You want a set up?

Fuck you.

‘Bastard’ by Devin Townsend.

S O B

As their theme blares over the Shanghai Arena speakers, the PRIME*View becomes an amalgam of highlights from the careers of Boda, Youngblood, and Snow. And it is easy to see why they would be hated; for the most part, the fans are watching heroes from the past and present being mercilessly destroyed by the newly minted most powerful group in professional wrestling.

And if that wasn’t enough, their arrival certainly is enough reason to be upset.

Boda is the middle man, his arms stretched to the sky. In those massive hands that have throttled a who’s who list in the world of professional wrestling. The two most important Championship belts in all of wrestling; the PRIME Universal and the PTC Elite Championship. As bright lights nearly blind the fans glancing towards the entrance, Youngblood and Snow are beside their enforcer.

With finely weaved straw baskets.

They toss confetti as they meander to the ring, shit eating grins plastered across their faces as the fans boo their hearts out. Youngblood tosses his basket at a pair of fans near the ramp just because he can, daring them to jump the rail and take a swing. Snow is too busy fargo strutting between tosses to really care all that much.

Once at ground zero, the men make their way into the ring, Youngblood and Snow hamming it up for a few moments before ripping their respective titles from the hands of Boda. They defiantly pump their single’s gold skyward after ascending the ring posts, the Big Boda Daddy folding his arms across his chest as he nods his head, calling for a pair of microphones.

Nick: The bad taste from last week continues to this week as the Bastards ‘grace us’ with their presence.

Richard: You know something, Nick, I have been thinking all week about these guys and I just can’t get over how stunning this group truly is.

Nick: That’s...quite the change in a certain time. Don’t you remember being threatened by these men? Being diminished by them? Being made a fool of.

Richard: It was all a sham. Just like that ham handed speech by Boda. All a charade to get you goofballs to buy a line of crap.

Dropping from their perches, Snow and Youngblood take a microphone a piece from Boda, slinging their respective title belts over their shoulders as the music fades.

The Diamond In The Crown is first.

Youngblood: Let me be the first to come out and lay the menu out for all you slanted eyed shit bags and—

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Their boo stops the Only Diamond, causing him to shake his head.

Snow: You mongrels shut your mouths!

That only seems to intensify the fan’s displeasure. The PTC Elite Champion goes on regardless.

Youngblood: And for those people in the back. You’re just going to have to make due this evening without us making this card better by me having my working boots or The Icon having his snake skins.

RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Snow: It’s going to be quite an evening, so I suggest you shut your peasant mouths and pay attention for a minute. Because the fact of the matter is, whether you love us or you hate us, you just can’t stop watching us.

Brandon picks up right where his partner left off.

Youngblood: We got surprises in store for you this evening, but I want to address a few things before we get too carried away. First of all, There’s this little deal with being the newly crowned PTC Elite Champion that I just have to get off my chest.

Giving Boda a reassuring smack across the chest, The Diamond In The Crown chuckles as he paces to the other side of the ring.

Youngblood: First of all, you pieces of shit at PTC do a horrible job updating your site. Old news is old news. Youngblood ended the reign of the Murder Show. Put two slugs in the back of that mountain of dogshit’s head walked away scrappin’ whatever I trailed back up through gorilla without a second thought. But I’m gonna say one thing. One. Thing. And I’m gonna make it clear to everyone out there in professional wrestling.

He points to Snow.

Youngblood: This is our sport. There’s nothing cute about it. We take what we want and we don’t care about what it means. We don’t care if you respect us because we’re better than you. Nothing personal. Just business. And I’ve heard a lot of crowing out there from other places who posture themselves as being the best. Or that they matter. Or that they’re ‘bad’. It’s simple; I’m not scared of walking into the city of Sin and loping off the heads of their heroes and villains. Anytime Steven Caldera wants me to piss on his shitty little bastard stepchildren, I’m game. I’m not a golden idol; I’m the PTC Elite Champion. You line em up? I knock em down. And I’m not Hessian. I’m not Wyatt Connors. I’m not Steve Knox. I’m not going to wait for you to send your best because I’m gonna come for them. I’ll buy ad space on your shows and piss on your product. Because you’re all inferior. Because I need to show you just exactly what a champion is in professional wrestling. And since Snow doesn’t get to tour his belt around the world, beating down your bull dykes and your gingers...it’s up to me. Your move, PTC. SOB is waitin’.

As Youngblood paces toward the back, Snow steps up.

Snow: And as for PRIME, I hate to break it to you, but the main event at Culture Shock is Brandon Youngblood vs. Jason Snow. Jason Snow vs. Brandon Youngblood. So no matter what happens, you’re STILL going to have to deal with one of us as your champion. I suggest you get used to it. And as for everyone else – everyone backstage, every hopeful man with a gleam in his eye that maybe, just maybe, he too can be PRIME’s Universal Champion…. Well, I’m sorry to crush your dreams, but this, this, THIS is your future!

Snow points to Youngblood and to Boda, and after that he leans back out over the top rope.

Snow: Now I told you – I told all of you – one year ago that a new era had begun in PRIME. I told you that I was going to dominate like no other man in the history of this company. And God damn it, that’s exactly what I did. So I suggest you believe me when I tell you that now, with Brandon Youngblood, with Boda, it’s only going to get that much harder on the rest of you. Our grip is only that much tighter around the throat of PRIME, and now with PTC’s Elite Championship around Brandon’s waist, our grip is that much tighter on this entire God damn sport! We are your past, we are your present, and we are your future! We are the ONLY thing that matters. And if you don’t like it?

Smirk.

Snow: It doesn’t mean a damn thing, because you’re going to watch us anyway.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Snow paces back where Boda gives him a slap on the shoulder.

Youngblood: This leaves us with one thing; Richard Parker?

Surprised, PRIME’s color commentator rises from his chair and gulps as the Diamond motions towards him.

Youngblood: Parker...let’s just get you out of your chair so you can come to the ring.

Snow: Hurry up, fat man. I’m not in the habit of waiting.

Taking timid steps towards the ring, Richard nearly trips over his own two feet as he steps through the ropes. Staying as far away as possible. Keeping a healthy distance.

Snow: Don’t be shy.

Youngblood: We’re not gonna bite you.

Snow: Do you want to be a plebe?

Youngblood: Don’t be a plebe. Just, come on.

The Bastards try to get him to come over, but even Richard isn’t that stupid. And when he refuses to reciprocate? Boda is there, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him forward. In the process of yanking, Richard’s dress shirt is ripped. The shirt underneath says everything.

It is a white, sweat stained t-shirt with black magic marker scrawling across the chest. A five year old could do a better job.

Standardz of Basturds.

Youngblood hits the canvas as if Devin Shakur had kicked his head off. And he was rolling all over the mat, nearly choking on his laughter. Snow, being the kind man he is, tries his best to keep a straight face.

Snow: That’s a nice shirt you got there. You make it yourself?

Boda can’t hold back. The only thing keeping him upright is the rope he’s resting against.

Snow: I could tell you thought a lot about us, Richard, and I just want to say that when Youngblood said all those mean things to you...he didn’t really mean it. He just had to sell the swerve to the communists. You understand, right?

Nick: Oh this is rich.

Parker timidly nods his head.

Snow: That’s good. We all like you. Unlike Nick, you seem to be truly objective. And being the good guys we are, SOB would like to give you something.

This is it. The moment everyone is waiting for. Hell, Snow is in position to blast Richard’s head into the rafters with Snake Eyes. The fans might not even like Parker, but beating up an announcer is quite low. After all, they do it Raw to get young guys heat.

What comes next shocks everyone.

Snow pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over to the color commentator.

Snow: Now listen—

Wrapping his arm around Richard’s neck, the Universal Champion draws him in close, making sure he understands each and every word. Youngblood has pulled himself off the canvas, doing his best to shake off his case of giggles.

Snow: We have some things that need to be done and we have an entire show to do. So we thought it would be best to just have you do them. That list is special.

Youngblood: If you do it...man...I don’t know about this.

Snow: Oh come on. This one’s a good egg. I have a good feeling about this one.

Youngblood: Well if you think so...

Snow: If you do all these things to our satisfaction...that little t-shirt with your dirty mongoloid spelling errors is going to be replaced by an official Standard of Basta—

Youngblood: Also available on PRIME—

Snow: No it’s not. These pig bastards don’t deserve to ride our coattails even in the fashion sense.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Snow: Silence!

Parker is hanging on every single word.

Snow: We’ll make you a member. But just remember; you’ve only got a certain window. And if I was you? I’d get my ass in gear.

Brandon points out of the ring, and without a second thought, Richard Parker makes a beeline for the entrance.

Snow: Anything else to say?

Youngblood: Let them wait.

Snow: You heard the man. Now play our music.

Once again, 'Bastard' plays, and as the SOB makes their way out, we cut elsewhere.

An angry drumbeat mingles with heavy guitar rifts and the sound of ReVolution blasts through the speakers. The Sound of Madness.

The overwhelming frame of Hessian wields itself into the scene. He's covered in sweat, standing over the broken bodies of Desade and Wyatt Connors with the Elite Championship held high above his head.

Yeah, I get it
You're an outcast.

The permasmirk of Tony Gamble livens the camera. He might be a clown, but don't underestimate him or you'll end up being a master of the tap dance. A quick flash of his infamous encounter with Jason Snow is seen which results in the current Universal Champion submitting.

Always under attack.

Christian Daniels catches Lindsay Troy in the middle of her Crowning Glory, lifts her off the canvas, and launches her through the announce table.

Always coming in last,
Bringing up the past.

Kazys Jankauskas stuns the world by emerging victorious in the ReVolution 200 Battle Royal, defeating his own tag team partner Elise Ares.

No one owes you anything.
I think you need a shotgun blast,
A kick in the ass,

The controversial Chainz stares into the camera with a sadistic glare and flashes the Intense Championship.

So paranoid...
Watch your back!

Hoyt Williams stands in the middle of the with Our Lady of Gaga, having just defeated Jacob Cross at Great American Nightmare by an act of God.

Oh my, here we go...

Barely able to stand on his own two legs, Brandon Youngblood staggers about the squared circle after enduring one of the most grueling battles of his career against Tyler Rayne to capture the 2009 Jewel in the Crown.

Another lose cannon gone bi-polar
Slipped down, couldn't get much lower.

Even though she is quite disoriented, Elise Ares clutches the 5 Star Championship firmly in her right hand. The first singles gold of her PRIME career.

Quicksand's got no sense of humor.
I'm still laughing like hell.

Cyrus Sutherland punches Tyler Rayne in the face. It's one hell of a way to make an impact in PRIME.

You think that the cryin to me,
Looking so sorry that I'm gonna believe,
You've been infected by a social disease.
Well, then take your medicine.

Devin Shakur snaps off a Good Times, Painful Memories kick at the expense of Tony Gamble, costing his longtime compadre the 5 Star Championship.

I created the Sound of Madness.
Wrote the book on pain.
Somehow I'm still here

The Osaka Street Cutters. They are the hottest tag team in Japan and will soon take PRIME by storm.

To explain,

Change in Spades clutch the Tag Team Championships in their arms, having finally dethroned The Redeemed. They stand atop the tag division and are ready to defend their kingdom.

That the darkest hour never comes in the night.
You can sleep with a gun.

Tyler Rayne flashes the million dollar smirk toward the camera. It melts the hearts of every woman on the planet and a few guys too.

When you gonna wake up and fight... for yourself?

The well manicured hand of Chandler Tsonda dries in front of the camera. He warns the holder not to get too close or his greatness will be tarnished.

I'm so sick of this tombstone mentality,
If there's an afterlife,
Then it'll set you free.

Bryan Dawkins soars through the air, completing a high flying maneuver onto newcomer Johnny Raindance.

But I'm not gonna part the seas
You're a self-fulfilling prophecy.
You think that cryin to me,

Matt Mills with a microphone in his hand. Yes, you better believe this gambling addict has finally worked his way into the introduction. He'll use the income from being featured in this to create a new online account at Full Tilt Poker. We believe the screen name will be isildur2.

Looking so sorry that I'm gonna believe,
You've been infected by a social disease.
Well, then take your medicine.
I created the Sound of Madness.
Wrote the book on pain.
Somehow I'm still here,

The Inhuman Being, Tchu, defeats Tony Gamble in a classic and declares his intentions to be the 2009 Jewel in the Crown.

To explain,
That the darkest hour never comes in the night.
You can sleep with a gun.
When you gonna wake up and fight... for yourself?

The Redeemed fight for their lives against the Wolves of Slaughter at Great American Nightmare.

I created the Sound of Madness.
Wrote the book on pain.
Somehow I'm still here

Blaine Blair. Once the most powerful man in PRIME, he has been reduced to the secondary interviewer at the hands of the new boss.

To explain
That the darkest hour never comes in the night.
You can sleep with a gun.

And Lisa Tyler. Sure, her occupation might still be the same but she works for a new boss, one she did not anticipate during her campaign to send Tyler Nelson to the unemployment line.

When you gonna wake up...
When you gonna wake up and fight...

Troy Douglas sends Jay Phoenix down the End of the Road at King of Kings 2009.

I created the Sound of Madness.
Wrote the book on pain.
Somehow I'm still here,
To explain,

The Forsaken. They might not be the most well recognized tag team by PRIME audiences today, but nonetheless they are very capable of making an impact when necessary.

That the darkest hour never comes in the night.
You can sleep with a gun.
When you gonna wake up and fight... for yourself?

The boss, Devin Shakur. He conned and weaseled his way into the front office and now has his wish, to run PRIME as he sees fit. The Dark Days of PRIME have officially begun.

When you gonna wake up and fight... for yourself?

A series of shots pan the camera while the feed dissipates. Jason Snow standing over Chandler Tsonda at Culture Shock 2009. Jason Snow standing over Garbage Bag Johnny at UltraViolence 2009. Jason Snow standing over Kaiser Vashaun at Colossus VI. Jason Snow standing over the now unemployed Kaiser Vashaun at 2009. Jason Snow standing over Tyler Nelson at King of Kings 2009. He's an unstoppable wrecking machine.

When you gonna wake up and fight... for yourself?

PRIME...Number One by Definition.

The Shanghai Arena is a brand spanking new, state of the art convention center and sporting coliseum built under the combined efforts (and financial backing) of the Chinese government, the AEG corporation, the NBA, and Mercedes-Benz. Seriously, we did our research. The facility is a conglomeration of worldwide interests intended to boost revenues and reputations. The Arena is one of four new venues created for the upcoming 2010 World Expo, and was not even supposed to be open to the public until that time. How Devin Shakur managed to maneuver PRIME into the inaugural exhibition of this monumental facility is a masterful, if mysterious, stroke of business genius. What better place for a stop on the Culture Shock World Tour than an arena fathered and funded by corporations the world over?

The 2010 World Expo is scheduled to take place in May, which for those not keeping track at home, is some three months from now. Sure, the bulk of the arena is finished and more or less in compliance with the building standards of The People’s Republic of China (or so we’re damn hoping)… but there are still a few small details to be addressed. Some painting. A bit of wiring. There are some low priority faculties, broom closets and such things, that have yet to be finished. Minor details that will not hinder the progress of such a massive production as ReVolution. Just small, isolated pockets of construction scattered throughout the quieter and less used backstage areas. Easy enough to avoid with a little planning and foresight.

Which does make one wonder about the baby blue pumps slinking between an odd stack of paint drums and a scaffold. The rather dashing pair of heels are kicking up a quick coating of dust (and Hoyt knows what else), much to the chagrin of the young girl sporting them. Even worse, the filth is beginning to settle along the bottom of her long, white Cheongsam. The silk fabric of the traditional Chinese dress fits snuggly along the contours of her body. It is quite a flattering garment, sleeveless with a halter-neck and diamond-shaped opening just below to show off a moderate (but enticing) bit of cleavage. The white silk is embroidered with a brilliant pattern of blue flowers that weaves across most of the dress. The light shade of blue is an almost perfect match to the pumps… or at least it was before she turned down this work-in-progress of a corridor. The frames of her librarian-style glasses are a similar shade of blue, though the spectacles do nothing to hide the frustration flashing through her brown eyes. Her round face is tense with the same frustration. Hair pulled up into a bun at the back of her head, held there with a pair of black chopsticks spotted with a design of blue flowers to match the dress.

A small whisper of approval begins to breeze over the eighteen thousand in attendance. The first sort of welcome Juli Lee has received since debuting as Personal Assistant to The Most Desired Man in PRIME more than two months ago. This is, in part, due to the fact that her presence has become a precursor to the appearance of the man himself. She is the visual incarnation of entrance music, and thus, earns the same amount of pre-celebratory fanfare. There is also the factor of her lineage. Being Chinese-American does permit a certain amount of hometown (for lack of a better term) welcoming here in Shanghai. Then there is the undeniable truth of her stunning beauty on this particular evening. While not an unattractive girl at all, she is not striking in the same ways as the Tracy Sloans or Leticia Mendozas of the world. Even women like Lisa Tyler and Elise Aries have a severity and confidence that provokes a certain allure for some men. Juli is an average girl and she has come to expect average treatment.

The response of the Chinese crowd is something of a shock for her. Even the dust-covered worker balanced precariously on that scaffolding pauses to remove his goggles and take a better look. She catches his approving glare in her peripheral vision. Cheeks blush ever so slight in response. It is nice to be noticed once in awhile. The moment is destined to fade, however. The construction worker might be admiring her ass at this particular second, but the sudden silence of his power tool now allows for other sounds to echo throughout this unfinished hall. The sound of her heels against the concrete, for one. The louder pounding of boots against the same hard floor, for another. He follows, just as expected, the military issues confirming the announcement her presence foretold. The torn jeans are a standard, as is the black t-shirt (a vintage Ride The Lightning tee with a darker blue text than the soft tones of her Cheongsam). The black leather riding jacket is his new custom, this with dark blue racing stripes down the sleeves. There is the permanent five o’clock shadow darkening the outlines of his rugged handsomeness. The mess of dark hair that appears simultaneously lazy and meticulous.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The eruption is enough to rattle the questionable support of the scaffolding. It is all the construction worker can do to keep his balance on the teetering structure. His hand is wrapped tight around the metal post. His arm is stretched to aid in regaining his position and his feet are planted firm. His eyes, though, like those of the eighteen thousand in attendance and millions watching live around the world, are focused intently upon the longest reigning 5-Star Champion in PRIME history.

Tyler Rayne: What do you mean detained?

His voice hardens on the last word, an unspoken accusation transferred through his cell phone to the outstanding gentleman on the other end of the line. The Underground Pimp is so invested in the cell conversation that he pays little attention to his surroundings. The growing look of concern on Juli’s face, however, implies that she is quite attentive of the surroundings… and does not approve. She takes a brief second to scan the sheet of paper in her hand once more, then darts her gaze back to the unfinished walls for an indication that she is, indeed, on the correct path. Most disconcerting.

Tyler Rayne: Thank you, Tink. I know what the fucking word means. How the hell did you—

Juli leads them around a corner and into another corridor under construction. The Golden Boy grows more frustrated with each word of explanation from his compatriot, Chandler Tsonda.

Tyler Rayne: That doesn’t even begin to make sense. Christ. Look… there’s nothing I can do. If you’re at the Embassy, it’s out of my hands.

A quick retort from the prettiest Universal Champion ever.

Tyler Rayne: Yes, I have connections. This one, though… it’s not going to help. I got caught sleeping with an ambassador’s daughter a few years ago. Last I heard, he still held a grudge about it. You do not want me trying to pull strings on this one.

Juli Lee: Sounds like getting your string pulled is what got you in trouble to begin with.

He offers her a biting glare while listening to the now heightened whine coming through the cell speaker. She giggles at her own wit and leads them around another corner.

Tyler Rayne: We’ll figure it out. Soon as Hawaii gets here the two of us will—

The Hero of the Day comes to a complete stop. His mouth drops agape. Eyes narrow with an extreme intensity. Though there is no auditory indication of this change, his personal assistant is attuned enough to sense the sudden tension. Though she assumes that shift in attitude is due to the congregation awaiting them at the end of the hall.

Tyler Rayne: He what?

Now she knows he hasn’t noticed the welcoming committee. Juli clears her throat. Tyler’s head snaps up to scold… and he now sees the mob that brought her to pause.

Tyler Rayne: Enjoy the flight home, Tink. I’ll call you later.

He closes the phone without awaiting response. The Underground Pimp marches forward, brushing past the shoulder of his personal assistant to shield her from the potential danger that lies ahead. The center of the corridor is occupied by The Man in Black himself, Devin Shakur. He takes the name to heart, adorned in a jet black, three-piece, custom fitted Armani suit. The polished wingtip shoes are a nice touch. There is a confidence glowing in the stare he levels at his nemesis. His lopsided grin turned up in the opposite direction of his swooping dark hair. The power he presumes to exude is shadowed by the two incredibly imposing forces behind him.

On the left is PRIME Director of Security, Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas. He stands a mere handful of inches above The Boss, but the barrel chest and bulging biceps are at least twice the size of Shak Diesel. The generic Security t-shirt stretched across his chest is just a fraction smaller than a fucking billboard. Dam has his arms crossed under the white text. There is a hard expression etched into his face.

To the right is Christian Daniels. Though taller than the Director of Security, he does not possess the same frightening mass. He is, however, a dangerous individual nonetheless. His dark gaze conveys a malice that no words could speak true enough. He has a demeanor about him, one that promises to break a hand as soon as shake it. The kind of ruffian and scoundrel often associated with the biker lifestyle, which Daniels so readily accepts. The leather vest and gloves. The long hair. The scruff of a beard that scratches about his jawline. Even the iPod buds stuffed into his ears are a custom black.

The three of them are not alone. As if Shakur would need more back up than the two, an entire compliment of Enemigos spreads about behind them, plugging the hall with gold spandex. Then, standing awkward and quiet to the side, is Matt Mills. His maroon PRIME polo seems odd and out of place amidst the sea of gold and black. The interviewer himself is odd man out in the presence of these opposing forces. We were going somewhere with this, though, weren’t we?

Of course. Tyler Rayne, striding forward to confront the man he had deported last week. The words explode from his mouth before he quite makes it around his personal assistant.

Tyler Rayne: You fired him? You fired Dawkins?

Juli Lee: Tah mah duh hwoon dahn.

The Man in Black responds by widening his victorious smile. He raises an arm, pulling back the sleeve of his jacket to note the time.

Devin Shakur: Forty-seven minutes. Ten seconds.

His hand stretches out toward Matt Mills. The interviewer grumbles something under his breath, head hung low. He does not meet the questioning stares turning in his direction. He does pull a wrinkled hundred dollar bill from the pocket of his khaki slacks and drop it on Shakur’s palm.

Devin Shakur: I knew it wouldn’t take more than an hour for you to hear the news. Mills wanted to bet it would be closer to two. You’re not upset, are you?

Tyler Rayne: Fuck it. I’ll just hire him back.

Devin Shakur: Then I’ll fire the fucker again.

Tyler Rayne: Hired.

Devin Shakur: Fired.

The Underground Pimp takes a step forward.

Tyler Rayne: Hired.

The Boss in Black matches the step with one of his own.

Devin Shakur: Fired.

A step closer.

Tyler Rayne: Hired.

A step closer.

Devin Shakur: Fired.

The two are almost nose-to-nose. All humor has drained from either man. There is just the representative rage and hatred burning the mere centimeters between them. Daniels scoffs at the scene and pulls the bud from his left ear. The small but unmistakable sound of Pants On The Ground squeaks out of his iPod.

Christian Daniels: Either lemme knock'tha Pimp out or we're rollin. Your killin'tha jive'f my tune.

Dam tries a more conservative approach to breaking the two enemies apart.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: ‘Scuse me, boss, but we still gots a show to run. ‘Less you two wanna sit ‘ere and circle jerk each other all night.

A second passes before there is a response. Shakur is the first to break. His smile returns and he takes a step back, readjusting the fine fit of his suit as he does so.

Devin Shakur: I fired Dawkins because...Wait, this isn't a board meeting, I don't need a fucking reason. I'm the boss. I'm your boss. I'm his boss. I can do shit like that. Just like I got your life partner detained and deported. There's a reason I booked Japan and China back to back. You aren't the only one with government connections you tool.

The wheels had been turning since Chandler had dropped the news, but only now does the answer hit him like a sledge.

Tyler Rayne: Sun Tzu.

The widening smile is the assurance he needs to know the accusation is true.

Devin Shakur: You thought that stunt last week was pretty funny, huh? Getting me deported. Then that little shit Gamble falls out of the god damn overhead compartment and—

Matt Mills: Oh, I wanted to ask you abou—

Devin Shakur: Shut it, or I’ll have you scrubbing toilets in the Enemigos locker room.

The smile returns again.

Devin Shakur: Speaking of locker rooms, douche, here’s yours.

The Boss nods to the door next to Daniels. Conveniently enough, this regiment has stopped at this exact spot next to the locker room. The thick metal door is rusted. Unpainted. A sheet of yellow construction paper has been duct taped to the door, Tyler’s name scrawled across it in purple crayon. Juli takes the initiative to open the door, mind racing to remember the last time she had received a tetanus shot. The room is dark, but the light from the corridor is enough to illuminate the small broom closet. There are two dirty, ten-gallon buckets flipped upside down on the concrete floor. Presumably for seating. A single bulb hangs from a socket in the ceiling. Juli tugs at the connected dangling chain, but gets nothing.

Christian Daniels: Tola ya they ain't hooked up'tha electricity yet.

Devin Shakur: Good thing we brought this, then.

Sometimes we just have to accept things as is. Don’t ask where it came from. How it got in his hands. There is some strange Bugs Bunny shit going on here… but nonetheless there is a candle clutched in Devin’s palm. He tosses the Yankee-sized cylinder of orange wax at Tyler. The Underground Pimp catches it with ease. He spins it ‘round to read the label.

Officially Licensed Elise Aries Swagga Scented Candle.

Tyler Rayne: So what? It smells like rotten tuna?

The Boss in Black shrugs.

Devin Shakur: Probably.

The Underground Pimp glares into the broom closet with almost as much disdain as he does Shakur.

Tyler Rayne: This is a really bad fucking joke, kid.

Devin Shakur: Funny... If this is a joke then I don't know where the punch line is. Things aren't how they used to be Ty, you aren't running the game anymore. That distinction has gone to me. On the way to the airport last week, I decided to read through that contract. I can't fire you. I can't suspend you. Hell, I can't even fine you. Although, I can sure as hell ruin the careers and reputations of Dawkins, Tsonda, or anybody else stupid enough to side themselves with "The Most Desired Man in PRIME".

Tyler Rayne: You killed me, dumbass, and even that wasn’t enough to keep me down. You think Harry Pottering me in a fucking closet is going to do the trick?

Devin Shakur: Definitely not. If you think that stuffing you in a closet is the coup de grace, you really have no idea of how I operate.

There it is. The proverbial gauntlet thrown. No more words need exchanged between the two. The message is loud and clear. Shakur makes a small motion with his hand and the Enemigos turn to march down the hall. Dam offers one apologetic glance in Tyler’s direction before following suit. Daniels laughs, though it is unclear whether at The Golden Boy or Larry Platt. Matt Mills lingers for a moment before taking a step toward Rayne.

Tyler Rayne: Fuck. Off.

ReVolution is a long show. There would be time to ask the burning questions later. For the moment, discretion proves to be the better part of valor. As well as the more likely option for keeping his testicles intact. Mills does as commanded, leaving a seething Tyler with his personal assistant and a closet barely big enough for the both of them.

"You’re not going to tell me about it, are you?"

Her voice trailed up from behind him, a surprising joviality bouncing along each word. He would have thought her mood might be a bit more soured from the evening’s earlier events. Alas. Tyler Rayne did not falter as he led their way through the more finished portions of the Shanghai Arena. Juli Lee was forced to keep a brisk pace to even trail behind him, so fueled were his steps of ire.

Tyler Rayne: Tell you about what?

Juli Lee: The ambassador’s daughter.

Tyler Rayne: Really? That’s what you wanna talk about right now?

He slows to allow her to catch up. Those heels were not conducive to such a hastened step. She sidles up beside him, all smiles. The juvenile female inside her cannot wait to feast upon such juicy gossip.

Juli Lee: Yes. That is exactly what I want to talk about.

Tyler Rayne: Not about us living in a broom closet for the evening?

Juli Lee: No. That is depressing. This is going to be hilarious.

He cannot help from smiling just a little. It was an amusing story. Her enthusiasm was infectious, as well. Despite the rather unpleasant fuck job Shakur had forced upon them.

Tyler Rayne: No. You should be figuring out ways to get my locker room back. Besides, since when do you give a shit about girls I fucked?

Juli Lee: Since one of them was an ambassador’s daughter. Also, since you got caught. How does a ninja get caught, exactly?

Tyler Rayne: I didn’t know she was his daughter at the time, and… wait a second. The fuck am I doing? Didn’t I just say I wasn’t talking about this? What’s the word on Dawkins?

She sighs and lifts her iPhone. A few quick presses bring her to the proper website.

Juli Lee: Dirt sheets are reporting he was fired again. Last post… two minutes ago.

Tyler Rayne: Hire him back.

Juli Lee: Shi.

The personal assistant goes to work with the smart phone. In a reverse of the earlier proceedings, it is now Tyler that leads their winding path through (thankfully) complete corridors while Juli busies herself with a phone. The Underground Pimp turns a corner and smashes chest-to-chest with Blaine Blair. The former Board member stumbles back, damn near falling over. A quick hand from Tyler steadies the demoted PRIME stalwart. Blaine nods in appreciation before adjusting his glasses to that perfect spot on the bridge of his nose. He also takes a moment to smooth the lapels of his three-piece suit. Charcoal gray. Custom fit. Personalized PRIME cufflinks.

Tyler Rayne: Lookin’ good, Blair.

Blaine Blair: Yes, well just because I’ve been demoted to Matt Mills’ position, that does not mean I have to dress like him. I can still look respectable, even if I do not have a position to match.

Tyler Rayne: Look respectable, huh? Is that what you’d call that maid outfit last week?

Blaine Blair: I’d… rather not discuss that right now. Or ever, actually.

Tyler Rayne: Good. Not much in a mood for conversation, anyway.

The Golden Boy takes a step to move on, but Blaine raises a finger to stop him.

Blaine Blair: Don’t be too hasty. Since we’ve run into each other, perhaps I could get a few words on what happened earlier with Shakur?

Tyler Rayne: Oh, now you want to be like Mills?

Blaine Blair: I don’t want this job. I didn’t ask for it. It’s the one I have, though, and I intend to fulfill it to the best of my abilities, just as I have fulfilled every position I’ve had in PRIME with the utmost of my potential.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah? Well I don’t feel like talkin’. So do me a favor and go take Parker’s place instead.

Blaine Blair: You mean at the announce table?

Tyler Rayne: Sure. Why the fuck not? You’ll be fine. Look, it’s either that or you can interview Chainz about what he did with his weekend. In lurid and explicit detail.

Blaine Blair: Perhaps I’ll go see if Nick would like some company.

Tyler Rayne: Excellent idea.

With the options laid out in such an appealing manner, Blaine is quick to take his exit and head for ringside. Tyler allows himself a small chuckle of amusement.

Juli Lee: You got off on that, didn’t you? Telling him what to do.

Tyler Rayne: Maybe just a little.

The two had obviously come to a pause while conversing with Blair. Each of them had even turned to watch him leave. Now that he’s gone, however, it is time to press on. Or would be if someone else had not appeared to take his place. There standing before them is a figure more imposing than the diminutive and nerdish Blaine Blair. A figure of prominent standing here in PRIME. The number one contender to the Universal Championship, in point of fact. The just recently crowned PTC Elite Champion. One of the hottest commodities in all of professional wrestling today. His name is Brandon Youngblood. Known to some as The Pariah. The Diamond in the Crown. The self-proclaimed Only Diamond in the Sport.

Tyler Rayne: The fuck you want, Dickhead?

That too.

Brandon Youngblood: I kept my mouth shut a few weeks ago, Rayne. I did it as a statement because, for a long ass time, you couldn’t help but talk about me. How you ran me out. How you did this and that. Were you the guy who put me out of this sport in early 08? I dunno. But I do know one thing; when we faced off, all the talk, all the glamour, all the comebacks and all the blows you took...you got up from it all. And I put you back down.

Rayne has heard this sort of talk before; he isn’t scared. Hell, he isn’t even nonplussed. He eats shit talk for breakfast right after going down on the fool’s mother. But soon after, the Jewel in the Crown is joined by his teammate.

Enter Jason Snow.

Jason Snow: Heard you saying a few things last week about certain positions and how you could do it whenever you wanted.

Holding the Universal Title to Rayne’s face, the Original Villain can’t help but shake his head.

Jason Snow: You had your chances, plebe. And just like everyone else, you’ve fallen.

Brandon Youngblood: Your dreams dashed two years in a row by us.

Jason Snow: But just like every other God damn pissant piece of lower being filth...you show you don’t have the balls.

Brandon Youngblood: Talk about your power...sidestep the shit you never even earned. You don’t get it! That Universal Championship? It’s ours. OURS! I’d break your Goddamn legs and suck the marrow out if I had to.

Jason Snow: So do yourself a favor; don’t call down the thunder, plebe.

Brandon Youngblood: Nothin’ personal...

Jason Snow: Just business.

Tyler Rayne: Business, eh? That’s good. Got some of that to attend to myself, so if you ladies are done…

The two partners each take a step to the side, allowing just enough room for The Underground Pimp and his personal assistant to squeeze through. Juli passes first, face buried deep in some random phone app so as not to draw attention. Tyler takes a step to follow suit, but pauses just as he’s standing between the two.

Tyler Rayne: Don’t do this again. See, it isn’t about the title. Not that I’d expect you two to understand that. This is a one-time event. We have words like this again… things are like to get interesting. You don’t want me to make things interesting.

He doesn’t look to either of them when he speaks. Nor when he leaves. He just does so.

DING DING DING!

Vince: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall.

Nick: Our opening bout finds the newcomer Cyrus Sutherland going up against Chainz, ladies and gentlemen! To say that Sutherland has had a difficult time getting his footing in PRIME would be an understatement! After all, he had his first interaction with our superstars with none other than Tyler Rayne, then fought the veteran Troy Douglas and now must go up against that monster, Chainz!

Blaine: The learning curve in this company is pretty high, make no doubt about it Nick.

Vince: Introducing first, from Allentown, Pennsylvania. He stands 6’5" tall and weighs in at 275 lbs! He is Cyruuuuus Sutherland!

The blaring, warbling tune of tune of "Stealing Fat" by The Dust Brothers blares over the loudspeaker as "SUTHERLAND" in bold, red letters appears on the Wal*Tron, followed by footage of Sutherland and his antics throughout his tenure at PRIME. Quickly, Sutherland emerges from the backstage area, in his brown pants, green t-shirt, red suspenders, belt, boots, and leather gloves. His hair, standing high and proud on his head, flops slightly at the tips as he stands still for a moment and raises his hands over his head.

Sutherland marches down to the ring, ignoring the fans outstretched arms as he moves. He climbs up the ring steps and stands on the apron, looking out at the crowd and jawing at them. Climbing between the second and third rope, Sutherland hops up and down and rolls his shoulders, and checks his suspenders to make sure everything is in order. He pauses, for a moment, and then turns his gaze up to the entryway, awaiting the entrance of Chainz.

Nick: Cyrus lost his match last week, and then got thrown through a door into the den of that creeper Sloan… he doesn’t seem to be too happy about any of that.

Blaine: He did assault Tyler Rayne with a shovel though. You have to admit, he did ask for it.

Vince: Introducing second in this opening bout, he hails from Hells Kitchen, New York. He stands 6’5" tall and weighs in at 295 lbs: CHAAAAAIIIINNNNZZZZZ!

"My Gift to You" by Korn hits the speakers and the crowd goes in a frenzy of boos and any other insults they can hurl as perhaps the most hated and evil wrestler in PRIME history emerges from the backstage area.

The menacing Chainz doesn't look pleased as he makes his way towards the ring. His lovely wife Tracy is walking by his side smiling like usual and waving to the fans. Sutherland paces back and forth in the ring, taking a cursory look down at Tracy. He leans over the rope and points at her, screaming expletives and pointing at one breast, then the other. Sloan seems unfazed by the verbal barrage from Sutherland as the boos nearly drown out Sutherland’s own screaming.

Sutherland gives him a wide berth as he slides into the ring. He points at Sloan and roars at him, fixing an errant suspender, and then points back down at Tracy.

Nick: More jawjacking from Sutherland. The man likes to hear himself talk.

Howard bails from the ring while referee Tommy Giles glances back and forth between the two men and looks back at the bell ringer, before more sound blares over the loudspeaker.

All I wanna do…

GUNSHOT

Arena fades to a blue-violet color base with gold lighting highlights.

So Swaggerific
S-So Swafferific
So Swaggerific
S-So Swaggerific
How can you call it a lifestyle, when you don't live your life in style?
How can you call it a lifestyle, when you don't live your life in style?

As the pounding bass beat of "Swaggerific" by Verbz begins to play over the arena, it's greeted by a choir of jeers.

Nick: It sounds like Chainz is going to have some backup in this contest! We already know who that is…

Blaine: (Unenthusiastic) Elise Ares….

Nick: I guess we have to say that she is also the 5 Star Title Holder…

Blaine: We don’t have to say shit, Nick!

Emerging behind Ares is her tag partner, Kazys Jankauskas, and the two make their way down toward the ring as well. Giles stands between Sutherland and Chainz, but he doesn’t call for the bag. The Swaggerific One proudly wears the 5 Star Title around her waist and blows kisses the crowd.

Nick: This doesn’t look good for Sutherland…

Cyrus turns halfway to look up the entryway and points at the other two as they approach the ring. He flicks them the finger and then makes a fuck you sign with his arms, before turning back to Chainz. He points at him, then at Tracy, then at his two comrades as they move closer to the ring.

Finally, Giles signals for the bell.

Blaine: One way or the other, this match has to start sometime.

Chainz and Cyrus circle one another, each leaning forward to feign a lockup, but then they back up. Sutherland glances at the side of the ring from time to time, making eye contact with Ares, or Tracy’s boobs, and then back at Chainz.

Then, Sutherland pauses for a moment, grips his chest, crosses his eyes, and falls onto his back. His feet go completely straight and stick up in the air, and then fall to the mat.

Nick: Huh?

Blaine: Did Sutherland just have a heart attack?

Nick: Or get hit on the head with an invisible anvil?

Chainz looks left and right, shrugs, and then goes for the pin. Giles pauses for a moment, stunned, and then snaps back into action.

ONE….

TWO……

Chainz lifts Sutherland up off the mat by the shoulders as Giles stands there, completely confused. Sutherland fans his face and shakes his head, while Elise slides into the ring. Sutherland shakes his head and backs away from Chainz, staggering, and puts a finger up for Giles to wait and check him.

Nick: What the hell is going on?

As Giles moves closer, and Chainz and Ares stand and watch, Sutherland wheels on his heel and CLOCKS Giles in the face! The referee falls onto his back and covers his face, as Sutherland quickly starts putting the boots to him, grabbing the side rope for leverage.

Boos begin to erupt from the crowd as the bell rings, signaling what would have to be a disqualification. Chainz and Ares join in, and the three superstars pummel Giles, before lifting him up as one and toss him over the top rope to the floor. Paramedics flood the entryway as they check on the battered, bleeding referee and screams of discord inundate the arena.

Nick: Sutherland, Chainz, and Elise Ares just beat the crap out of Tommy Giles!

The trio stand in the ring, with Chainz in the center, flanked by a heaving Sutherland and a cocky 5 Star Champion. A moment later, Sutherland motions for a microphone to be sent into the ring, and without any further ado, it sails through the air and he catches it.

Cyrus: All right folks, here’s the news!

The boos grow louder.

Cyrus: And shut up!

Nick: That never works. He is the new guy on the block, isn’t he?

The boos grow louder as Sutherland stalks around the ring. Chainz and Ares simply watch him, with hints of amusement on their faces.

Cyrus: It seems to me that there are two people running the show around here: Devin Shakur and Tyler Rayne! And while I don’t give a good goddamn about Devin Shakur… you can bet your ass I care about Tyler Rayne! After all, it all starts with a Spamburger! That’s what I’ve always been told!

Blaine: What is he talking about?

Cyrus: So! You can chalk up that zebra we just beat the piss out of to a declaration of war, Tyler Rayne. If you are running part of the show… that means this show is a part of you. And I don’t give a FUCK about anything you care about! Throwing me through a door into Sloan’s room might have been the best, or the worst thing, you ever thought about doing!

Chainz smiles, leans in, and whispers something to Elise. She smiles as she looks at Cyrus and nods her head. He then leans in again and whispers something to which she frowns and looks at him disgustedly. He shrugs and takes the mic from Cyrus.

Chainz: Relax man you're going to give yourself a heart attack.

The crowd boo's as Sloan paces the ring.

Chainz: Normally when someone barges into my locker room they don't leave to tell the story, but I saw something different in Cyrus here. He's just like us.

Chainz points at himself and the Wolves.

Chainz: He says fuck authority, fuck the rules, fuck you people, fuck everyone in the back. Now I can stand out here and explain how everything came together, but you know what? Fuck you all.

The Intense Champion drops the mic and slides out of the ring. Elise flips a few fat guys off in the front row as her and Kazys follow. Cyrus smiles and joins his new friends as they head to the back.

These days, it’s rare to see Jason Snow without Boda or Brandon Youngblood. He’s alone now, stalking the backstage corridors in Shanghai, a place that holds a lot of history for him. And perhaps it’s because he is alone that Elise Ares has chosen this moment to seek out the Universal Champion, or perhaps she just happened to be strolling by on her way to go stare into a mirror she has not yet graced. The world may never know.

She comes bouncing up behind him, her own championship, PRIME’s 5-Star title, in tow. Aware of her presence, Snow stops in his tracks and turns around.

Elise Ares: You sure have been causing a bit of a stir lately... haven't you Champz?

A smirk crosses her face from ear to ear.

Elise: Or now I guess it's just champ... but you still have the important one, I suppose.

Snow raises an eyebrow.

Snow: And you are?

Elise: Haha, riiiight. Lets not play that game tonight, Snow. You know who I am. I know who you are. We both know the world is round and cherry soda tastes great. The important thing is that you and I, we have a common enemy.

Snow waits.

Elise: Change in Spades.

Off screen, we hear the crowd pop for the tag team champs.

Elise: Let's get down to business shall we? We both have much better things to do than sit here and chat all night. I remember a day not too long after Revolution 200, I mentioned the fact that I know your little code of honor. Chivalry isn't quite dead with you, but you had this title and it was something I wanted. I chose not to cash it in, even though I could've easily walked right out and took it from around your waist... I didn't. You see back then I did you a favor, I was in a position to help you and now... you're in a position to help me.

Snow: How’s that?

Elise: By helping Kaz and I get back our tag team championships from around Spades' waists. Lets be honest here, I know this 5-Star Championship looks dazzling... but a girl like me needs matching accessories. I'm never satisfied with just part of a set.

Snow pauses to think on that for a moment and then a grin appears on his face.

Snow: I wish I could help you there, wench – I really do. But the fact of the matter is, Wolves of Slaughter aren’t going to be tag team champs anytime soon.

The playful mood of The Swaggeriffic One starkly changes as soon as Snow finishes his sentence. Her smile turns into a scowl, her eyes narrow, and suddenly her heart jumps a beat. Maybe this wasn't going to go exactly as planned...

Elise: And what makes you think that?

Snow: Because what people have failed to realize up until now is that we’ve got our sites on those titles.

Elise Ares at first seems not to know how to respond to that. Her eyes dart between Snow’s, her mouth a little open, looking for something to say before it finally comes.

Elise: Surely, you're joking. You can't possibly be seriou...

Snow: When we say we’re going to dominate PRIME, that’s exactly what we mean. So just be happy with your 5-Star title. For now.

With another smirk, Snow walks away, leaving Elise Ares alone. Her hands ball into tiny fists and her scowl turns into a snarl as she hears the footsteps leaving in the distance. It’s in these moments that she’s most dangerous, as we can see the wheels spinning in her pretty little head. The was a storm brewing within Havana's most prolific harlot, and occasionally even paradise gets hit with the ugliest of them.

The giants steps were slow and lumbering; each a staggering effort. His face was a mask of misery crafted from months of betrayal, loss, and depression. He rested his giant paw against the frame of his locker room door and with a sigh pushed it open. It took him awhile to notice the makeover done to his room since his gaze had been lowered to the ground in front of him for the past hour, but when he finally looked up his mouth dropped.

The walls were covered with newspaper clippings chronicling Gloria’s murder and the investigation that followed. Magazine clippings of his recent losses littered the walls and the floors. A small TV had been wheeled in which featured a highlight tape of Hessian suffering at the hands of Michael Sloan, losing his Elite Championship, and suffering set back after set back.

He wanted to scream, to reach out and tear everything down, but there was nothing in his spirit that could drive him forward. The giant collapsed to his knees and stared at his unraveling life as it was splayed out in front of him.

A large hand patted the giant on the shoulder.

Michael Sloan: Quite a fall from grace you’ve had, huh?

Hessian didn’t look up to see his tormentor. He didn’t even try to shrug the hand away. Secretly, he prayed that Sloan would take him out of his misery and give him the bliss of unconsciousness, but Michael Sloan wasn’t so kind.

Michael Sloan: How you been big guy? Seems like you can’t keep a hold of anything in your life anymore. Woman is gone, Elite title is gone, the fear and respect of your peers is gone. Why do you even bother showing up?

Hessian wanted to retort, but his energy was sapped. He could do nothing but sit and take it.

Michael Sloan: I’ve been thinking of ending you…

The hand came off the shoulder.

Michael Sloan: …but, I’m not a cruel man to pick on you in your time of need. I just wanted to stop by and wish you luck in your match. You’re going to need it I think.

He patted the saddened giant and smoothly walked out of the door leaving Hessian in his own private hell. He was learning the cost of fucking with the Devil.

You were expecting something interesting to happen here, weren't you?

Well guess what? You're going to have to wait until next week. Sorry.

Our protagonists' attempts to enter the building were thwarted by Chinese immigration officers. Apparently, you're not allowed to travel to Shanghai with a pistol in your pocket, two uzis behind your belt, and an AK taped to your back.

They call it "national security," we call it "racism".

You're safe this week, PRIME, but don't think it's gonna last. Breathe easy, PRIMEates, and enjoy one last week of serenity, because next week? You're all fucked.



BONAFIDE

ReVolution 218. And I mean it this time.

Troy Douglas is not a fan of getting called on the carpet. One too many bad memories about being summoned to the principal's office in elementary school, he guessed, has soured him on answering to the beck and call of authority figures.

Devin Shakur, however, is a different kind of authority figure. Besides, the door is open. Might as well go in and see what the new boss wants.

Douglas: You wanted to see me?

Over in the corner, Christian Daniels is fiddling around with his iPod. He absolutely must have the William Shatner interpretation of wrestler songs CD. If said disc does not exist, he's going to hunt Shatner down and make him produce one. At the desk, Devin Shakur lifts his head up from the paperwork and grins at the sight of Megatron. For someone who carries such an immense amount of stress, the picture of Shakur shows nothing but calm. Three shows into his regime and he's already comfortable in his new surroundings. Not that it should surprise anyone, the man levied like hell for months to get this position.

Shakur: Mr. Douglas, come on in and have a seat.

Douglas: I'll stand, thanks.

A shrug of the shoulders accompanies Shakur while he rises to join Douglas, sweeping around his desk in one swift motion.

Douglas: Care to let me know why I'm here?

Shakur: What, was I interrupting your busy schedule of watching paint dry and waxing poetic about it?

Douglas: Look, I know you're in charge now, but that really doesn't matter to me, so I'd prefer you'd just as soon get on with it.

Devin smiles, stepping closer to Douglas.

Shakur: Sarcasm only takes you so far in this business, Troy. I think the fact I'm in charge will be of great interest to you.

Douglas: Really, now? Enlighten me.

Shakur: You've been in PRIME for quite a long time now and...To be honest you have nothing to show for it. You've been walking around, the quiet company man, paying dues and not voicing any real complaints. I like that because it means I don't have to deal with another nuisance...But someone like you has got talent. I've been in the ring with you. I've watched you for the many months you've graced our squared circle and I believe it is time for you to get due penance. Last week, you threw out a challenge to Elise Ares for the 5*Star Championship...

Troy's ears perk up in an almost Pavlovian response.

Shakur: I'm going to make that happen. Culture Shock: Troy Douglas and Elise Ares for the 5 Star Championship.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

The Boss in Black scoffs at the insane roar from the Shanghai faithful.

Shakur: I really need to get better soundproofing on this place.

Douglas: I know a guy, I'll give him a call. That all?

Troy turns to leave, but before he can put a foot out the door, Shakur's hand intercepts, thrusting in front of Douglas' face as he slams the door shut.

Shakur: Not quite.

Nick (OSV): Uh oh. This might not be good news for Megatron.

Douglas: Then spare the ninja moves and get on with it. I've got a main event with your apparently ex-bosom buddy to get ready for.

Shakur: The precise subject I wish to rapport with you about.

Douglas: Then talk.

Shakur strides over, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Troy and tapping him on the shoulder

Shakur: Douglas...Hell, I can call you Troy, what are you going to do about it?

Douglas: Oy vey.

Shakur: I see big things out of you, Troy. Really, I do. Bright lights, big city, all that general bullshit, you know the drill. And it all starts tonight. Carpe diem, Douglas. Go out, seize the day, make the best of it.

Douglas: How many inspirational sports movies have you watched, exactly?

Shakur: All of them. Twice.

Douglas: Not bad.

Shakur: Tonight, I want you to go out and win one for the Gipper.

Douglas turns his head, studying Shakur quizzically.

Douglas: And who would the Gipper be in this situation?

Shakur: I ... well ... moving on.

Troy shakes his head, but the Man in Black presses on, not even paying attention.

Shakur: Listen, you've got the world in the palm of your hands right now, it's your time, the world is your oyster, just go out there and do your thing, okay? Everything else will take care of itself because I'm the man in charge and I'm one of the best businessmen you'll ever come across. Rule number 1 of effective management, Troy. Know your assets.

Once again, Shakur pats Troy on the shoulder, smiling wanly. Still confused, Troy turns towards the door and opens it, pausing when he hears Shakur's voice pipe up once more.

Shakur: Hey kid...

Troy pauses, turning back.

Shakur: Go get 'em.

Douglas: You know, I'm two years older than you.

Megatron shuts the door on the awkward situation.

Shakur: How does Ty get away with calling everybody kid?

The Biker provides an answer.

Christian Daniels: 'Cuz everybody's actually his kid.

"Bastard" by Devin Townsend

Nick: Oh no, not these guys again.

Blaine: Maybe they’re bringing my replacement?

Nick: I wouldn’t get your hopes up.

SOB emerge from backstage, Richard still nowhere in sight, and the chorus of boos that fills the arena might be enough to shake its very core. Boda leads the way, his arms thrown high, and after him comes Jason Snow, his Universal Championship slung over the shoulder of his leather jacket. Finally, out comes Brandon Youngblood, the new owner of PTC’s Elite Championship. Ladies and gentlemen, Standard of Bastards.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: I still can’t believe these guys. Last week, Boda came out and had everyone’s sympathies. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. But he threw away all of the respect and all of the adoration that these fans had for him, and he flushed it down the toilet to join up with these… these bastards.

The trio takes the ring, welcoming the boos and there are plenty of those here in Shanghai. Jason Snow looks out at them, eyes lined with memories. He made a large chunk of his legacy here, years ago.

All three of the SOB have microphones now. Jason Snow starts things off.

Snow: Before we get started… we’ve been in the back watching tonight, and I know we’re the ones that made the change to the PRIME broadcast team, but we can’t help but think it’s missing a little something. A little flavor, maybe.

Youngblood: Well, it’s not so much that. It’s not that you’re not doing a great job down here, Blaine. And Nick, we all know what you can do. But lets face it, neither of you have really mastered the English language.

Nick: Excuse me?

Blaine: Hush, I think I’m getting out of this.

Youngblood: I think we need someone to bring a little bit of linguistic flare.

Snow: Someone who knows all the words and roughly how to use them.

Youngblood: Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Just Wrestling…

Nick: What? I’ve got a bad feeling about this…

Snow/Youngblood: AARON NOTHINGS!

"The Red" by Chevelle. Oh yeah. It’s on.

A man who’s either Aaron Nothings or a pretty impressive imposter emerges from backstage, his hands thrust into the air like he’s excited to be on PRIME television. Flashing his devastatingly beautiful yellow chompers, he suddenly seems disinterested in what is going on around him, taking a seat on the entrance ramp before suddenly following the tract lines on his arm with his index finger. That’s right, ladies and gentleman, the mighty Just Wrestling franchise is sitting on the entrance ramp for Revolution, playing connect the dots up and down his arms from all the needle marks his heroin ramps of left behind. All around him the audience is bewildered, but they figure, if this is a something SOB have cooked up, they might as well boo.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Youngblood: That’s right. Come on down, Nothings. Squeeze in right there beside Nick. He won’t bite. But even if he does, it’s just gingivitis.

Nick: I can’t believe this.

Picking himself up off the ramp, Nothings staggers his way around the ring, struggling with the very simple act of walking. Of course, there probably is a really amazingly masturbatory prose styled reason for all this, but we don’t care. He squeezes in behind commentary, scratching behind his ear before sucking down the wax like a lollipop.

Blaine: I hope someone backstage has our publicist on the phone for damage control.

Aaron Nothings: Perchance the wild ambivalence of odd aspersions and auspicious turnstile events my dears, for I am obviously superfluous in my haggard and tastefully disdainful yet oddly unpunctual arrival in the nurturing embrace as if I am from the first micro-organisms to squeeze from the primordial ooze at the beginning of time yet distinctly after the all encompassing but originating bang of the stars and perhaps most of all...most of all...I am the fire of the biblical proportion perhaps parlayed into Christian Babylonian spires.

Blaine: What did he just say?

Back in the ring, the SOB seem quite satisfied with their adjustment to the commentary team.

Snow: For the last week, ever since we formed this little trio, all we’ve heard are questions. Can they really exist as a team? What’s this mean for the Culture Shock main event? How could Boda turn his back on the fans? Why, oh why, did they form up in the first place?

Snow takes a moment to pace the ring.

Snow: Well the answer to that last one is simple. We formed because we can, and now we’re here to dominate. Brandon showed everybody last week that we’re here for gold, and it’s only a matter of time before we show the same thing to Change in Spades. That’s right. For anyone that’s still a bit iffy on our intention, and I don’t know how you could be, I, right here and now, declare war on the entire tag team division in PRIME. That means Change in Spades. That means Wolves of Slaughter. That means every damn team that thinks they deserve to be at the top of PRIME. WE ARE AT THE TOP OF PRIME!

Nothings: Nicholas of the clan Stuart they are on the top of the rigid and Babelian food shackles and they are not the types to fritter away their dominion on the succession of the supplementary and furthered embrace of the other. I have seen these men in their throbbing snake skin haunts that ride upon the wings of grave distinction bearing eagles who swoop downward from the atmosphere and outstretch their rippled yellow bumpy obsidian black negro talons which puncture the epidermis containing pouring blood from the scales of the trout from the ocean surface as if to signal their war against the Gods is merely second nature to their all knowing and encompassing ghostly and ghastly haunting spirits.

Nick: …

Youngblood: There’s a lot of gold in this ring right now. The PRIME Universal Championship… The PTC Elite Championship…

Youngblood holds his title over his head.

Youngblood: And in the weeks and months to come, there’ll be a lot more. First and foremost will be the tag team titles. Change in Spades… While Richard’s out, spreading the good word of the SOB, by now you probably know that your title reign will be short-lived.

It’s Boda’s turn now, and the giant takes center stage, towering over both Snow and Youngblood.

Boda: That’s right. And whether it’s Snow and Youngblood, or me and Youngblood, or me and Snow, one thing is for absolute certain – your titles Change in Spades… your titles are going to be branded SOB.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: These fans are really letting Boda know what they think of him turning his back on them last week.

Nothings: Their boos cause me grave and harrowing blights. My teeth are the color of bananas picked from the tropics during the time of the great migration of mallards from Topeka the place of thrilling paint chips and narcissistic nuns who cradle the infants of the moor. Yet even now, in the cesspool of disaster of Haitian proportions I rise above as the evergliding temporal weaving crocodile infused pelican, his teeth sharpest as Imperial swords from the Japanese which cut ribbons upon the surface of Hiroshima with their grace saving valor suicide. I can’t help but soil myself in grave disgust at the rather telling tastes truncating trying tassels to twos, maybe the threes will say I but not I! NOT I! For I am of eternal guidance cast with the dice roll of the chosen few as the river rat gnawing on cheese through this great time of tea party rhetorics upon the lampshade of a mahogany desk lamp burning brightly and shiningly through the impasse of bewailing banshees brought forth to the ever toothing whims of the scarf. The scarf!

The scarf carries with it its own damning connotations. Knowing he’s on a rival broadcast, Nothings runs away from the booth, hoping he still has the cache to cash in a shot at the Just Wrestling Championship and cause the fed to take about five steps back.

Boda: You can boo all you like, but this is what you’re dealing with. Last week, I took your giant, Vance Raymes, and I let him know that he’s not the only big man in town anymore. This is what PRIME is dealing with! This is what the whole wrestling WORLD is dealing with! We do what we want and we take what we want, and Change in Spades, that starts with the tag team titles.

Snow: That’s right, damn it! We do what we want, each week, every week. You might not like it, but God damn it, I promise you you’re going to watch it! Nothing’s off-limits! NOTHING’S sacred! This is our federation and this is our God damn sport!

Youngblood: See ya next week.

Nick: We're all set to go with our second match of the evening. Mach Hawke makes his singles debut here in PRIME, while the juggernaut Hessian looks to spoil it in an attempt to reassert his dominance of the division.

Blaine: I can see him wanting to do that.

Nick: It's a classic power versus agility match. Both men are very accomplished veterans of the sport, masters of their respective styles. It's shaping up to be very interesting. What do you think, Blaine?

Blaine: Frickin' thrilled. Let's go to Vince in the ring, already.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first...

The lights in the arena dim, as the synthed-up guitars from the opening of In Flames "Cloud Connected" begin a slow build. Red, yellow, and green strobe lights shine upwards from the top of the entrance ramp, illuminating a cloud of smoke billowing from the ground. As the guitar riff turns heavy, three figures appear silhouetted in the color-shifting mist.

Nick: The Osaka Street Cutters had a very impressive debut last week, scoring the pinfall over Bryan Dawkins in the main event. Mach Hawke will be looking to build off the momentum they've already started generating here in PRIME.

Blaine: Yeah, well he's going to need a lot of momentum if he's looking to knock over Hessian tonight.

The three men step through the mist, Mach Hawke at the forefront, black pants, black sleeveless shirt, and black wrestling mask, with Mamoru Azuma and Kaz Araki to his left and right respectively. Hawke and Azuma have their FRPW championship belts strapped across their waists. The lyrics to their them song kick in as the three walk to the ring, ignoring the outstretched hands of the fans at ringside.

Vince: From Osaka, Japan, weighing in at 224 pounds, he is one half of the FRPW Tag Team Champions...MACH HAWKE!

Nick: Even though it's a singles match, a win over Hessian here would undoubtedly be a huge boost for Hawke and Azuma both, establishing them as a major threat in whatever division they're in. Of course, getting a win over the giant is something easier said then done.

Blaine: But you gotta wonder how Hawke is going to perform in a one and one match-up here, without his partner to bail him out.

Vince: And his opponent....

The arena lights fade to black once again, and smoke and strobe fills the entrance and the stage as thrashing guitar and bellowing bass fill the ears of the fans in attendance, blaring out of the PA.

You remember, You remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, Youth trust gone forever.

Nick: And here he comes. The fans here in Shanghai are on their feet for the monster known as Hessian!

As the lyrical tome depicting the Hardcore Monster blasts through the air a massive silhouette approaches the stage, bleeding through the smoke which has a bluish hue through it until he stands before the ramp, emerging out onto the stage to a chorus of cheers.

See only the master, risen, risen,
After all the silence, all of him laughing
After all the strangers, beaten, driven,
Try to place all things, in a certain rhythm
Do as the book told you see the pages torn,
Make the spell upon them, in human form,
So we come to call it, the great & awesome dance,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of Romance.

Blaine Tonight might be the night that Hessian gets back to his winning ways.

Nick: It could be, but Hessian has had terrible luck as of late, losing matches to Devin Shakur and Brandon Youngblood through blatant outside interference. Tonight again, the numbers are against him. He's a proud man, powerful, and more than capable of going it alone, but one has to wonder if his lone wolf approach is going to cost him in the long term.

Breathing in the atmosphere, Hessian raises his arms to the sky and from his open hands a pair of fireballs burst forth suddenly, much to the delight of the screaming crowd who watch as he seems to tame fire.

You remember, You remember his face,
You remember what I am, I remember only weeping,
I remember only sleeping, I remember tearing flesh,
I can only taste the devil, Your tears when you cry,

Blaine: He doesn't look happy, that's for sure.

Nick: Would you be, if you were him? He's surely got to have thoughts have Chainz and his twisted mind-games floating around the back of his mind. Thoughts of the Bastards, stealing the Elite Championship from him last week. The man has every reason to be pissed off.

Closing his eyes for a moment he tilts his head back, quickly looking forward again and roaring as he throws the balls of fire from his hands to the floor in front of him and listening as the applause becomes louder.

Wasted with the children, singing just a hymn,
You can hear them only, crying, crying,
After all the horses gallop to fathom,
Try to fell under you, spine of the dragon,
Do as you consider, writhe & spin alarm,
Spell tricky magic, nails for your savior,
So we bravely gather, though we moan with dread,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of the Dead.

The entire ramp from his feet at the stage to the ring apron itself ignites and bursts into flame, licking at the air almost four feet high. Hessian pauses for a moment, looking off to the fans at his side before snarling and continuing on down the ramp through the fire as it falls a couple of feet and licks at his legs as he walks on.

Vince: From Detroit, Michigan, weighing in tonight at 355 pounds....he is the Murder Show, HEEEEESSSSSSSIAAAAAAN!

Can I remember, I remember you, no,
Can I remember gold, I remember silver eyes,
I remember silver skies, I remember awesome pain
I can hear the horse in darkness, Only he dreams of glory.

Nick: While this is a great opportunity for Hawke to establish himself in PRIME, I'm not sure I would want to be in his shoes right now.

Blaine: Who would? Even if he wins, he loses. He's almost got a guaranteed trip to the emergency room.

Keeping pace Hessian briskly marches towards the ring through the fire as the lights flicker like lightning throughout the arena and the heavy metal of Motorhead bursts the eardrums of fans around the arena. The smoke soon dissipates on the stage and the fire dies down almost completely as Hessian reaches the ring apron.

Standing at the edge of all, Looking down at last,
Can you see the others, running, running,
All the horses burning, sinking, dying,
Do you feel destiny or are you lying,
Do what you were made for, all must endure,
Soon the door closes, for good or evil,
Are you the ice queen or do you want to burn,
Here see before you, the Kingdom of the Worm

Holding his open hands in front of him, Hessian stands almost in prayer for a moment, finally clenching his fists and reaching up for the top rope. The Hardcore Monster climbs the apron and over the top, stepping forward. He throws his arms out, fists clenched again and tenses his muscles to a barrage of flashbulbs, unleashing an animalistic roar to the death of the flames and the return of the lights.

Kingdom of Romance... Kingdom of the Dead...
Kingdom of the Worm...

ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!

Nick: Both men are finally in the ring. We're ready to get things underway here.

Blaine: We're lucky we're on HBO. FX would definitely be pushing for a commercial break right about now.

Hessian stares across the ring at Mach Hawke, who looks diminutive in comparison to the giant. Hessian flexes his arms, ready to go, while Hawke, undeterred, raises both fists, signaling his opponent to come at him. The Murder Show is nodding his head, smiling sadistically, baring his fangs, like a snarling grizzly ready to devour his prey. With a jerk of his hand, referee Elvis Nixon call for the bell.

DING DING DING

The two men circle to start, Hessian slowly moving in, while Hawke backs away, keeping some distance from his opponent. He's careful not to get trapped into a corner, using his speed to maneuver around Hessian in a larger arc.

Nick: These two men are no strangers to one another. They went at it for the better part of 2002 as part of a tag team war in OSW, trading the belts back and forth, but this is their first one and one meeting.

Blaine: Hawke's playing it safe to start, here. Can't say I blame him.

The two continue to circle, Mach adding some variations to his movement, making the rhythm slightly erratic. He darts forward, scores with a calf kick, and leaps back out of range. Hessian sneers, dismissive of Hawke's strategy. He stops his advance, waiting for the cruiser to come within range again.

Nick: Hessian tired of playing the waiting game.

Blaine: That was only, like, twenty seconds. Maybe he just gets bored easily.

Hawke obliges, dashing in again, this time sliding through Hessian's legs. The giant turns and finds himself met with a leaping dropkick that staggers him. Mach hits the move, flipping backward to land on his knees, and immediately is up again, running to the ropes. He comes off with springboard cross body block, but the Murder Show easily catches him midair.

Nick: It'll take more than cross body block to take the big man down.

Blaine: Some C4 might do the trick. Or a wrecking ball.

Hessian lifts Hawke up and drapes him over the shoulder. He begins to run him toward the corner, but Mach wriggles out and drops down behind the big man, shoving him chest first into the turnbuckles. Hawke runs up the ropes as Hessian reels backward, coming off with a flying back elbow.

Nick: Hawke is using his speed to his advantage here.

Blaine: He's staggered him, but has yet to take the big man down.

The tag star comes in, looking to capitalize, but screeches to a halt when he sees Hessian recover himself, barely managing to duck down out of the way of a scary looking uppercut. Hawke rolls to the side, coming up in a crouch from which he connects with another kick to the Goliath's knee.

Nick: Hawke had that God Smack uppercut well scouted.

Blaine: Well, the Japanese are known for their diligent study habits.

Hessian turns to stop him, but Mach is already out of range. Out and then in again with a bicycle kick that scores against the giant's ribcage. He ducks a big left hand and leaps up on Hessian's knee, springing up to land a flying knee to the chin.

Nick: Hawke is landing combinations here at will.

Blaine: I think he may have got a little too confident, though.

The Murder Show absorbs the blow, and grabs onto Hawke, not letting him jump away. The cruiserweight struggles loose and drops to his feet, but it's already too late. Hessian's already crouching slightly, his arm in motion. He's in range. Hawke sees that he's in range. He moves back, but not far enough. He can do nothing to stop it.

Nick: UPPERCUT!

Blaine: Wow, he knocked him into the rafters.

Blaine is barely exaggerating. It's like a scene from a video game. Hawke's body flies into the air, almost in slow motion, rotating backwards until it's horizontal. At the height of its arc it stops completely, as the flashbulbs go off in the crowd. And then suddenly time returns to normal, and he drops to the mat like a rock.

Nick: Hessian with the cover!

One...

Two...

Blaine: No! Still, almost had a one punch knock out. Haven't seen one of those in a while.

Frowning, Hessian pulls Hawke up by the arm, nearly yanking it from the socket. From there, he lifts him effortlessly above his head, military pressing him, before dropping him face first to the mat. The Hardcore Monster walks on top of him, standing on his opponent's back, taking his time as he waits out the referee's five count.

Nick: 355 pounds is crushing down on Hawke's back. Can you imagine what that feels like?

Blaine: Why don't you go find out and let us know, Nick.

Nick: I'll take a pass on that.

Lifting him by the back of his shirt this time, Hessian grabs Hawke's hand in both hands, squeezing it in a vice-like grip strong enough to lift him off the ground. Mach kicks his legs out, struggling, but the big man drives a headbutt into his forehead, before tossing him aside.

Nick: That is some scary power displayed by the Murder Show.

Blaine: Oh yeah, yeah. Power. That's some power, alright.

He pulls Hawke up again, whipping him into ropes now. As he comes off, Hessian tosses him high into the air with a flapjack...only for him to shift his body in mid-air, connecting with a dropkick to the bearded leviathan's chest on the way down.

Nick: I know this isn't your usual job, but you don't have to so obviously half-ass it.

Blaine: What?

Hawke runs in, looking to capitalize. He runs up Hessian's front, leaping and twisting, hooking his legs under the giant's arms to roll him forward into the a pinning predicament. If only he had the requisite momentum. Hessian is having done of it, standing strong and turning the move into a modified wheelbarrow slam. He tosses his masked opponent in the air, bringing him down face first with a reverse powerbomb.

Nick: "Power. That's some power, alright." These guys deserve better than that.

Blaine: Nick, it's not like this is the main event of Colossus.

The Street Cutter bounces back to his feet from the impact, only to eat a hard lariat that flips him 270 degrees. Grabbing him around the waist from above, Hessian hoists him up into a crucifix, then plants him with a release jackknife powerbomb. The impact sends Hawke rolling to the ropes, where Kaz Araki drags him out of the ring to the arena floor.

Nick: Mach Hawke is lucky he landed near his manager after that Ballista from Hessian. That could very well have been the end.

Blaine: He's not so lucky. That just means he has more of an ass-kicking to look forward.

Outside, Araki is shaking Hawke, slapping his face lightly, trying to revive him. Hessian leans over the top rope, shouting at them, before climbing to the outside himself. But Mamoru Azuma stands in his way.

Nick: Azuma standing up to the Brutal Legend.

Blaine: What's he think he's going to do?

The two exchange words, Azuma lucky that his limited English includes a mastery of most profanities. There's a brief stand off before suddenly the Japanese brawler shoves the giant. Hessian's eyes narrow and he returns the shove, with enough force to send Azuma flying hard against the guardrail.

Blaine: Not much, apparently.

Nick: But he bought Hawke some time. Look!

Hessian's about to follow up when a gasp from the crowd causes him to turn his attention upward, just in time to see Mach Hawke flying from the second rope with an Asai moonsault to the floor. Both men land on the concrete in a heap.

Nick: A high risk maneuver pays off for the Street Cutter!

Blaine: But can he capitalize?

Both Cutters work together to roll the Brutal Legend back into the ring. Hawke climbs up to the apron. Grabbing the top rope, he uses it to slingshot himself into the ring, landing a leg drop on his way down. He hooks the leg for the pin.

Blaine: Hawke thinks he's done enough.

One...

T....

Blaine: But I don't think so.

Hessian easily kicks out, rolling over and posting up on his hands. As he begins to stand, Hawke grabs the back of his head, getting off a few forearm shots, then backs off a step and scores with a jumping knee. It's not having much effect, though, so he runs the ropes. As he comes back, Hessian explodes toward him, snatching him in midair and slamming him with an explosive tilt-a-whirl back breaker that sends the crowd into a frenzy.

Nick: Hessian turns things around, just like that!

Blaine: It's not like he was actually in trouble.

Hawke's grimace is visible through his mask. He writhes to the corner, holding his back in pain. Hessian follows him in, standing him up, before launching him into the lights with a hip toss that sends him nearly the length of the ring.

Nick: He's tossing Hawke around like a football. And he went long on that play.

Blaine: Too bad no one was there to catch him. Chicago Bears fans should be able to sympathize.

Mach Hawke lands hard, near the opposite corner. He tries to use the ropes to pull himself up, but Hessian stalks him in. Pressing him against the corner, he covers Hawke's nose and mouth with one of his giant paws and brings the other swiping down across his chest in an open hand slap. The crowd let's out an "ooooo". A second slap garners a similar reaction.

Nick: He's turning his chest into hamburger.

Blaine: Don't talk about food, Nick. I haven't been able to get at the catering table tonight since I've been forced to come out here.

Nick: Oh, poor baby.

Now he whips Mach hard across the ring, sending him crashing into the turnbuckles with enough force to shift the ring. Hessian leans forward and then sprints across the ring, leveling a boot at Hawke's head....that he only barely manages to avoid.

Blaine: He barely held onto his head, there.

Nick: Now let's see if he's able to use it.

Hessian's leg flies between the first and second ropes, but when he tries to pull it back in, he finds Kaz Araki holding on to it, arms wrapped tightly around his boot. The giant attempts to kick free, but he's off balance. Hawke, recovering, takes advantage of this opening, springboarding off the second rope into a flipping neckbreaker, taking Hessian to the mat.

Blaine: He finally got him down.

Nick: Spectacular high flying technique shown by Mach Hawke!

Once there, Mach leaps up to drive a cutting leg drop across the bridge of his opponent's nose. He follows with two more in quick succession, buzzsaw-like. Hessian rolls onto his stomach, getting to his hands and knees, but Hawke grabs his right leg out from under him, lifting it up and slamming it knee-first into the mat.

Nick: Now he's going to work on Hessian's leg. We saw him do some damage earlier in the match.

Blaine: Ah, the old "take-out-the-legs-of-the-big-guy" strategy.

The Street Cutter backs into the turnbuckles, where he perches himself sitting on the top. As Hessian struggles to his feet again, Hawke waits patiently for just the right moment, when he's halfway up, before leaping from the second ropes. His leg comes down on the back of the Goliath's head and he rides him down to the mat with a flying rocker dropper.

Nick: Hawke makes the cover!

One...

Two...

Blaine: No, not enough. Hessian just pressed him off like nothing.

Hawke grabs the big man in a front facelock and drives two knees into the crown of his head. But Hessian drives forward with a burst, gaining top position, from which he wraps his hands around his opponent's throat. With a display of power, he lifts the smaller man off the canvas with the chokehold, holding him in the air.

Nick: He's choking the life out of him.

The junior heavyweight plants both feet in Hessian's chest, kicking off and back, breaking out of his grip and backflipping high in the air. He lands on his feet, dropping down into a shaky crouch.

Blaine: Pretty nice escape, there.

Getting his footing, Hawke dives at Hessian, flying through his outstretched arms to connect with a dropkick to his knee. The impact buckles the giant's leg. He falls to a knee and Mach grabs a quick front facelock. Using Hessian's head and neck to brace himself, he lifts himself up so he's doing a headstand on his shoulders, completely vertical.

Nick: And some nice athleticism on top of that.

Blaine: Maybe he's thinking of trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team.

He holds onto Hessian's head the whole time, before falling back, spiking him with a swinging DDT. The momentum from the impact rolls the big man over onto his back, and Hawke follows up with a springboard moonsault across his chest, hooking the leg for the pin.

Nick: Big combo from Hawke! He's looking for the win!

One...

Two...

Blaine: So close and yet, so far.

Hawke slaps the mat, frustrated with the near fall. He complains briefly to Elvis Nixon, but soon gives it up for a lost cause. Getting up, he moves to the corner, ascending the turnbuckles, but just as he reaches the top, Hessian throws his body against the first and second ropes. The reverberations cause the Street Cutter to lose his footing and he ends up crotched on the top rope, facing the crowd.

Nick: He shouldn't have took the time to argue. Now he's in trouble.

Blaine: I think Richard could have used that advise.

Hessian, shaking out the cobwebs, hooks Hawke's legs around the second rope, then pulls his head back so he's hanging upside down. He lands a big open hand chop across his chest, before unleashing a stiff five punch combo into his midsection.

Blaine: That's not doing his liver any favors.

Nick: Nor any other of his internal organs.

He pulls Mach up slightly, grabbing an over the shoulder chinlock and positioning him on his shoulder. Lifting him out of the Hangman, he takes a few steps out of the corner before suddenly whirling around and driving Hawke chest first into the turnbuckle.

Nick: Hangman's Stampede! Hawke is in trouble!

Blaine: He was in trouble the minute he agreed to this match.

All of a sudden, Azuma is on the ring apron, shouting at the Hardcore Monster. Hessian drops Hawke to the mat, letting out a roar and removing the outside nuisance with a running boot to the head, sending Azuma flying.

Nick: Hessian is a man possessed. Nothing can stop him!

Hawke is up on shaky legs, but not nearly recovered, and his eyes open wide when Hessian whips back around and slaps his hand around his throat. With one arm the giant lifts him high in the air and drops him back down with a brutal chokeslam.

Blaine: Glad we invested in new rings. If it was an old one, that chokeslam may have sent Hawke straight through the mat.

Nick: And he's not finished!

Using his other hand, Hessian lifts Hawke up from his horizontal position on the mat with a double handed choke, hoisting him high again. Shifting to one hand, he drops him hard again with another single arm chokeslam. He makes the cover.

One...

Two...

Thre....

Nick: I can't believe he kicked out after two chokeslams! Hessian send him to Hell and Back and he still kicked out!

Eyes narrowing, Hessian looks to kick things up another notch, the final one if he has anything to say about it. He twirls Mach Hawke up onto his shoulder, holding him in Canadian backbreaker position.

Blaine: Hawke put up a valiant fight, but he's just about finished here.

Groggy and beaten, but still conscious enough to realize his predicament, Hawke begins to struggle with everything he's got left in him: kicking his legs, attempting to swing his body from side to side. Hessian is undaunted, holding on to his prey, though trying to get a better grip in order to finish the hold. Elvis Nixon is not so lucky, though. Moving to get into position, the referee gets kicked in the head by the flailing Hawke and crumples to the mat.

Blaine: No! Elvis!

Nick: That doesn't bode well for Hessian.

The Street Cutter continues to struggle, but Hessian finally gets him set for the Ganso bomb. As he's about to drop him, however, Azuma slides into the ring and pops up in front of him. With expert rotation, he lands a hard calf kick that knocks Hessian's leg out from under him, falling the giant like a redwood.

Blaine: Azuma just saved his partner from the jaws of defeat.

Nick: The Osaka Street Cutters are stealing this match from Hessian!

Hessian drops Hawke, trying to defend himself, but Azuma is too fresh, too quick, and rushing up to the big man, running right up his knee, he nails a shining enziguri to the back of his head. The cameras pick up a sickening CRRAACKK! as Hessian slumps to the mat.

Nick: Oh my god!

Blaine: He just kicked Hessian's head off his shoulders!

Nick: What agility for a man of his size! What power! What....an asshole!

Azuma helps Mach Hawke to up, pointing to the top rope before rolling out of the ring. Kaz Araki is on the other side of the ring, working diligently to shake the referee awake. Hawke is slow ascending the turnbuckles, but it hardly matters. Hessian is barely stirring after the kick. He comes off the top. 450 splash. Cover. Elvis Nixon's hand weakly slaps the mat.

Nick: This is a miscarriage of justice, folks.

Blaine: I'm just glad Elvis is ok.

One...

Two...

Three!

DING DING DING

Nick: Well, it's official. Hessian has been screwed again.

Vince Howard; The winner of the match.....MAAAAAAACH HAWKE!

Azuma slides back in the ring, and with Hawke begins putting the boots to the fallen giant, viciously kicking and stomping him. Pulling him up, Hawke hooks back his arm in a modified abdominal stretch, while his partner backs off to the ropes, before running back to drive a stiff yakuza kick to Hessian's face.

Nick: The match is already over, there's no need for this!

Blaine: Looks like the Osaka Street Cutters are looking to make an example out of Hessian.

Nick: This is sickening. The man has suffered enough recently, losing his wife, cheated out of wins. And now this. He doesn't deserve this.

Blaine: Don't kid yourself, Nick The man's no saint.

Hawke holds onto Hessian, not letting him fall all the way to the mat. He bends the big man over his knee, Kaz assisting him in holding the massive body in backbreaker position. Azuma leaps from the mat, getting major airtime, before stomping down hard on the chest and gut of Hessian, on either side of Mach Hawke's knee.

Blaine: Wow, that was fucking brutal.

Nick: It's always two against one, three against one. Nobody is ever willing to take on Hessian in a fair fight.

Kaz is signaling now for the Cutters to pick Hessian up. Following his instructions, they pull the big man up, each holding on to one of his arms. Kaz takes off his sunglasses, putting them in his blazer pocket, and flashes a big smile to the camera. Clenching his fists, he goes into a rope a dope, dodging and weaving for seemingly no reason, darting in and out to land jabs and crosses on the Murder Show.

Blaine: Wow, Kaz has got some moves. This is kind of funny.

Nick: Oh, what a big man. Picking your shots, looking like a tough guy, when Hessian can't even defend himself.

Kaz smiles at the camera again, this time winding his arm in a windmill for a big punch...only for Hessian to take him off his feet with a big boot to the face!

Nick: That'll show him!

Shaking off Hawke on his right arm, Hessian frees himself and lands a big right hand on Azuma's jaw, knocking him back, before firing back with an elbow to take Mach off his feet. Azuma comes back, only to walk straight into a a fireman's carry, turned into a front chancery face drop by Hessian.

Nick: Chasing the Dragon! The Murder Show has had enough!

Blaine: And he looks like a man possessed.

Hessian turns to Hawke, catching him with a boot, crossing his arms and lifting him up into vertical suplex position, holding him there for a five count before dropping him with a brainbuster. Azuma is up on wobbly legs, only to eat a Mexican Stretch Buster from the giant that lays him out.

Nick: Hessplex on Hawke! Unforgiven on Azuma! He's taking it to the Five Ring champions.

Blaine: The Cutters should have got out of there while they had the chance. Now it's too late.

Hessian, eyes open wide, nostrils flaring, points across the ring at Kaz Araki, mouthing some unheard profanity. Kaz raises his hands as the Goliath bears down on him, begging off, but he gets no mercy. Big kick to the gut. Canadian backbreaker rack. The Shanghai crowd is on its feet in anticipation.

Blaine: This won't end well.

Nick: He's got Kaz Araki up! He's got him in the Hellevator!

A gasp runs through the crowd. Sliding under the bottom rope comes Chainz, who takes up a three point stance in the ring before diving in to take out Hessian's leg with a chopblock from behind. Kaz falls to relative safety, while the Intense Champion begins laying into the crumpled form of Hessian with mounted punches. He's joined a beat later by Elise Ares, Kazys, and Cy Sutherland, who join in on the mauling, a flurry of punches, kicks, and stomps raining down on the Hardcore Monster.

Nick: What a pack of jackals! Coming in from behind, Chainz, Sutherland, and the Wolves are ripping Hessian apart! He didn't even see it coming!

Blaine: We just saw this group grow a little earlier tonight, and they're wasting no time in taking the fight to Hessian.

Lifting him up is a group effort, but once up, Sutherland is able to land his Painkiller finisher, dropping the big man with a held DDT pulled into a neckbreaker. Elise has already climbed the ropes, and once Cyrus is clear, launches herself from the top with a Phoenix Splash double knee drop on Hessian.

Nick: As if three on one wasn't bad enough, now it's seven on one!

Blaine: I've seen muggings that were prettier than this.

The Street Cutters are on their feet but keeping back, still wobbly, wary of the three newcomers to the fray. Kaz grabs his head, looking from the Cutters to the gang of three as he catches his breath. His eyes light up with a smile as he sees the scene unfolding.

Nick: And look at that smug grin on Araki's face. He was inches away from getting what he deserved.

Blaine: Kaz Araki is one lucky man. The Hellevator has been known to break necks. End careers.

Kaz approaches Chainz from behind, but the champ turns on him well before he reaches him, fist loaded in the pocket. Kaz is laughing visibly now, shaking his head. He points at Sutherland, Elise, Kazys, Chainz, then points back in the direction of the Cutters with his other hand, before linking his two hands together. He makes a fist, nods his hand, and extends his hand towards Chainz.

Nick: What's this? Is Araki suggesting an alliance?!

Blaine: I'm not sure I would want to shake Chainz's hand. There's no telling where it's been.

Chainz stands with his usual sinister expression, looking as if he's about to reach his hand down Araki's throat and rip his heart from his chest. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. He's chuckling to himself, and Kaz is chuckling two, and then both of them are laughing their asses off. Nodding his hand, he grabs Kaz's hand and the two exchange an enthusiastic handshake.

Nick: What are we witnessing here?! First Cy Sutherland and now the Osaka Street Cutters!

Blaine: It's like the formation of some kind of.....super group....or something.

Kaz says something to his team in Japanese before the two factions meet in the center of the ring, exchanging hesitant handshakes and nods of the head. Araki finishes by standing over the fallen form of Hessian, pointing a finger down at his chest, mouthing something unkind.

And then Hessian's hand closes around his throat.

Nick: He's alive! Hessian is not willing to lay down!

Blaine: He's going to pay for that.

And indeed he does, as Cy, Elise, Chainz, Kazys, and the Cutters all begin to stomp him mercilessly. Kaz holds his hand to his throat, still gagging, as he backs away from the fallen giant. Pulling him up by his beard, Sloan lands a haymaker that spins Hessian around. Cy gets a hard shot in. Elise lands an elbow uppercut. Finally Azuma grabs him from behind, hooking both his arms, pushing his head into the small of his back, and lifting the big man up in a tiger suplex. Hawke grabs Hessian's feet in mid-air to spike him to the mat.

Nick: Even Hessian can't overcome these odds!

Blaine: Chainz always seems to be one step ahead of him, huh?

"Cloud Connected" by In Flames begins to blare throughout the arena, as the wrestlers strike various poses, Sutherland raising his arms in the air, Elise and Kaz smiling for the cameras, Hawke pointing a thumb at himself, and Kazys and Azuma with their arms crossed in front of their chests. It's quite the photogenic moment. Meanwhile, Chainz leans down to whisper something unheard in Hessian's ear.

Nick: Chainz has gotten another one over on Hessian, and in doing so has formed a dangerous alliance with Sutherland and the Street Cutters. Add the Five Star Champion to the mix and you've got a group to rival any in the history of the promotion.

Blaine: There's some impressive talent assembled in that ring. Last week, the Bastards, this week, we get this. I wonder what we're going to see next week.

Nick: Do you really?

Blaine: No, not really.

Nick: The power structure has shifted here in PRIME yet again. And you can bet there's going to be fallout. The rest of the roster can consider itself warned.

If there’s one unfortunate byproduct of being the most important man in PRIME, Devin Shakur learned it very quickly. Perhaps taking the job meant his in ring action was cut down. But putting the screws to Lisa Tyler made it all worth it. It also put him even more firmly in the sights of all the bottom feeders in the federation. Those who wanted to overthrow him and somehow achieve his power, like some strange Native American ritual.

He sits at his executive sized desk, complete with an incredibly comfortable chair, capable of not only heating up, but massaging and reclining into a completely horizontal position. It truly was the life, if you ask him, and the rum and Coke he made Lisa Tyler make him was exquisite. Of course, he isn’t one to compliment a wretch like Tyler, and made sure to berate her and coach her on the finer ways of making a drink.

He grins. It serves the bitch right.

The ear shattering knock on the door pries him from the comfortable position, causing him to place the drink into a cardboard cup carrier. You know, one of those things you can get at any fast food restaurant. Shakur loves em. A nanosecond after the powerful knock, a barking high pitched siren of a voice on the other side proves that, though his door is awfully thick, his office is not soundproof. It also doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce who the voice belongs to.

Voice: Knock knock Shakur! It’s Cyrus Sutherland!

One couldn’t say Shakur was concerned. Sutherland was indeed a bit erratic and haphazard in his work, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle if Sutherland decided to lose his cool or wig out in his presence. But still, did he have to bother him just when he was beginning to have his drink?

The Man in Black exhales and takes one last sip of drink before replying.

Devin: Come on in…

The door flies open as Cyrus Sutherland stands in the doorway, a grin on his face. It’s been a big night for him and Shakur is more than aware of the fact that Sutherland, along with that psycho Sloan and company have begun to cause a bit of a ruckus. Why does he always have to deal with the ruckus? Can’t they just get in line and do as they’re told?

Cyrus: Just the man I’m looking for!

Sutherland slams the door as he enters, radiating energy from his mere presence. There’s an air of unpredictability when he enters a room. It’s something the naïve would not notice. But Devin Shakur does. He knows that Sutherland is just as likely to sit down and shoot the shit as he is to pick up that much less comfortable folding chair across the desk and slam it over Shakur’s head. Yet, The Man in Black has a pretty good idea that Sutherland isn’t here to start a fight… as contrary to his nature as it may seem.

With a sigh and a nod, Shakur reclines back into his chair and steeples his fingers.

Devin: What can I do for you, Cyrus?

Psycho Sutherland moves quickly to the chair on his side of the desk and twirls it, so the back faces Shakur, and he straddles it and sits down. He folds his arms over the back and leans forward.

Cyrus: You know, Shakur, you could say I’ve had a pretty good night so far, yeah? But I’m still not satisfied, I think I can make it even better. Ya see… I know you had a pretty shitty night last Revolution, wouldn’t you say?

Shakur didn’t need to be reminded about Tyler Rayne’s overzealous power move. Although, he wasn't going to give anything away in facial expression to a newcomer.

Devin: In due time, Ty will suffer just like he did the last time. Now, greenback, I'm a busy man; I've got things to do. So if you could cut to the chase...I can get back to feeling the much needed buzz from said beverage right over there to sign this document.

There’s a pause. As clearly there is no document to be seen. A moment later Shakur opens a drawer, pauses, shuts it, and opens another and produces a document and slaps it on the desk. That was a close one.

Cyrus: Y’see, Shakur, I’m not sure just who is the boss around here. After all, Tyler Rayne kinda showed the entire PRIME Universe that he’s just as capable of calling the shots as you are. Perhaps, even more capable than you.

Devin: He's only got enough power to make life cushy for himself.

Cyrus: But… there’s one thing about Rayne that I can’t stand, beyond the obvious fact that he interrupted my attempt to get a Spamburger from a vending machine. It’s the fact that the isn’t willing to [i]use[/u] that power the way it should be used. He gives a shit about the fans! He gives a shit about, what, what is right? What is the right thing to do?

Shakur stares, and simply listens to Sutherland.

Cyrus: Now, it’s safe to say that Sloan, myself, and the rest of us are more than capable of splitting a few skulls. It’s also safe to say, and I think you would agree, that it’d be best not to piss us off. Not that you can’t go toe to toe with us, or at least try, if you’d like. But do you really want to have to deal with us? It looks like you have a full plate as it is. Well beyond that… document.

Sutherland smirks, but the smirk quickly melts away into a frown.

Cyrus: Tyler Rayne is a pain in the neck… and I’m ibuprofen. Lets face it, Shakur, you would be a lot better off with Tyler Rayne out of the picture, and I’m just itching to give him an enema with my boot. But you can’t really touch him, not effectively, because he has the same power as you, yeah? You make a rule… and then he unmakes it. You tell Dam to take care of him… and he can stop him.

Sutherland leans forward and rests his chin on his crossed arms.

Cyrus: But I don’t give a fuck about the rules and I want him to get what’s been coming to him, just as bad as you do.

Devin: First, before we cut to any of the rest of your dramatic speech, let's get one thing peachy keen. You guys ought to be adoring the fact I haven't dropped the hammer on your super group yet. If it means less Youngblood on the microphone then...well I'm all for that. The Osaka boys ought to be on their hands and knees kissing my feet for bringing them in under such a wave of publicity. Chainz is lucky I haven't fired him yet and the Wolves...Elise is one sexual harassment lawsuit away from being Richard Parker's man boob holder when he gets the sweats...Which if she's holding them, he'll always-

Christian Daniels: Stop talkin bout'hat shit 'er I'ma cut yer throat.

Devin Shakur: Point is, you kids would rather not mess with me. Ty can play the game of add/subtract with me all day, but none of you can. None of you will. Now...Tyler Rayne. Talk. Talk. Talk.

Cyrus: I’m here to tell you, independent from my other compatriots, that I’m willing to break a few legs for you. I can’t speak for them, but I can speak for myself. Naturally, I’m itching to break Rayne’s. But if need be, shoot, I’ll beat the piss out of anyone if you point at them. I don’t care about titles. I don’t care about prestige, Shakur. All I care about, right now, is messing up as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time.

Sutherland’s smirk returns.

Cyrus: And if that means the deck is stacked against them? So be it. I don’t play nice or fair. I play to win.

A small smirk appears on The Man in Black's face. He reaches over and sips on his beverage.

Devin: So you are trying to sum this up as the enemy of my enemy is my friend?

Cyrus: I think you’ve got it.

Sutherland stands slowly from his seated position and looks down at Shakur. He brings both of his hands up to their respective suspender and snaps them.

Cyrus: Think about it… and let me know if you have any ideas.

He grins and chuckles.

Cyrus: Besides... anyone who orders a girl out of a French Maid outfit is a fucking loser. I like your style.

As loudly as Sutherland had entered the office, his demeanor is much more subdued now. He turns his back to Shakur and walks to the door and, just as quickly as he has entered, he is gone. Devin Shakur looks down at his drink, thoughtfully, and glances back up at the door where Sutherland had entered. Just when someone seems to have gotten a good idea of where Sutherland was coming from, he throws a curve ball.

There’s no doubt that Sutherland was off his rocker, or at the very least incredibly violent and unfocused. Perhaps this was a good chance to focus his rage.

Perhaps this was a great opportunity to make Tyler Rayne’s life a living hell.

The Boss in Black looks over at his brother and points toward the door.

Devin: He really isn't aware of how I operate is he?

Christian: Nope.

Devin: Unfortunate for him and that group, I kinda like em.

Christian: Yeah, but we all know how't goes: Use em, abuse em, turn em.

Devin: And your life is always better for it.

Finally back in the arena, Richard Parker tries to maintain a hold on the large box in his hands, the sudden shifts in weight causing him to try and shush it as if it were a child. Most people would be ashamed to look like he does in this moment.

Clown make up.

Big tugboat shoes.

Rainbow suspenders.

And a big red nose.

Most people are not Richard Parker.

Swallowing his pride to impress his ‘buddies’, Parker just has one last thing he has to do; deliver the packages to the Spades. Only as he knocks on the door does his heart begin to sink. Suddenly, he impressing the Bastards doesn’t seem all that important.

Before he has the chance to reconsider and high tail it out of the area, the door opens and our clowny color commentator is looking right into the sexy eyes of the Spades Latin Princess. Leticia smirks and can't help but turn her head for a moment to get the giggling out of her system.

Leticia: Heh you know, I had nightmares of clowns when I was a kid and you know what happened in those dreams when I grew up?

Richard Parker stands silent, not bothering to ask for an answer.

Leticia: I beat the hell out of them.

Richard: I’d let you beat the hell out of me anytime.

Stifling a nervous laugh, Parker brings his free hand up to his nose, giving it a squeeze. The honk brings an ignorant smile to his face.

Just after the honking sound, a large hand wraps around the door and opens it wider. The situation suddenly gets tenser as The Tortured Artist comes into view. Leticia looks back at her Change In Spades teammate and moves to the side a little.

Vance Raymes: You'd better have a good reason for being here Rich. And none of those reason had better start with "Standard" or end with "Bastards".

The look in Raymes' eyes is enough to put even the most fearless of people on edge. Let's just say Richard Parker isn't exactly fearless.

Richard: I uh...no! No no no! Do you think I’d look like this because—

Leticia: Nicky, you gotta see this!

The Latin Princess turns and yells into the room. The random sounds of gunshots and music that were in the background stop and footsteps can be heard coming towards the doorway.

Nitz: Dude, Gay Tony was freakin' the fuck out and...

Pulling himself away from his Grand Theft Auto experience, Nitz sets his eyes on possibly the most disturbing scene he's seen in a while.

Nitz: Holy... I sure hope that's a balloon animal in your pants.

It has to be the nose. The shameless freak.

We’ve learned more about Richard Parker than we’d ever hope to know.

Richard: It’s a yard snake, you damn goof. How about you let me give you your prize. I’ve heard Blaine’s been like glass shards in the ears of the fans, and I need to get back out there so I can share my golden tones with everyone.

The box is sagging slightly, and oddly enough, his arm is going numb.

Vance: Get in, set whatever it is you have on the table and then get out...

Richard: Sorry Chuckles...uh...

Moseying inside, Parker kicks aside the bags, the drinks, the game console controllers...he’s not doing a good job of endearing himself, that’s for certain. Even still, he opens the flaps of the box, tapping his foot on the floor as he waits for the Spades to gather round.

Soon enough, the tag champions and their beautiful manager surround the table and Richard. Now he looks a little more uncomfortable as he has no way out if he gets himself in a pickle. Surely the fine can't be that steep for ripping a loudmouthed PRIME on-air personality... can it?

Nitz: Fuckin' sweet! Dickweed brought us a cake! I almost puked when I saw the catered Chinese with dog meat.

Raymes certainly does not look as happy as his partner as he actually took the time to read the cake presented in front of them.

The cake is stunning in appearance, done up to replicate the look of the PRIME Tag Team Championship belts. Obviously, quite a lot of time and effort has been poured into this fine piece confectionery. There is only one problem; the name on the belt has been changed, the telltale acronym there to send the Spades a message.

SOB.

Richard hasn’t seen the cake yet; he’s too busy fishing through his large pockets, pulling out the envelop he’d picked up on his dangerous secret mission. Oddly enough, there is a CD inside the envelop with a sticky note saying "play me". Without stopping to think, Parker presses the eject button on Donnelly’s Xbox 360, tossing his GTA4 disc out and putting the CD in. Of course, all progress Nitz made has been lost.
Most people wouldn’t know the tune that begins to play on the 360, so it only is right that you get a full idea of what is playing (just skip to 50 seconds in):



Clearing his throat, Parker begins to look at the piece of paper in front of his face. Gulping hard, he looks towards the Spades, feeling rather shy all of a sudden.

Richard: It’s a singing telegram. Just...

The song picks up, and suddenly, so does Richard.

Richard: Good evening vile plebes.

This is set to be good.

Richard: There is a group. A certain group. And for the droll and for the poor you can be sure they’ll do all they can—who is this group? PRIME’s dominate sons. And by their actions you stupid bastards will be on the run—they always win...you bitches can’t win...don’t get upset at the painful truth! With wealth and fame—they’re still the same—but in PRIME you’ll not be alive because those belts are theirs!

Dancing in a jig, clown Parker smiles as the music abruptly cuts off.

Richard: That last part didn’t rhyme.

Nitz immediately gets his GTA disc from the ground where Richard left it and removes the music disc from the drive. He tosses it to the side where it hits the wall and smashes to a million pieces. Once the game boots back up, he realizes he is now a full mission behind.

He drops the controller on the ground and glares daggers at Richard who feels like bolting from the room. He backs into the huge frame of The Tortured Artist and grimaces as soon as he makes contact.

Nitz: Van Ray, what'd you say about his reasons for being here?

Vance: That they had better not start with "Standard" and end with "Bastards"?

Nitz: Now to be fair, you didn't say either in regards to PRIME's newest loudmouths. But right now, since I see that I have $30,000 less in my game, I'll leave your fate in the hands of my illustrious partner here.

Richard turns to look at Vance with almost a pleading look on his stupid painted face. Van puts his arms up in the air and only has two words for the red nosed Color Commentator.

Vance: Wrong partner.

Leticia steps right behind Richard and grabs him by the scruff of the neck and drags him to the door. He screams like a burn victim as he is tossed right into the opposite wall by the Spades Latin Princess.

Vance: His singing sucks.

Meanwhile, Nitz has cut himself a piece of cake. It's no coincidence that he has cut out the nameplate that read SOB instead of Change In Spades. He grabs the piece with his bare hands and takes a large bite. He chews a little bit and...

Nitz: Good cake though.

He smiles and takes his plate of cake over to the TV and picks up his game controller.

We cut in to see the Osaka Street Cutters standing backstage with their manager, Kaz Araki, who is currently wearing a shit-eating grin. Azuma is expressionless save for his usual sneer, and Hawke looks tired, but happy after the events that transpired earlier. The lighting is kind of dark, casting a ominous pall over the scene.

Kaz: So why did we do it? It's the question I'm sure is on everyone's minds. Why did we have to jump Hessian after the match? Why did we join forces with Sloan, Elise, and Sutherland?

He flashes a knowing smile.

Kaz: Well, I'll tell you why. It's all about opportunity. It's about making a statement. That the Cutters are the real deal. That we're not here to fuck around. That anyone, at any time, for any reason can get taken out by us, just like that. (finger snap) Just like Hessian.

He takes off his sunglasses and stares straight into the camera, smile disappearing.

Kaz: For too long Japanese wrestlers have been imported by the American promotions and misused. Exploited. Treated like sideshows, dressed up like samurai...ninja...sumo wrestlers. The most lazy, cliché gimmicks you can think of. As if they were circus clowns performing for children. Well no more. Those days are over.

A sneer forms, nostrils flaring.

Kaz: Time and time again, I remember seeing American promoters pull in a hot prospect from Japan, junior heavyweight champions, legends of the sport, and what do they with them? Embarrass them. Stick them in opening matches, if they're lucky. Or else feed them to their giants, squash them in front of a worldwide audience, making the best and brightest of Japanese wrestling look like fools.

He shakes his head.

Kaz: Well tonight we turned the tables. Tonight, it was the giant that got squashed, under the mighty heel of puroresu.

Mach Hawke is nodding his head, his mouth lifting into a sneering grin as he steps forward.

Hawke: How did that feel, Hessian? Now you know how I felt, all those years ago, when you and Azrael Cain would stalk me through the hall like a pair of grim reapers, jumping me at any chance. In the locker room. In the parking lot.

He holds out his hands, palm up, pleading, fists clenching in the open air.

Hawke: Me, a fresh-eyed kid out of the Primetime Wrestling Academy, and this my first exposure to the business. Waking up in ambulances and emergency rooms week after week. Did you think I'd forget that? Did you think I'd forgive that?!

His eyes are open wide, frantic. Then, slowly, he collects himself, shaking his head, his smirk returning. He holds up his FRPW tag belt, showing it to the camera.

Hawke: Well I'm not a kid anymore, Hessian. I'm a champion. I became a star in Japan. They gave me the chance to make a name for myself at the top of the card, after years of being held back by guys like you, Kid Wonder, the White Mexican. Japan has been a better home to me than America ever was. It's an honor for me to represent Japan under the Five Rings banner, and it'll be my pleasure to show the world that Japanese puroresu is the strongest.

Araki nods his head, as if testifying to the gospel.

Kaz: And we're just getting started. Tag wrestlers or singles; good guys or bad guys; rookies or veterans, it doesn't matter. We're putting you all on notice. Tyler Rayne, Tsonda, the Redeemed, Tchu, Hoyt Williams, any one of those fucking Bastards. You're all trash as far as we're concerned, addicts and has-beens, and we'll cut through you as quickly as you're put in front of us.

He makes a cutting motion with his hand.

Kaz: And when Change in Spades see the ranks of PRIME dropping in our wake, they will know fear. For they will know their days as champions are numbered. And each night, when they go to sleep, they'll cradle their belts close, knowing that they're one day closer to the night we pry them from their . And they'll never see those belts again.

He laughs out loud.

Kaz: Because like Hawke said, he's a champion. We're all champions. Chainz is a champion. Elise is a champion. Cyrus is surely a future champion. And once we beat the Spades, and once we slap around that pretty-boy fairy Jason Snow and take his belt too, we'll have all the gold in PRIME. And it'll be....what's that saying you've got? Oh yeah.

Big smile.

Kaz: Easy...peasy....Japaneasy.

We should apologize for such a blatant and unforgivable omission. It’s been a few months now, and in all that time, not once did we remember to mention one of our most trusted and reliable friends. We have been remiss. This has been a grievous error that, while late, we intend to correct at this moment.

The Pepsi vending machine.

Once a location of much repute, this hallowed dispenser of liquid goodness has been forgotten in the rush to reestablish dominance in a world of chaos. Now, with catering closed under the edict of Furher Shakur, this abandoned repository has become a new bastion of hope. So it comes with great hopes of forgiveness that Tyler Rayne slowly plunks a handful of quarters into the awaiting coin slot. His finger lowers to the predictable plastic button and presses in. The machine churns and groans at his touch. There is a pause. A moment of question when the dispenser becomes silent and even the rise and fall of his chest ceases in anticipation. Another whirl of gears brings reassurance. He breaths again. The familiar thumping of the descending bottle brings a smile to his face. For once this evening, something actually goes according to plan. The Underground Pimp bends at the waist, reaching into the opening at the bottom of the machine. His fingers slide across the cool plastic, wet from condensation. He wraps the bottle within the loving embrace of his hand. The long forgotten mistress touches his lips. Sweet. Seductive. He remembers the taste of this temptress and wonders how he could have ignored her for so long.

Code Red Mountain Dew, how we have missed thee.

The Hero of the Day turns from this wonderful harbinger of beverage bliss, prized and forbidden fruit clutched tight in hand, to return to duties otherwise deemed important. He marches down the hall with a carefree demeanor, something that has been lost amongst the trials of the evening. Things were looking up, though. He had some promising news on the locker room front. He had a Code Red Mountain Dew to moisten the tongue and tantalize the taste buds. Last he checked, Bryan Dawkins even had a job again. All was beginning to feel right again… until he had that distinct and impossible to ignore feeling that something was quite wrong. A Spider-Sense, if you will (because you know damn well he will). A burning sensation at the back of his neck. That strange sensation that crawls across the skin when someone is staring. He pauses. There is a small but palpable tension now hovering in the air. He can mark the breaths of the man behind him. A thin smile creeps across his lips. Of course. It wouldn’t be likely that he could walk a single one of these corridors without being accosted, stopped, or otherwise interrupted by some vagrant or another. In fact, this has been a rather common (and annoying) occurrence all evening. Some might look at this as a lack of creativity on our part. We’d like to think of it as a theme.

He has halted in mid-hall. Both of the men now know the other is aware of his presence. Still, The Golden Boy is content to let his antagonist wait just a few more moments. He unscrews the cap of his Code Red and enjoys another delicious burst of crimson heaven. With that pleasure still coursing through his throat, he turns to face the cold pair of eyes… and is greeted with an unsurprising shock of red hair. The rough and rugged grimace of one Cyrus Sutherland.

Tyler Rayne: Ginger.

The greeting spreads a sick smile across the red-haired rebel’s face. Not a friendly smile. Not even an amused smile. It is a conspiratorial expression. One of those I Know Something You Don’t Know looks. It is all that Sutherland offers. He does not move. His posture is not threatening. He does not attempt to close the distance (a mere couple feet) between them. He just stands and smiles.

Tyler Rayne: Somethin’ on your mind, creepster?

Cyrus Sutherland: Actually, I wanted to thank you for what you did last week.

Tyler Rayne: Which last week? The last week where I kicked your ass three different ways from Sunday? Or the last week where I inadvertently introduced you to your new bee eff?

The smile fades from Sutherland’s face. His brow furrows. Eyes narrow. An all around look of confusion.

Cyrus Sutherland: Which of those is the one about Chainz?

Tyler Rayne: The last one.

Cyrus Sutherland: That one.

Predictable as the sunrise, a looming shadow appears from around the corner. The massive frame of Michael Sloan takes position behind Sutherland, arms crossed over his wide, bare chest. The Intense Champion leers down The Underground Pimp. Though Rayne himself does not remove his eyes from Sutherland. Of course he notices Chainz there, a monolith behind Sutherland. It would be impossible not to notice. That does not mean he has to acknowledge. Another figure appears on the scene, this one sliding out from behind the shadow of the colossus. Smaller than the others. Lithe. Her movements imply an inherent grace lost upon her two companions. The 5-Star Championship wrapped around her waist implies a talent and skill lost upon most of the PRIME roster. It is this particular accessory that catches his eye. Pulls The PRIME Minister away from Sutherland and to The Swaggerific One. He admires the title. The belt he held for oh so long. Not so unlike the Code Red in his hand, a lost and forgotten friend. His gaze moves upward, admiring the athletic but appealing shape of her body. Attractive, for sure. Continuing up, he looks upon the face of The Havana Harlot for the first time… and his own face contorts into something unpleasant. She has been watching him ogle her. This is not new. Most men do such things. She has watched and waited with the same combination of appreciation and annoyance she shares for all others. This last twist, though… it is unexpected. She reacts with unexpected shock at his revulsion.

Tyler Rayne: Lise, darling, you’ve got a little something…

He raises a hand to point at the corner of his lip, indicating the exact spot. He even puts two fingers to his cheek and wipes an invisible something from his own face.

Tyler Rayne: … it’s like white, or…

Horrified, Elise Aries begins to mimic his motions. She raises a finger to her exotic features… and pauses just before contacting skin. The words click into place. Her fingers curl into a fist that falls, shaking, at her side. Eyes narrow and jaw hardens. Tyler responds with his infamous smile. Even Chainz gives a little chuckle from beside her.

Cyrus Sutherland: You may think you’re running this show now, punk, but take a good look here. This is the true power in PRIME. We’re going to start making the rules pretty soon, and when we do you bett—

Tyler Rayne: Hate to interrupt your well rehearsed speech and all, but I’ve heard this one before. So if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna go do something more important.

He nods at both Cyrus and Elise in turn. Not once does his gaze turn up to meet Chainz. The longest reigning 5-Star Champion in PRIME history turns to take his leave… only to find the Osaka Street Cutters standing forming a two-man barricade behind him. Mach Hawke and Mamoru Azuma. Neither of them even blink under the withering stare of The Second Coming. Fair enough. With a heavy sigh, Tyler turns once again to face Sutherland. This time, though, with tremendous speed. It is much more of a whirl. The Underground Pimp lunges forward a single step. Sutherland stutters a half-step back, fists immediately rising into a defensive position. His shoulder drops into the abdomen of an unmoved Intense Champion. In fact, Sutherland seems to be the only one who’s moved much at all. Even Tyler has ended his feint and now stands, quite amused, between the five of them.

Tyler Rayne: That’s two for flinching.

Cyrus Sutherland: You bastard, I’m gonna—

Tyler Rayne: Shut the fuck up for five and listen. That is what you’re going to do. This is cute. The Fearsome Five coming ‘round to make a point. Consider it made. Back here… you have me outnumbered. Out there…

He points in the general direction of the ring.

Tyler Rayne: …where it counts…

His finger curls into a fist. The fist rises into the air.

Tyler Rayne: …I will always have the bigger army.

He pumps his fist into the air three times. Each time, eighteen thousand strong emit a single war cry. The chant is enough to rumble the halls. Shake the foundations of the Shanghai Arena.

HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!

Tyler Rayne: Air Bear, do me a favor and try not to get cum all over my title, will ya? I’m sure you know how much of a pain that shit is to wash out.

The Most Swaggerific 5-Star Champion in Ever (yes, ever) takes a pointed step forward. The heavy hand of Chainz takes hold of her shoulder, preventing her from taking another. Oh wouldn’t she like to, though. Sutherland snarls at the smile Tyler once again offers to them both. He is not smiling when he turns once more to face The Osaka Street Cutters.

Tyler Rayne: I’m not going to ask.

Mach looks from The Golden Boy to the Intense Champion. Mamoru refuses to tear his eyes from Rayne. Chainz commands them with a single nod. Mach Hawke takes two steps back, allowing just enough room for The Underground Pimp to pass between him and his tag team partner. He never looks back. The five of them watch him leave, varying levels of aggression and agitation passing between.

Chainz: Soon.

Cyrus Sutherland adopts his sick smile once again and pounds a fist into his palm.

Before Tyler Rayne can get out of hearing distance Michael Sloan makes his presence known.

Chainz: Golden Boy, say hello to Juli for me, will ya?

Tyler Rayne stops, fists shaking in fury, but even he knows the odds against him. Revenge will come, soon enough.

Elise Ares: I can't believe I let you talk me into this...

The crowd boos as The Wolves Of Slaughter show up on the PRIME*view. Kazys Jankauskas reacts to Elise's sentence by stopping in his tracks. He looks at her in a very familiar way, like she's completely and utterly insane. Wearing her PRIME 5-Star Championship across her chest like a Miss American pageant sash, she responds by giving Kazys the same look.

Kazys Jankauskas: My idea?

Elise: Yeah, your idea. Why on Earth would I want to go find those two potty mouths and that whore they pull along with them? Change In Spades are quite possibly the last people I want to see right now, unless of course they're finally admitting their inferiority and handing our Tag Team Championships back to us. For some reason I don't see that happening though.

Kazys just glares back at The Swaggeriffic One.

Elise: What? Do I have something in my teeth? Oh my God, is my shirt on backwar...

Kazys: No, you look fine.

Elise: Then what the hell is your problem?

The Iron Wolf just shakes his head in frustration before turning around.

Kazys: Nothing, lets just get this over wit...

Before he could even finish his sentence he goes around a corner and bumps into another man, making both of them go stumbling backwards. The dumb-founded look on Kazys' face quickly turned into a scowl as he looked up into the eyes of Vance Raymes. Raymes returns the expression, leading to a staredown before both Elise Ares and Nitz Donnelly get to the mixup at the same time.

Elise: Watch where you're walking, mouth-breather. You're in the presence of greatness.

The Tortured Artist crosses his arms, towering over the Iron Wolf as Nitz laughs at the current 5-Star Champion.

Nitz: Mouth breather huh? Greatness? The only thing great about you is your skill improvement at breathing through that ugly nose with all that cock you've had in your throat.

The bell had only just rang and already The Ego is hitting below the belt.

Elise: Ugly nose? This is the part where most people would probably make some kind of comment about you loving the cock more than I do, but I both love and respect the gay community far too much to associate you with them. Also if I were you, I'd be much more concerned about other things than I would be about making fun of me, my beautiful body, and my amazing championship belt that totally brings out my eyes.

Nitz: Oh drop the act Ms. Spears. Lookin' at the never changing look of anger on your pet's face, I'm assuming that his cock can't even reach the back of your throat. He's gotta take that anger out on someone and I assume that we both have to agree on one thing.

He pauses, shrugging his shoulders causing the Gold title laying over it to gleam in the light.

Nitz: There's a much bigger problem that all of our anger should be focused on first and foremost.

Elise: I just said that.

Nitz stares back at her having no clue what she was talking about.

Elise: I did, I just said that.

Nitz: I don't really understand when you talk, it's all kind of... bitchy.

Vance: Yeah, I don't really follow either. I just watch her mouth move.

They both look at Kazys, almost like they expect him to jump in. He looks like he just might... that is before Elise looks over at him.

Elise: They just told you that you had a little penis... I think.

Kazys: I really don't care, can we just get to the point.

Elise: Yeah, sure. Jason Snow. Brandon Youngblood. They want my titles.

All three of them stare at Elise irritated.

Elise: Sorry, me and Kazys' titles.

The Tortured Artist shakes his head and makes the gun to his temple hand motion.

Nitz: Yeah I hear ya... I'll be blunt, you have the 5-Star Title. Snow has the Universal Title so I doubt he wants it and Youngblood has the Elite and a Uni title shot, so I doubt he wants it for the umpteenth time. And if I recall, Van Ray here pinned his ass to the mat to ensure that no other titles were wrapped around your filthy waists. But yes, they want OUR titles. And I know damn well Snow made his intentions clear to you earlier too. But I bet you didn't get a cake!

Vance: Enough about the cake Nick.

Obviously on a sugar high, The Ego shakes his head and looks at his partner in shock. How much of that cake did he eat?

Nitz: No no, we got a fuckin' cake! All she got was a hearty helping of the Uni Champs big mouth.

Vance: Wait, isn't that normally what most guys say in regards to her?

Elise: I'm sorry, you said cake and I stopped paying attention. I'm still pissed at Troy Douglas about last week, I was supposed to get a gigantic cake but that asshole had to come and ruin everything. But I'm just going to assume you insulted me again. Right?

Kazys: He did.

Elise: Yeah, okay. Well, here's the deal... I already tried to talk some sense into them. You know remind Snow I did a favor for him, yadda yadda he didn't really care. So I guess that means that now I have to resort to Plan B. Which is come here and act like I'm sorry for having Patricia maimed and hope we can co-exist long enough to get those two away from the tag team titles.

Kazys: Her name was Leticia.

Elise: Right, right. Leticia. I'm sooooorrrry.

Nitz tosses his arms up in the air, almost tossing the Tag Team Title off his shoulder and across the room.

Nitz: For the love of Christ you just can't talk to this bitch!

Vance: Calm down...

Nitz: NO! Fuck that shit Van! We try and talk at least somewhat sensible and she spews on about herself again. Listen you fuckin' self centered sorry result of a broken condom, Leticia and I have had many talks about cutting off your nipples and numerous other parts of your anatomy and serving them on a silver platter in revenge for what you and Chainz did to her! But I swallow my pride and hope for once that maybe you'll make just a little bit of sense when you open your mouth and you vomit more bullshit! I'M SO SICK OF IT! Go fuck yourselves... seriously.

Nitz storms off in the opposite direction. Vance watches as he leaves and steps in front of both The Iron Wolf and The Swaggerific One, absolutely fearless to be left with two enemies.

Vance: He's right you know. Leticia really did talk about chopping off your nipples which should show you just how hard it was to come looking for you and try to at least read the same dirt sheet nevermind being on the same page. Both you and Nicholas need to realize how serious these idiots are. You sit here and talk about yourself, not sounding at all serious about these assholes. We all know that what we need to focus on is SOB. So how about you start to sound serious for a change instead of admiring your mirror! We all may hate each other with a passion, but we can't let them win. Once they go away, then we can kill each other. So Kazys, grow a sack and talk some sense into your partner, break her mirror or something cause I assure you if you don't, Snow and Youngblood along with Boda are gonna ensure that we don't have any titles left to fight over. Understand that... you spoiled little brat?

Kazys looks ready to advance but Vance just cracks his neck and uncrosses his arms. Quickly Elise steps in front of him and shoots him a look.

Elise: We need him alive, Kaz.

Snarling Kazys turns his back and begins walking away, angrily. If he could've just had one minute he could've beaten that guy to a pulp like he should've in the tag team match. At least, that's what was going through his mind. But it at least seems like Elise has some sort of a plan. He hoped so anyway. If not, Plan B of beating their skulls in would always work.

Elise: I think that went... well.

Through all the anger, it was hard for Kaz to hold back the chuckle after that comment... even if Elise didn't mean it in jest.

Elise: It's in our best interest not to kill them... yet. We'll let them do all the heavy lifting with SOB. Whichever one of them makes it out alive and exhausted.

A smirk crosses the face of The Havana Harlot.

Elise: That's when we maim them just like we did that bitch of theirs.

Kazys: I've been waiting all night for you to say that.

Devin Shakur has enjoyed a dominating night in front of the cameras. After the embarrassment of ReVolution 216, he's back in the saddle where he belongs and has wielded his authority throughout the night. Although there is one individual who has managed to escape his wrath for the entire evening and he needs to extract justice in the worst way possible.

If he were one of the boys he would choose this exact moment to leave the building, not bothering to stick around for the Main Event unless absolutely necessary.

Tony Gamble, however small and childish, is an absolute necessity.

The Boss in Black knows Gamble still has to compete this evening and figures there is no better way to make him suffer than by ruining his match.

With a cup of Pepsi Throwback in his hand and Christian Daniels on his right, The Black Plague stomps around the corner while biting on his straw.

Christian Daniels: We oughta hog tie'tha little runt'n stick him on'a fuckin pinata, get'a few bats'n see what comes out.

Devin Shakur: Have to find him first.

The hardest part about dealing with someone like The Grin is finding him.

Both men lumber around another corner and come face to face with someone of equally diminuitive status, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Matt Mills: ...Oh, what do you two want?

Devin Shakur: Way to address your boss, Matt.

Matt Mills: You've already swindled me once tonight and Christian took my lunch money.

Devin Shakur: He does that with everybody.

Matt Mills: He stuffed me in a locker!

The Biker puts fist into hand and moves forward. Mills promptly moves six steps back.

Christian Daniels: I'ma hang'ya by'tha coatrack ya little twerp if ya ain't able'ta answer our question. Where's Gamble?

Matt Mills: In your office I believe. He said a little while ago he was heading in that direction.

Devin Shakur: In my office? He's got enough guts to stand in my office after what he did last week?

Christian Daniels: I'ma beat'tha yellow'n'green out that fucker.

Turning on anxious heels, Christian and Devin sprint down the hall and back toward their office. They haven't been inside for a good fifteen minutes so Mills claim could hold merit. Gamble has an affinity for being able to fit in the tight spaces with even tighter windows and not be spotted.

Nick (OSV): Folks, if Tony Gamble is actually in that office then we are going to have one hell of a confrontation.

Blaine (OSV): Which could shut down the Main Event...And I could get out of this degrading position. No offense, Nick.

Even though he's carrying eighty six more pounds and ten inches in height, Christian beats Devin to the front door of the office and places his right hand on the doorknob, left fist cocked and ready to swing if Gamble is directly on the other side.

A sensation runs through his body, one not easily identifiable to someone who often delivers pain rather than receives it. Christian looks around, a tad dumbfounded and then glances down at the doorknob, which is scorching hot and has a decorative imprint of G. The Biker recoils his hand and wrings it out, gritting his teeth while walking down the hall.

Christian Daniels: SON OF A BITCH!

Devin Shakur: The hell happened?

The Biker slams shoulder first into a nearby office and pours an ice cold cup of water over his hand. Relief is instant.

Christian Daniels: He booby trapped'tha goddamn door!

The Black Plague glances over at his brother who motions with his good hand for Shakur to go ahead and find Gamble. Shakur takes a step back, eyes scanning the area for any other potential Gamble trademark traps. The door looks to be on the hinges correctly so Shakur karate steps forward and puts his right foot ahead, bringing the door down. Rushing in, Shakur glances around and notices he's immediately covered in darkness.

Nick (OSV): Uh oh. Gamble is playing with fire here.

It doesn't make him feel any better when the hall lights go out as well.

Devin Shakur: Wonderful.

Christian Daniels: GAMBLE! THIS AIN'T NO FUCKIN' GAME, BOY!

Devin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cellular phone, using it as a light source to find the circuit breaker and bring electricity back to the room.

A small metal string brushes against Shakur's face, causing him to reach up and give a hard firm yank. Miraculously, the lights in the room and hallway appear. The Biker bolts into the room still sporting the injury on his left hand.

Christian Daniels: Fuck is he?

Devin Shakur: Better question is what the fuck is that sound?

Christian Daniels: How'na hell'da lights come back up?

Devin Shakur: I pulled thi...

Shakur looks into his hand and notices the string. It's an old timey lightswitch but a long amount of string has now descended into his hand. Both men look up and notice a false tile in the ceiling.

Devin Shakur: Shit.

Which breaks in half, revealing the object on the other end to be an iron. Both men take a clean shot to the face and stumble backwards onto the couch, which has been covered in small but sharp decorative Christmas ball shards.

Devin Shakur/Christian Daniels: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick (OSV): A Gamble twist on the classic Home Alone traps.

Blaine (OSV): Even I'm getting a good chuckle out of this.

With a roaring crowd eager for the antics to continue, Shakur and Daniels leap from their couch and pluck the shards from their attire while cursing and moving from the locker room. If Gamble has gone through this much trouble to violate their space, it is best not to stay inside another moment.

Devin Shakur: He is so fired.

Christian Daniels: Ain't gonna be able'ta fire no dead man.

Shakur and Daniels move down the hall and out into one of the open areas of the Shanghai Arena still under construction. Considering the vast space they are in, both look around for any signs of an incoming ambush from The Grin.

Although, at this point, standing on the second floor with some construction equipment, Gamble is more than happy to make himself known to both individuals with a dorky wave.

Tony Gamble: Come and get me, but I'm really scared.

It would be smart for both Christian and Devin to use the elevator knowing full well rigging such a heavy device would be almost next to impossible in a two hour span. Instead, they both eyeball two stories of stairs that lead straight to The Grin and rush ahead.

Gamble watches them both hit the first stair and slip, almost flipping in the air and coming down flat on their backs.

Tony Gamble: SSSSSSSSTRIKE ONE.

Anger gets the better of Shakur and he jumps back to his feet, leaping over the first stair onto the second stair.

Same result, only this time the fall is harder.

Tony Gamble: SSSSSSSSSSSTRIKE TWO.

Shakur rolls to his right side and gingerly gets to his feet. He mentally measures the distance needed to hit the third step. No way Gamble would have gone to the trouble of icing all three stairs?

The Shak Daddy is about to find out. With a long leap, his foot catches the third stair...

But his surgically repaired leg will not be thanking him tomorrow, the rest of his body caving in on the limb before slipping backwards and falling onto the hard concrete.

Tony Gamble: SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTRIKE THREE. YOU ARE OUTTA HERE.

The Grin does his best umpire impersonation.

The Biker has recovered enough from the initial fall to rub the back of his head and stagger forward to where The Permascar Superstar can get a better look at him. The former 5 Star Champion backpedals, picks up an object that reeks of orange and green and slings it down at the unsuspecting Biker.

He only gets some kind of advanced warning when the object itself announces his arrival in a sing song fashion.

"It's an oompa on a string-"

Christian can't even turn around in time before the full force of Oompa collides with his ribs and topples him to the ground. The Black Plague, furious that he has once again been embarrassed, scampers up to his feet and shouts at The Grin.

Devin Shakur: You think you are going to get away with this?

Tony Gamble: I already know I will.

Gamble backs up a few paces and picks up another Oompa on a String and tosses it down to Shakur. The Boss in Black sees Gamble's ally coming from the second he's tossed and sidesteps, waiting for him to come on the downswing before unloading with a vicious right hand that leaves The Oompa dangling.

Devin Shakur: Stupid motherfu-

"It's an oompa brigade-"

But Shakur didn't suspect that the Oompa he just laid out was a decoy. When he spins around the second time, four Oompas on four different strings knock him back a good ten feet. His head smacks against the concrete and body slides back before coming to a stop just a few feet from the prone Christian.

Tony Gamble: Yes!

And just like that, Shakur and Daniels have once again been thwarted.

Back to Nick and Blaine at ringside.

Blaine: That certainly gave me a lot of enjoyment.

Nick: Gamble can be one of the more serious individuals on the roster when he needs to be, but everybody loves a good laugh.

Blaine: Especially at the expense of the boss.

Nick: Be that as it may, you know Devin is not going to be happy about this.

Blaine: Unfortunately he'll probably take it out on me...Oh well, at least there's DVR.

Nick: Scoreboard is Tony Gamble 2 and Devin Shakur 1.

"Hey, are you OK?"

The soft skin of her fingertips caresses his forearm, causing the hairs to stand on end while the initial touch startles him. Spinning on his heels away from the dark corner he was staring into, Hessian finds Tracy Sloan looking up at him with concern in her eyes. Quickly he hides something behind his back; the object of his attention in the far regions of the arena so long after his match.

...And of course he takes a spare moment to flit his gaze down to her large round breasts pressing against the fabric of her shirt.

Hessian: What do you want?

Tracy: I wanted to see if you're alright? You don't seem to be enjoying yourself as much these days.

Hess clucks and looks her up and down again.

Hessian: No shit? I wonder why that could be.

Tracy: You can't let Michael get you down like this. I understand it's business for the two of you as usual but this looks like it's really impacting on your personal well-...

Hessian: Stop. Just stop right there, OK? This isn't business. This is fucking Pearl Harbour take-two. Sloan basically jumped me from behind. Out of the blue. Tore me a new one and left me to rot. You wanna know something? I never wanted this. I befriended Michael because I saw something in him. He's like me, and in this business that's rare. You don't get many successful psychos out there, at least none anyone remembers like they do me and him. I thought we would end up tagging together, hell we talked about it and-...

The giant pauses for a moment, studying Tracy's eyes. He rises to his feet and cocks an eyebrow.

Hessian: Did you know anything about this before it happened?

Tracy: Honey I'm lucky if I know where Michael is on any given night. Trust me when I say I am firmly out the loop on this one.

She gives a re-assuring smile and the giant relaxes himself back into the corner, fidgeting with the object behind his back.

Hessian: Good. Better for you that way.

You haven't won in months...how could you make it worse? Tracy thinks to herself.

Hessian: Look. I never wanted to make an enemy out of Chainz. Now he's done it to me. This is a fight I'm not ready for Tracy, that's why I ain't been on form lately. Shit, tonight was the straw that broke the camel's back. I can't even beat some punk never mind Brandon Youngblood never mind Chainz! How am I supposed to beat him? Huh? He's fucking crazy. I mean, I come here...I wrestle...I use my power to get what I want. He's out there working his brain to get places, and I'm not like that damn it. He's playing a whole different ball game from me...and I...I'm not sure if I know how to fight back.

Tracy: Well the situation is a little bias for me to comment...but maybe you should try changing?

Hessian: Into what?

Tracy: I don't know. That's what Michael did when things weren't going his way. He just sat back and made changes to the way he did things and look at him now. He's the new Tyler Nelson, almost.

Hessian: Yeah, almost.

Tracy: I couldn't ever help you, and God only knows what Michael would do if he caught me talking to you...but even I can't sit by and watch you flush your career down the pan over one silly feud.

Hessian: THIS IS MORE THAN A FEUD!

The thunderous roar fills the entire corridor, reverberating down a few more along the way. Tracy is rigid with fear as Hessian stands over her, veins bulging and muscles taut. A look of death fills his eyes. Tracy doesn't wait a second longer. She turns tail and bombs it straight back to Chainz.

Hessian: Tracy wait! I'm sorry!

The Murder Show catches himself apologizing and adopts a quizzical look before he reaches out after Tracy.

Hessian: I'm sorry...

The former Elite Champion backs down into the corner he was occupying before and produces the object from behind him that he was hiding from Tracy. A mask. This one is different from the one of his travels through Shanghai. It's silver, made of steel. Two tusks once again protrude from the mouth, while the wild design around the eye holes suggests mania in its deepest, darkest forms. Slowly he caresses his thumb over the carvings and manages a half smile.

Hessian: Change myself.........hm.........

It is no secret that Tyler Rayne can be quite stubborn at times. More often than not, admittedly. Even he, though, can learn a lesson or two after enough repetition. Tonight’s lesson? Do not wander the halls. Ever. There are people hiding in the shadows, ducked behind the corners and equipment crates, just waiting for the opportune moment to jump out and surprise him. All of them want to talk. Sometimes with their fists. On most evenings, this would not be a problem. Tonight, however, The Underground Pimp has attempted to avoid such confrontations (albeit poorly). There are larger issues that need resolved, and a trip to the hospital or county jail is not going to help him do so. True to his moniker then, Rayne has gone underground. Hiding in the one place no one would ever think to look for him.

"So what’s this I hear about an ambassador’s daughter, Mr. Rayne?"

Her voice carries less of that authoritative edge than usual. There is a child-like curiosity in the question. Much of the same juvenile joy that has peppered Juli’s interrogations on the subject throughout the evening. He stares at her from across the desk. Desk, here, being used in the loosest of terminologies. It is one of the PRIME storage crates rolled up next to a couple of steel folding chairs. The Golden Boy himself is relaxing in one of those chairs, feet propped up on the corner of the black equipment box. On the other side of the "desk" is a former foe, now turned… well, there is a bit less hatred between them than before. Her red hair falls straight like a crimson curtain on either side of her face. The severe look that most often hardens those features has softened a bit. There is an amusement there that curls the corners of her lips ever so. The faintest of smirks, but the closest thing to a smile we are likely to see from Lisa Tyler.

Yes, folks, it has come to that. Tyler Rayne asking for safe refuge in the office of Lisa Tyler. The Vice President of Talent Relations even acquiescing, no less. These are strange times, indeed.

Tyler Rayne: Not you, too.

Lisa Tyler: You bounce around these halls and tout yourself as untouchable. Here we have a story that proves otherwise. Of course I’m interested.

Juli Lee: Plus, I totally wanna hear the part where you get caught.

His personal assistant had been pining for this tale all evening. Thus far, he had managed to avoid the subject. Here, under the scrutiny of two curious females, though… his resolve wavered. He sighs.

Tyler Rayne: Like I said, I didn’t know she was his daughter at the time.

Juli squeals in delight. Even Lisa leans forward in her chair to listen.

Tyler Rayne: She was hot. She was young. She wanted to sleep with me. I take her back to the hotel room. I noticed someone watching us at the bar. Followed us back. He’s in the hotel across the street, watching through the window. I figured the dude was a perv or some shit. Taking pictures to jerk off to later.

Juli Lee: Wait. You knew he was watching? And taking pictures!

Lisa Tyler: You truly are depraved, aren’t you?

Tyler Rayne: I thought he was a fuckin’ perv, OK? I didn’t know shit until two days later when the police come pounding down the hotel door and drag me away. Turns out the fucker was taking pictures to blackmail the ambassador. Try to, anyway. Heard he was caught pretty quick. The pictures, though… well it was bad enough the ambassador’s daughter had been photographed in such, uh, compromising positions, but to have the man in the photos posing…

Juli Lee: You were posing?

Tyler Rayne: I might have pointed at the camera a few times. Winked. Flexed a bit. At the time it was hilarious.

Lisa Tyler: I’m sure the ambassador agreed.

Tyler Rayne: This is the first time I’ve been allowed in the country in, like, four years.

Lisa Tyler: It’s not just me, is it? You exist to infuriate all forms of authority.

Tyler Rayne: That’s… I… we… there’s really no argument to that, is there?

The cell phone on the top of the desk begins to vibrate. It shuffles a few centimeters over the black crate before Lisa snatches it to take a look.

Lisa Tyler: Matt Mills just updated his Twitter.

Tyler Rayne: You subscribed to Mills’ Twitter.

Lisa Tyler: I like to keep an eye on what my employees are doing.

Tyler Rayne: That’s creepy.

Lisa Tyler: I like to think of it as efficient.

Tyler Rayne: Awesome. So you’re creepy and a robot.

She ignores the sophomoric jab and reads the Tweet aloud.

Lisa Tyler: Three words. Dawkins. Fired. Again.

Tyler Rayne: Jules?

Juli Lee: Done.

At this point it was automatic. She had gone through the rehiring process at least fifty times this evening. She was quite efficient at it now. Lisa would have offered to take the process of her hands. Unfortunately, Devin Shakur had seen fit to provide her with an Etch-A-Sketch instead of a proper computer for the office. Though he had been kind enough to sketch the letters "PC" into the middle of the toy.

Tyler Rayne: Are we satisfied now? Everyone gets a good laugh out of the Chinese government hating me. We can move on to the real business?

Lisa Tyler: Yes. Fine. I should have this noted as the first time you’ve ever been in a rush to do something serious.

Tyler Rayne: You’re a riot, Lise. Really.

Lisa Tyler: No, Tyler, you are. Literally. That’s part of your problem.

The Hero of the Day just shakes his head in frustration. While the two had managed to find some semblance of co-existence… it was a fragile alliance at best. These constant barbs were becoming tiresome. For both parties. He forgoes the potential argument in lieu of the aforementioned business. Tyler stands to move his chair a few feet back so that the camera can focus on Lisa in the center of the desk. She leans forward, elbows resting on the crate, fingers steepled, and prepares to address the crowd.

Lisa Tyler: Ladies and gentlemen, it is a well documented fact that Tyler Rayne has been more than a pain in the ass for the PRIME administration since his arrival a couple years ago. As a member of that administration and an overseer of this program for some time, I can personally attest to the staggering number of lawsuits and complaints filed against this organization in direct protest of his actions. There is no single performer in this business to compile a more comprehensive list of offenses and legislation than the so-called Underground Pimp. He and I have a checkered history, to say the least. My tenure as program manager for ReVolution was marred and pocked with the signature of Mr. Rayne. It is my personal opinion that he pisses, sometimes quite literally, on the legacy and reputation that PRIME and its many respected performers have worked so passionately to build. Few of us here at PRIME, particularly within the administration hierarchy, condone or approve of his actions. However, his survival of the 2008 Dual Halo and subsequent claim of the vaunted Golden Ticket was used, much to our dismay, for the purpose of obtaining an iron-clad, self-written lifetime contract with this company. Various clauses and addendums to that contract have been the focus of much dispute between Mr. Rayne and the Board of Directors. I myself have had more than my fair share of troubles with these demands. Per the rules of the Golden Ticket, however, these demands are as iron-clad as the contract itself. There is a part of this contract that describes, in great detail, the accommodations which are to be provided for Mr. Rayne and his compatriots at every edition of ReVolution and the subsequent pay-per-views. Devin Shakur has failed to meet with these accommodations, and thus, I am regretful to inform…

The smile spreading across her face is anything but regretful.

Lisa Tyler … is in breach of said contract. Therefore, Mr. Rayne is no longer obligated to fulfill any other PRIME contracts until these issues are addressed and corrected. Which, to be quite blunt, would include the scheduled matchup against Chandler Tsonda at Culture Shock.

The camera pans upward as the man himself steps into frame. The panty-dropping smile of pure confidence and charm is all kinds of present. Women swoon. Men swoon. Everyone gets a little wet.

Tyler Rayne: Hey, Devs…

A single finger. The middle one. Fuck you, buddy. Long and hard.

Nick: And now Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time for the Main Event of the evening.

Blaine: Finally.

Nick: Two longtime PRIME veterans in Troy Douglas and Tony Gamble will collide. One man on the road to the 5 Star Championship and the other as the former champion looking to get back on the winning track.

Blaine: And the man who made a complete idiot of our boss a moment ago, which despite everything he's done to me in the past, escalated him a few notches in my book.

Nick: In a bizarre turn of events, Troy Douglas was given a 5 Star Championship match by the boss, Devin Shakur.

Blaine: I agree, never would have seen that one coming.

Nick: And Tony Gamble...Well Blaine, one would have to assume that if Shakur and Daniels can get back to their feet, they will come out and disrupt this match.

Blaine: Knowing those two like I do...I wouldn't say that an if is in the equation.

Nick: For two straight weeks, Gamble has gotten the better of Shakur since costing him the 5 Star Championship and tonight he faces a tough task in a rejuvenated Troy Douglas.

Blaine: I've never had a problem with Douglas so I'm glad that the spotlight is finally shining his way.

Nick: But after what we've seen this evening with the formation of the Osaka Street Cutters/Wolves/Chainz/Cyrus Sutherland supergroup, can a man like Troy Douglas get a fair shake?

Blaine: I believe that he can. This group has already come out and presented itself as an island. They want nothing to do with anybody else in the federation: Change in Spades, Douglas, the Three Amigos, SOB, Hessian, and Devin Shakur himself. Everybody is at each other's throats and Douglas is one of the quietest men on the roster so its very possible he could sneak through the cracks and get a good shot at Ares.

Nick: That's some fairly good insight. What is your opinion of Gamble in this whole situation?

Blaine: His greatest enemy was once his greatest friend. With the SOB and Tyler Rayne looking to establish themselves as dominant at the expense of Shakur, Gamble could also fly in under the radar. Shakur is finding out that being the boss is not all that it's cracked up to be and everybody is coming for his head. It's not an enviable position and I'll be interested to see what Gamble, someone known for being underestimated and defying the odds, can do with the situation provided.

Nick: Wow, you should really do something like this more often.

Blaine: To be honest Nick, I'm only putting forth some effort because the end of the night is near and I want to get the hell out of here.

Nick: Fair enough. Let's go to the ring where Vince Howard is prepared to call the action.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit and is our Main Event of the evening!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Vince: Introducing first...

The guitar riffs that signal the start of Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" blast throughout the arena, and are quickly accompanied by a brass section that reaches a crescendo after ten seconds. Flashing on the PRIME*View are four words in succession.

END.

OF.

THE.

ROAD.

Then...

BOOM!

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!

Three rapid-fire cannon blasts, each one louder than the last, and the song immediately cuts to the start of the chorus as Cornell's voice kicks in.

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you
The odds will betray you, and I will replace you.

Vince Howard: He hails from Greensboro, North Carolina and weighs in at 260 pounds...

You can't deny the prize; it may never fulfill you
It longs to kill you, are you willing to die

Vince Howard: He is ... TRROOOOOYY DOOOUGGGLAAAASSSS!

The coldest blood runs through my veins
You know my name.

Red and white lights flash throughout the building as the song works through its second verse and Troy Douglas makes his way down to the ring, slapping hands with some of the crowd. Behind him on the PRIME*View, a montage of his greatest highlights play, interrupted every few seconds by END. OF. THE. ROAD.

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

An old school hip hop beat begins to play through the Public Announce System of the arena. While the music is new, the man that steps out from behind the curtain is someone very familiar. Wearing a grin the size of Texas, and an ego twice the size of Canada, Tony Gamble stands at the top of the ramp and stares out into the sea of fans chanting his name.

*ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!*

## Life's got me mad
But if I had a midget I'd be glad
To watch him jump around on my nintendo powerpad
He'd have a big head short legs and long torso
The name that I give my pet midget is little Gordo
I'd teach him tricks like backflips and side kicks
When company came over he'd perform and get tips
While I'm eatin at night, in the kitchen he'd be able
To get the food scraps that I threw under the table
If my midget was ever bad and acted enraged
Then I'd take him to the bathroom and put him in his cage ##


Confident that he has soaked up enough of the crowd's cheers, The Grin marches proudly down the small portion of ramp. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.


## But If he kept acting up and really made me sick
I'd hang him upside down and poke him with a stick
Little Gordo would be good most of the time though
He'd like to wear a helmet and run around yelling Kaiyo
I'd take him for walks in the park on the weekends
And if he saw other midgets he'd say Can we be friends ##


Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. The Wal*tron now shows footage from Revolution 106, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his 'Stop Laughing At Me' signature move.


## He'd only need a 3 foot coffin when he was dead
And he'd be in the guiness book for the world's biggest head
What a funny little fellow, but don't call him a shrimp
Or he'll attack your leg cause Gordos a tough gimp
He'd have a pogo ball that he'd bounce on for hours
And dirty little fathead Gordo would'nt take showers
When Halloween came, he wouldn't be a chump
Gettin all the candy goin round as a tree stump ##


Tony stands in the center of the ring, arms spread out toward the corners of the ring as he circles slowly. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.


## Midget is a midget
Midget Mi-Mi-Mi-Mi-Midget
Midget is a midget
Hey you guys- Word
Midget is a midget
Midget Mi-Mi-Mi-Mi-Midget
Midget (wo-wo-wo-wo-word) is a midget
Like a midget in a urinal, I was gonna have to stay on my toes ##


Gamble drops his arms and starts bouncing from one foot to another like a boxer as he backpedals toward his corner.

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: Here we go, folks. Troy Douglas and Tony Gamble ready to hook it up in Shanghai, China at ReVolution 217.

Tony Gamble slides out of the corner and paws his arms forward, looking to engage Megatron in a collar and elbow lock up. Although, it's known to both competitors that Gamble is not really looking to get into a clinch situation with someone who outweighs him like Douglas does. He's trying to lure Douglas closer and utilize his speed and quickness. The #1 Contender for the 5 Star strap isn't biting one bit, keeping himself in the middle of the ring and beckoning Gamble forward. The Grin summons Douglas toward him with a hand motion, lowering his guard for a brief second. Douglas still keeps himself in the middle of the ring.

Nick: Both men are respectful of the other's game. Neither wants to get into the other's comfort zone this early in the contest.

The Gamble doesn't like being rejected, especially lately, and stomps up to Douglas in a feisty way and slaps the taste out of his mouth.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Blaine: Is it really in the best interest of Gamble to slap Douglas around?

Megatron lunges forward, going for the voicebox of The Grin. Gamble seizes the momentary lapse in focus and dropkicks Douglas in the right knee, bringing him to a kneeling position. Moving quickly to keep momentum, Gamble slithers behind Douglas and locks on a side head lock. He locks the wrists and tries to cut off the blood supply to the brain. Megatron keeps his composure and backs Gamble into the ropes, using the slight push off to send the Jewel in the Crown winner across the ring. When their bodies collide, Douglas is the only one standing while Gamble is left to stare at him on the canvas.

Nick: And the power game is definitely one area where Gamble does not want to look for an offensive attack.

Blaine: Not this early anyway.

But nobody puts Baby Gamble in a corner. He stands up and demands Douglas hit the ropes. Douglas points over to the ropes, a bit stunned Gamble is demanding this of him. After the second, and more emphatic, point, Douglas obliges and bounces off the cables. Gamble drops down, Douglas leaps over, Gamble jumps back up, leap frog, Douglas goes underneath, Gamble spins around and goes for the flawless drop kick but Douglas swats the legs away. Gamble frowns and receives an elbow in his back. Douglas flips him over and goes for a quick cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Gamble kicks out and scurries away from Megatron before he can lock him up in any power or martial arts maneuver. Douglas feels that he has an edge and doesn't allow for Gamble to regain his composure, rushing into the corner and capitalizing with a clothesline. He wraps the head of Gamble in his left arm and charges forward, leaping into the air and connecting on a bulldog. Another flip and another cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

The Grin pushes his right shoulder out and rolls underneath the bottom rope, desperately seeking salvation in the form of a "ten count" from the referee. Bernie Roberts hovers over the ropes and starts the count while Gamble leans against the barricade and takes a few kernels of popcorn from an unsuspecting fan, pondering his next option. Douglas paces back and forth in the ring. Roberts gets up to three before Gamble nods his head and moves toward the squared circle. He motions for Bernie to keep Douglas back while he gets on the apron, because Gamble is gangster and needs some space. Douglas folds his arms across his chest and tells Gamble to get on with it.

Nick: Gamble is trying to play all these games to keep Douglas on his toes.

Blaine: Not necessarily a bad strategy, although Douglas has been around the block before many times in the land of PRIME. He won't feel pressured in many scenarios.

When The Grin hits the apron, Douglas sidesteps the referee and grabs the ropes, springing Gamble over and bringing him in the hard way. Gamble clutches at his back and motions to Bernie like he just stabbed him in the back. Douglas puts a boot into Gamble's back, which is pretty much the equivalent of a knife. Megatron shoves Gamble into the corner and places him on the second rope, popping him in the jaw with a stiff right hand. Gamble teeters, feet tangling themselves under the ropes to avoid toppling to the floor. Douglas climbs up to the second rope and locks Gamble in a vertical suplex, prepared to hoist The Grin high into the air and drop him on the canvas.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Well, that was his plan at least. Until the hand from the arm Douglas wrapped around his head poked him in the eye.

Nick: Therein lies one of the greatest qualities Tony Gamble as a wrestler, his ability to cheat.

Blaine: It's one category where he is almost second to none, a true mastermind when it comes to creative ways to be a condescending villain.

Megatron falls backwards onto the canvas, giving Gamble enough time to shake the cobwebs loose and stand on the top rope. He windmills his arms around and shouts "WARRIOR" before diving head first into the ring and connecting with a headbutt onto the shoulder. Cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Douglas shifts his weight to the left and manages to kick out before the count. The resistance doesn't stop Gamble from mounting his opposition and pounding him with rights and lefts. The referee has to literally jump into the scene and threaten Gamble with disqualification before he'll relinquish such a prime position.

Nick: Expect the pace to quicken here, folks. Tony Gamble doesn't want to be drawn into a power game with Troy Douglas and that means he wants to hit a lot of high impact maneuvers that'll keep the momentum flowing.

Gamble gets up to a standing position and puts the boots to Douglas, eyeballing the west side ropes all the while. When he feels Douglas has suffered enough for him to leave base, Gamble slams off the ropes and drops a leg across the chest. He rolls away another time only to repeat the process. Gamble shifts his body around and puts his hand around the throat of Douglas, once again making Bernie Roberts life difficult because he had to bend down and demand that Gamble cease his heelish ways.

Please tell me it's obvious that I'm going through the motions on this match? Ok, great.

Blaine: I don't know whether to give Gamble credit for anything or not, he's barely attempted any legitimate offense.

Nick: That may be true, but we've seen a lot of matches here in PRIME where legitimate offense gets you absolutely no where. Gamble is probably the best technical wrestler on the roster and he knows what to do in any given situation.

Gamble decides to be a nice guy and let off Douglas. He receives a stern lecture and series of finger points from Bernie Roberts. Gamble pouts and responds to the castigation.

Tony Gamble: Y'know, I was going to be cool and let go until you were giving me the lip, now I'm gonna be straight up G.

Gamble puts both hands around Douglas' throat and squeezes the life out of him, again forcing the hand of Roberts and making him count to five.

Bernie Roberts: One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Gamble finally lets up and steps to Roberts, but the referee isn't having any of Gamble's shenanigans, threatening to disqualify the Jewel in the Crown winner if he keeps this game going.

The Grin stands back and makes Troy Douglas exert his own energy in getting to a vertical base. It takes Megatron a while, but when he does, he probably wishes he didn't. Gamble is right there to meet him with a swinging neckbreaker that puts him back at square one. Running off the ropes, Gamble leaps onto the second and spins 180 degrees in the air for a second rope legdrop. Gamble lunges over for the quick cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Douglas grunts while rolling his shoulder out and escaping the pinfall. Gamble grabs hold of the right shoulder and brings Megatron up to a standing position, twists the arm around and slams it into the turnbuckle. Gamble keeps hold of the arm and lands a Japanese arm drag into the middle of the ring. A quick kip up and Tony Gamble finds himself at a distinct advantage and he's looking to put even more distance between himself and Megatron. The Grin steps between the ropes and scales to the top, looking for a big time move that could put the match in jeopardy and stop the rolling train that is Troy Douglas.

DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS!

Blaine: The crowd reception for Douglas staggering here in China.

Nick: Combine the fact that he's always been a crowd favorite with the pro-Shakur sentiment because of Shakur's connections and you have one subjective crowd.

The Grin plants his feet and propels forward, looking to land one of his dazzling high flying maneuvers. Unfortunately, perhaps because he took too much time, or because Troy Douglas is an incredibly hard man to keep on his back, Gamble's epic 450 splash fails and causes him to do a faceplant Shaun White would be proud of. If you haven't seen that video, oh man it's nasty. He's going to wish he looked like Carrot Top after the reconstructive surgery he needs...Oh, right, the match.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Even in the disoriented haze he currently finds himself in, Gamble knows that he could find himself on the defensive very quickly. It's something he simply can't afford at such a crucial point in the match. Mustering up the energy his muscles can provide, The Grin pushes to a standing position and stumbles around...

Only to find Megatron waiting with open arms to slam him on his back with a belly to belly side suplex. Cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Gamble kicks out just before the three count. Douglas wastes no time in getting up and unleashing a devastating kick to the shoulder blades of a rising Gamble. The former 5 Star Champion gets yanked up to a standing position by Douglas. Gamble receives a club to the back by Douglas, before having one of his arms locked up by Megatron. Douglas throws himself backwards, landing a nasty half nelson suplex that puts Gamble straight on his neck.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Blaine: If China is really running the world, Gamble will be in dire need of their medical care after a move like that.

Nick: Looks far more devastating in person than it does backstage wouldn't you say?

Blaine: That certainly did.

Gamble attempts to get to the outside and gain some distance away from the beast that is assaulting him right now. Douglas doesn’t concede, pulling Gamble back into the ring by his leg, wrenching down on the wheel and forcing Gamble to sit up, right into a downward clothesline that catches Gamble right between the eyes.

Nick: Douglas bringing out the heavy lumber here.

Blaine: He appears as willing for the match to be over as I am. Yet another pinfall attempt.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Gamble forces another kickout. Douglas grunts and looks down at his adversary, wondering how much physical abuse this man can take. Going back to the grind, Douglas brings Gamble up and shoots him off into the ropes. Closing the distance, Douglas attempts to nail a clothesline straight to the throat, pretty much ending all hopes that Gamble has. Instead the resilient Grin ducks underneath, gets his bearings, and connects with a boot to the jaw of an unsuspecting Douglas. The big man drops to the canvas and Gamble gets a chance for some breathing room.

Nick: Gamble has another opportunity and I suggest he take it.

Blaine: He would be a fool not to.

Douglas struggles up to his feet and is aided by a willing Gamble, who delivers a forearm to the head and throws Douglas out into the middle of the ring with a hip toss. Gamble runs off the ropes hard and connects with a front dropkick to the face of Douglas. Gamble runs off the ropes and connects on a short leg drop across the chest of Douglas before scurrying to the ring apron and scaling up the ropes.

Nick: Gamble tried this just a few minutes ago and it cost him. Will he be able to do it this time?

Blaine: Can you imagine the plane ride back if he doesn't?

Nick: ...Oh bother.

Gamble crouches down on the top rope, getting himself ready before taking flight through the air. He folds his body inward and then outward again, executing a beautiful frog splash that slams down onto Troy Douglas. Gamble almost flips over due to the velocity of the splash. Seeing the opportunity, Gamble stays on top and the referee dives into position.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Douglas with a kickout! A collective sigh emerges from the crowd while Gamble looks up at the referee and holds out three fingers. Bernie Roberts appears too eager to hold up two fingers in defiance of The Grin. Gamble slams his hands into the canvas and gets up to a standing position. Douglas closes his eyes in pain while Gamble puts a boot into his head and contemplates his next move.

Nick: Gamble almost won. This match has been back and forth. All Gamble needs is to lock that finishing maneuver on and Douglas will

Gamble brings Douglas back up to his feet, lands a forearm, and latches his arms around Douglas’s waist. Spinning around, Gamble slings Douglas over in a German suplex. Gamble bounces back up and exits the ring one more time, ascending the ropes and measuring Douglas while on the ground.

Blaine: Gamble is taking an incredible amount of risks. He's putting all of the faith in that suplex.

Megatron valiantly paws at the canvas, looking for any chance to get back up to a standing position and continue the fight.

DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS! DOUG-LAS!

Douglas reaches his knees and scans around, looking for Gamble. He knows the little bugger is capable of pulling off some sneaky moves and wants to be prepared if possible. When he doesn't spot the feet, Douglas takes a fast glance at the top rope and makes Gamble. He plays hurt for a few more seconds before springing to life, startling Gamble and flustering him enough that he misses the anticipated spinning wheel kick.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Douglas advances forward, delivering a knee to the midsection before throwing Gamble off into the ropes. Douglas closes the gap and connects on a hard lariat, sending Gamble down to the canvas. Instinctively, Gamble shoots back up and right into another lariat. Down again, Gamble shoots back up and this time receives an implant DDT for his troubles. Douglas scrambles back to his feet, sets his feet, rushes forward, leaps into the air, and connects on a Senton back splash. Douglas stays on top for the cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Gamble manages to escape defeat again. Douglas yanks him up to a standing position and slugs him across the face with a right hand. Gamble is about on Dream Street right now, and Douglas is doing everything to keep him there. Douglas lifts Gamble up over his head and military presses him, walking around the ring to show his superior strength, Gamble freefalls downward, right into a massive European uppercut that sends him spinning in the air. Douglas does not allow him to drop to the canvas, locking him around the waist and flinging him overhead in a release German suplex.

Or so he would like to believe.

Nick: Gamble landed on his feet! Turn around Troy Douglas!

It's already too late by the time he does. Gamble clutches the head with both hands and slams Douglas into the canvas with a Stop Laughing At Me.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Gamble hit the big time signature that he was looking for and this one is all but over.

The Grin strikes an ultra mega cool pose before gently dropping to his knees and going for the cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Lights out in the Shanghai Arena.

Nick: What the hell happened?

Blaine: Knowing how this place has been run since I was canned? Shakur dared the power company to shut him down once two hours of time concluded.

A horde of flashbulbs sporadically illuminate the ring. The scene in front of those in attendance goes something like this: Three people are standing in the ring and one is flat on his back. Presumably, said man on his back is Megatron as its unlikely he could recover from a move that quick. The squeaky voice of Gamble can be heard asking "What the hell happened" and Bernie Roberts, much as he would love to have an answer, doesn't know.

When the lights come back up, standing behind Gamble is the third man.

Nick: ...Uh oh.

Blaine: This would be the part of the movie where Marv and Harry finally catch Kevin.

Bernie points behind Gamble who sheepishly looks over his shoulder, perhaps he can get an answer from whoever Bernie is mentioning.

He backpedals like a scared coward when he sees The Black Plague, marks and new scars on his face from the Home Alone parody done earlier. At ringside right behind The Grin is Christian Daniels, fist wrapped in a chain and one can suspect he's not going to use it for anything other than pounding Gamble's face into hamburger meat.

Gamble, like the law abiding citizen he is, tries to negotiate with the blank faced duo. Neither man moves. Bernie Roberts slides out of the frame, leaving Shakur and Gamble with only a fallen Troy Douglas standing between them and even he's playing a little possum.

Nick: Gamble is trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Blaine: Neither situation provides anything pleasant.

The Biker pulls himself onto the apron and swats at Gamble like a dog with his chew toy before stepping over the top rope. Gamble moves forward, because let's face facts: He'd rather get the tar beaten out of him by Shakur rather than Daniels. He gets right next to Troy Douglas who keeps his eyes shut and controls his breathing so he doesn't get caught up in the fiasco. Shakur and Daniels take another step while Gamble's eyes dart back and forth. He's looking for an escape.

Then they both stop. Shakur snaps his fingers and the lights go back out.

Nick: What the hell?

Blaine: If Gamble knows what is good for him, he'll get out of that ring this instant.

But when the lights come back up, Shakur and Daniels are gone.

Gamble is confused.

Bernie Roberts is weary.

Troy Douglas seizes the chance and rolls Gamble into a small package.

Nick: DOUGLAS GOING FOR THE WIN!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Vince Howard: Your winner of the match...TROYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY DOUGLASSSSSSSSSSSS!

Nick: And Shakur manages to get a measure of revenge over Tony Gamble.

Blaine: And with that Nick, I'm officially off the clock. It's been a pleasant working with you even if the circumstances weren't optimal.

Nick: Same for you, Blaine.

The former Board of Director turned secondary interviewer turned one night commentator stands up from his position and places his headset on the table, strolling around the right side of the ring and walking up the ramp. Troy Douglas basks for just a moment in the victory over The Grin. He's got another win under his belt and is building up a head of steam. He'll be ready for Culture Shock and Elise Ares.

Tony Gamble pounds the mat like a child, throwing a tantrum that nobody pays attention to. This makes him pout, kick, and scream even more.

Deep in the crowd of screaming Chinese fans, Christian Daniels and Devin Shakur make a path looking for their own exit to the backstage area.

Nick: Ladies and Gentlemen, we hope you enjoyed this broadcast of ReVolution 217. We will come to you on February 11th from Moscow, Russia for ReVolution 218. Good night, everybody!

PRIME logo.