's once again. In the ring, Tsonda is waiting for Snow to rise, but doesn't notice the diminuitive figure behind him.

Nick: Tsonda wants to connect with the Narcissist's Noose, but he doesn't see Gamble!

The man who once had the internet goin' nutz slides in behind Tsonda and raises the kendo stick...only to catch a clothesline from Bryan Dawkins!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Dawkins, get down!

The hub-bub behind him causes Tsonda to turn around. Dawkins frantically points over his shoulder...but by that point, it's already too late. Snow's boot connects with Tsonda's face at precisely the moment he turns around, and the force shoots Tsonda back a couple feet, where he falls at Dawkins's feet.

Richard: SSSSSSSSSSSNAKE EYES!

With Gamble rising, and more pissed than before, and the Jewel in the Crown in front of him, Bryan Dawkins lets loose a roar. Not a yell, not a scream, not a shriek. Little dude lets out a ROAR. He catches Gamble by surprise, nearly running past him as he grabs him by the head, bounces off the bottom rope, and pulls him down with a Tornado DDT.

Nick: Dawkins is fighting to the last! Listen to this crowd get behind him!

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

Richard: C'mon, Snow! Don't tell me this well-laid plan is gonna get derailed by this buffoon!

But reality is cruel to dreams. Snow is on Dawkins before he can even pop up, laying the boots to the Flyin' Hawaiian and inviting a ferocious set of boos from the crowd.

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

The Original Villain seems to delight in hurting Dawkins, and each stomp brings an audible "oof!" from the youngster.

Nick: This is an outrage!

Richard: Cantrell's gone. Blaine Blair has better things to do than come to ReVolution. Unless Mr. Bojangles is stowed away backstage, this is what you're getting for the night's entertainment. Awesome!

Snow takes a moment off to taunt Dawkins, ripping off his EMT shirt with a smile on his face. But Snow's ring awareness is second to none. So he notices the movement at the top of the ramp. Of course, it'd be hard not to, what with the monumental roof-being-torn-off cheer that goes up.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: LINDSAY TROY! TROY HERE FOR THE SAVE!

Richard: Uggggh.

There's not a hint of her bad wheel as the Queen of the Ring barrels down the ramp. Tony Gamble is the de facto choice for holding her off, and he slides out of the ring, ready to throw hands with his longtime rival. He didn't neglect to grab the kendo stick. No advantage is a bad one.

Richard: I'll admit it now. This is, somewhat, slightly, out of hand.

Nick: Don't we technically still have a match going on out herOOOOOOOH!

The blur that is Lindsay Troy hustling down the ramp is sideswiped by another blur, which comes barrelling out of the crowd. Apparently, with all the superstar foot traffic tonight, this is the luckiest PRIME crowd of all time. Having tackled Troy, her assailant is now perfectly identifiable.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: KV! This is the best main event of all time!

Nick: DAMN YOU VASHAUN! He knew she would come out here to fight the good fight and that damn snake Vashaun was lying in wait!

Tony Gamble, perfectly content that he doesn't have to fight Troy, now finds pleasure in stomping away at Tyler Rayne on the outside. Jason Snow, in between poses, stomps away at Bryan Dawkins and Chandler Tsonda in the ring. And Kaiser Vashaun is busy pummelling Lindsay Troy, who was blindsided so quickly that she didn't get to fight back, against the guardrail. Three of PRIME's most nefarious characters are gloating on the biggest stage.

Through all the chaos in and around the ring, and the roaring and booing and baying of the crowd, the PA system suddenly ignites with crackles and pops, and the screen comes to life with a loud buzzing sound.

Nick: What? MORE to help out with this mess?

The screen yields to old video footage of none other than The Man in Black, Johnny Cash himself, playing at various venues, while the steady guitar of "Boy Named Sue," starts to play. The crowd stirs, while Vashaun, Snow, Gamble and the rest lend a curious eye.

"Well my daddy left home, when I was three,
he didn't leave much, fer Ma n' me,
just this old guitar and an empty bottle've booze."

The lyrics scroll across the bottom of the screen as the song plays while the assailants rack their brains, taking a momentary break in their destruction.

Richard: What the hell is this?

"Now I don't blame 'im cuz he run an' hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did,
was before he left, he went n' named me

BAD DOG.

RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

The arena absolutely explodes as the the rockin' tunes of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "That's How I Like It" take over where Mr. Cash left off.

Nick: IT'S HIM! THE BAD DOG HAS COME BACK!

Richard: WHAT??

Where I come from it's grits n' gravy, not champagne n' caviar!
Got pick-up trucks, ain't no Mercedes, that's who we are!
Ooooooooh!!
Yeah, wouldn't change a thing!

To add to the noise, the growling roar of a black, 2009 Chevrolet Silverado barks from backstage before appearing onto the entrance ramp, the 'Bama Bruiser behind the wheel, driving just onto the downslope of the ramp before coming to a stop. He revs the engine loudly a few times before stepping out, fire in his belly as he starts talking trash and staring down Snow, Vashaun, and Gamble.

Nick: WHAT A RETURN! THE COUNTRY BOY, WADE ELLIOTT, IS BACK! AND HE'S PISSED!

Snow and Gamble show no signs of frustration, instead begging Elliott to come down to the ring and engage them. Vashaun, on the other hand, looks on apathetically for a moment before being rocked with a right fist by Troy. The Next in Line forgets the Bad Dog and continues his assault on the Queen.

The Blue Collar Brawler grins wickedly, and a wild look comes to life in his eye.

Richard: What's he thinking? He can't run in on them on his own! He'll get wrecked!

Wade takes a few steps back, opening his front door, eyes darting between the three heels before settling on Vashaun. He reaches inside and visibly pulls a lever or some-such...

...and the truck starts rolling foward.

Nick: What?? Are you kidding me????

Wade runs along side the rig as it picks up speed and then leaps onto the hood, quickly getting into a crouched position. The crowd deafens the ears as the eyes of Snow and Gamble bulge to see the crazed Elliott plummeting toward them. Vashaun looks over his shoulder and finds his eyes popping along with Troy's.

Richard: NO! NO WAY!

His grip on Troy's black-cherry hair loosens and she scrambles out of the way, just in the nick of time.

BOOM!! The Bad Dog leaps into the air, hurtling towards Vashaun, as the Chevy crashes into the ring, sending Snow to the mat and Gamble diving for cover.

Nick: OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!" goes the crowd as Wade jumps to his feet, piss & vinegar as he goes to work.

There's no wrestling description for what Vashaun gets. It's just an "I'm gonna tackle you and flip you over so that I can punch you square in the mouth, you dirtbag" flying tackle. And that's exactly what Wade does. The mounted punches that Lindsay Troy got weren't half as fierce as the closed fist shots that Wade drops on Kaiser. Blood flies out of his mouth with every blow.

Nick: Wade is beating the bejeezus out of the Intense Champion!

Richard: Is this guy even allowed in the building? Security!

Nick: The only man who commands security is the same one who just got stomped out by these thugs! He's not helping a damn one of 'em!

Wade pops up, bloodlust compelling him to keep moving, to take down anyone involved with this travesty. Mostly, because even if you're not involved, if you don't raise a hand to help a lady in distress, you're a guilty party. Wade hood-slides like Bo Duke and gives chase to Tony Gamble, not because he gives two shits about what Gamble was doing to Rayne, but because Gamble ran. Innocent men don't run.

Richard: Run, Gamble, run for your small person life! Short people do have a reason to live!

After a short chase, Gamble slides into the ring, where Snow has picked up his chair once again for protection.

Jason Snow: Get out there and fight that ruffian, plebe!

Tony Gamble: Rock paper scissors for it?

But the time wasted has allowed Wade to slide into the ring. When Gamble doesn't show any inclination of going to fight the Drifter, Snow raises the chair HIGH and slams it down on Gamble's head.

CLANG!

Nick: Jesus, does Snow have ill will towards everyone on the roster?

Richard: Pretty much, yeah.

Jason Snow: I'm warning you, mongrel. That will be you if you don't leave my ring.

Elliott doesn't need words. Snow raises the chair to swing at him and Wade bumrushes him, dropping his shoulder into Snow's midsection. The chair drops from his hand and Wade whips Snow at the ropes. The smaller Snow is no match for Wade, who catches him, and plants him with the most violent effing pendulum Spinebuster you've seen in your life. Snow's back CRACKS loudly against the chair he dropped, and like that, the Number One Contender is done.

Nick: REBEL YELL! REBEL YELL! RIGHT ON THE CHAIR!

Richard: No, no, no! Snow did everything right, had the whole night in the palm of his hand until this stupid redneck had to play vigilante!

With a sneer, and several huffs, Elliott moves to the ropes. He pauses for just a moment, hearing something that, even if he doesn't show it, must feel good.

WADE! WADE! WADE!

Nick: A triumphant return for the 'Bama Bruiser!

He steps to the outside and makes his way to Lindsay Troy. Without a word, he helps her up, propping up the Queen with his shoulder. Vashaun is climbing to his feet as they leave. Troy and Elliott watch as he rises slowly, and a long stare occurs between the three of them. The two allies turn their back on Vashaun, who wipes blood from his mouth, and head up the ramp, as the cheers pour in. Passing Troy and Elliott are REAL EMT's, who descend on pretty much everyone who's left.

Richard: Worst main event I've seen in a long time.

Nick: I'd have to disagree. Wade Elliott is back, and a force to be reckoned with.

As EMT's try to help Rayne, he pushes them away, demanding a microphone. In the ring, Tsonda and Dawkins are coming to, and they look at one another with groggy eyes. All three of the original competitors have been through hell tonight. On the outside, Gamble is being helped, much to his chagrin, and Snow punches one of the EMT's square in the face before storming (well, kinda, except that he's slumped over and grabbing at his back) back up the ramp.

Richard: What could Rayne possibly have to say? Suspensions for all the bad guys? What a joke this guy is.

A mic is tossed to Tyler Rayne, who continually shoves away the EMT's trying to help him.

Tyler Rayne: Get those raggedy cunts outta here. And get Bernie a damn ambulance. (takes a breath) We've got a motherfucking match to finish.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: After all that, Tyler Rayne refuses to quit. These fans came here to see a show, and by hook or by crook, they're gonna get it!

Elvis Nixon, who has never felt so cool in his life, is the umpteenth person to come running down the ramp on this night. Rayne slowly rolls into the ring, and Nixon brings up the rear, sliding in behind the boss. As the scene clears, things are as they were before. Three men, one referee. Pride on the line.

There's no bell, but the nod from Elvis Nixon says just as much. With sufficiently less quickness than before, Tsonda and Dawkins lock up. Tsonda whips Dawkins towards Rayne, who hits a quick fallaway slam. Rayne stands back up, but Tsonda is right on him. The Model Citizen goes for the quick kick to the gut, but Rayne catches the boot and hits a dragon screw leg whip before Tsonda can counter with the enziguiri. He parlays that right into a single leg crab, wrenching at Tsonda's back.

Richard: This feels anticlimactic.

Nick: Shut it! This is three men speaking with actions and saying that men like Jason Snow don't get to call the shots. It's about more than just winning and losing.

Richard: Do you get most of your material from the back of Disney DVD boxes?

Dawkins sees an opportunity. After all that, after fighting off some of the best PRIME's got to offer, this is his chance to get a career-defining win. He grabs Rayne from behind, and puts him on the mat with a sleeper drop. Tsonda rolls to the outside, now feeling his back injury flare up in a very bad way. Dawkins has few reserves left, but he uses them to climb the ropes. The flashbulbs start as he makes it to the top. He looks out on the crowd and gives his signature "hang ten" gesture. There is a perfect arc to the shooting star press that follows, an almost mystical aura.

Nick: Look at him fly!

...but Tyler Rayne is Tyler Rayne. At the last possible second, he rolls out of the way. Dawkins crashes into the mat, showing no immediate signs of life. Rayne goes for the cover.

One...




Two...




Three!

Elvis Nixon's hand comes up a fraction short, as Chandler Tsonda makes the save by pulling Rayne off of Dawkins. In the middle of the ring, Rayne and Tsonda trade rights. Rayne. Tsonda. Rayne. Tsonda. Rayne swings, but Tsonda ducks, sliding underneath Rayne's arm. Immediately, the Viet Viper grabs that right arm lifts, and out of seemingly nowhere, puts Tyler Rayne neckfirst into the mat with his signature rack neckbreaker.

Nick: Narcissist's Noose!

With every speck of energy spent in him, Tsonda falls onto Rayne, hooking the leg and hoping to the gods that there's no more.

One...




Two....




Three!

Three?




Three.

DING DING DING!

Richard: I've seen better.

Nick: Enough from you. You may not see more competitive drive from ANYONE than what these three showed here tonight.

In the ring, there is no movement. No celebration, no gloating, no nothing. "Welcome Home" plays over the loudspeaker, but everyone in the arena knows that it could just as well be "Song 2" or "Stick 'Em Up." Elvis Nixon raises Tsonda's hand, but it drops the second Nixon lets go of it.

Richard: I object.

Nick: To what?

Richard: All of it.

Nick: We're out of time, but I guarantee that there will be some serious fallout from this match. Tune in next week on FX to catch ReVolution at the same time! The Universal Title will be on the line! Who knows what else is in store? For Richard Parker, I'm Nick Stuart. Goodnight!

But you don't end a show like this, a match like this, by just saying goodnight. No, you need the soundtrack. What should be dead air is instead a cacophany, a wonderfully disjointed set of cheers from the crowd.

RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE!

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

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

Surely, these three men will spend hours arguing over whose chant at the end of ReVolution 184 was the loudest, but, truth be told, nobody knows. The lingering shot of fans, not a one of them leaving the arena yet, standing and applauding these men says all that's necessary.