On most nights, PRIME is a pretty bumping place even if all the activities aren’t shown on camera. The tension inside the locker rooms is nothing short of blistering when the cameras are rolling, and superstars sometimes have to be restrained so they don’t get at one another and interrupt the carefully designated camera time of fellow wrestlers. For those of you unaware of what the term wrestlers is, it’s what they used to describe performers of the art of scripted fighting look real. It stopped being used around the time Ma and Pa stores went on the decline.

The most hated man in any organization is the boss, because he sets the rules, and ultimately has to make the final calls that a lot of people don’t agree with. When the boss used to be one of the boys and rose from prominence, not to mention he’s quite the asshole to begin with, he goes from being the most hated man in the organization to the business.

Last week (in television speak), he made a flagrantly selfish decision by choosing to go before the crowd and have Tyler Rayne fired for an expiring contract. The buzz throughout the locker room has suggested the retaliation could be anything from a work stoppage to an outright mutiny, with every superstar coming out to greet Shakur in a rather unflattering way.

Perhaps that’s why he’s standing in the parking lot with about fifteen suits around him and that tall biker guy behind him.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Track 1 of the ‘Life of Devin Shakur’ soundtrack plays harmoniously in the background while he looks over his shoulder and sees more suits filing out of the giant Hummer limousine. In total, there appear to be twenty of them and all of them are packing briefcases. Blaine Blair even managed to work his way in, having been shitcanned a long time ago. He either worked his way up or used those connections his dad tirelessly worked for (being his dad is Larry King).
The last pair of feet to hit the ground does so with an emphatic thud (yes we know this is bad description. It’s called power writing to get through this because the show is later than the cable guy). The person that goes with those feet reaches around and slams the door behind her. How do we know it’s a her? Because nobody outside Chandler Tsonda wears heels and he doesn’t make pan up entrances like this.

As we pan up, the feet belong to a purple skirt, the purple skirt belongs to a swank purple top, and the purple top belongs to the woman who owns 49% of the company, Lisa Tyler. Her makeup is light, as in she was likely told to come to an impromptu meeting so she didn’t have any time to get ready. She speeds forward in order to keep up with her male counterparts as they all make their way into the building.

A few of the developmental wrestlers (because we don’t have time to go tracking down the solid ones) look over their shoulders. One does a spit take and the janitor does double time to make sure nobody in the suits admonishes him for not doing his job. It’s obvious by the looks on the faces of everybody around that the conglomerate of folks walking toward the executive offices is a big deal.

Shakur is making small talk with one of them, talking about how he believes Dallas and Miami are going to end up in the finals (accuracy check: NAILED IT). A lot of the executives are texting and walking, while Daniels is listening to his iPod. Funny enough, he’s listening to the Nightmare on Elm Street theme and is purposely blasting it so everybody in the hall can hear it. In this business, we call that foreshadowing.

A robot skeleton 12 feet from an outlet makes a remark.

Geoff Peterson: UHHH OHHHHHH

As they pass by sound technicians, referees, interviewers, and El Rayo Azul, they continue to get those glaring looks. It’s something they’ve all been trained to ignore. Well, all except the woman in the back who still has her head down and appears to be following the crowd like a lost puppy. Perhaps, that’s because she is.

Matt Mills mans up and walks over, but is shoved out of the way by Daniels, allowing the group to go inside the executive offices and shut the door. Tyler looks down at Mills on the floor and gives him an apologetic glance before joining the rest of her comrades inside.

Out at ringside, Richard Parker and Nick Stuart look at each other with disapproving glances.

Richard: Dude, you know who that was?

Nick: I’m afraid I do, Richard. It was the Board of Directors. All of them.

Richard: And Lisa looked like the girl who got caught dealing drugs behind the school.

Nick: I don’t think she’s going to have a great night.

Richard: A great night? Dude, she might get canned like Rayne. I’ve seen that look before. You aren’t coming back to work if you have that look on your face.

Nick: The scary thing is Shakur has all the power now. He’s got 51 to Tyler’s 49. He’s got the ear of the board and PRIME has been making money hand over fist ever since he took over, more than during any previous administrative run.

Richard: And, while yeah, it’s nice to have all those perks and what not, but BLT has been with us for God knows how long.

Nick: To be a fly on the wall when those discussions take place, huh?

Richard: No shit.

Nick: Well, with that to open the show, we’re going to get right to the action after this break. We’ve got four matches for you this evening: Shakur and Daniels are going to take on Brian Postal and Bryan Dawkins.

Richard: Don’t even feel like calling him any derogatory names at the moment.
Nick: High Flyer is going to return for the sake of his Japanese fans and take on Chainz.

Richard: It’ll be good to have him back.

Nick: Roxy Phoenix will take on Violence Jack.

Richard: A solid match between two of the top people in PRIME.

Nick: And in the Main Event, Alexandra Pierce is going to take on Lance Marshall.
Richard: Those two have a ton of history and it should be a very good back and forth to say the least.

Nick: And we’re going to try and get a word on what is going down behind those doors.

Richard: Good luck. You know how tight to the vest Shakur and Daniels can be if they want to.

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

The hulking chest of Big Bear fades back to a wider shot of him leaning against a turnbuckle, right arm extended, staring straight ahead at Tony Gamble. Big Bear charges forward and rocks Gamble’s world with a Chump Buster.

Yeah, I get it
You're an outcast.

The 6'9, 305 pound beast known as Jakob snarling into the camera. Much isn't known about this newcomer, but that will change if he has his way.

Always under attack.
Always coming in last,
Bringing up the past.

Roxy Phoenix shaking it for all the male fans in attendance while Richard Parker flashes a 5 dollar bill in the background.

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

Michael Sloan. He hasn't been seen on the PRIME scene in months, but you don't take an individual like this out of a video featuring PRIME. He's been PRIME for the last three years.

So paranoid...
Watch your back!
Oh my, here we go...

Lance Marshall presses Brian Postal overhead.

Another lose cannon gone bi-polar
Slipped down, couldn't get much lower.
Quicksand's got no sense of humor.
I'm still laughing like hell.

Katterina Wylde, an international superstar who can more than hold her own. She is shown in a photo from about five years ago with Tyler Rayne, both mugging for the camera.

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, loopy and spinning, manages to land a Good Times Painful Memories strike on Cozen to capture his first and only Universal Championship.

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

Christian Daniels snarls to the camera and swigs from his beer. He's only wrestled four times, but try convincing a seven foot behemoth that he can't be in the introduction video. Especially one who has the ear of The Boss in Black. Not easy.

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?

Lindsay Troy capturing the Intense Championship from Matt Ward at Colossus VII.

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

The one time secretary of Devin Shakur, Lisa Tyler, has found herself back in a position of power. While she has remained quiet in certain regards, she’s more than capable of laying down the law.

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,

Hessian slamming Chainz into a ladder.

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?

Violence Jack defying the odds by defeating both Nitz Donnelly and Alexandra Pierce to walk out the Jewel in the Crown 2010 winner.

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

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

Brian Postal's finest moment in PRIME to date, a spectacular debut against Hessian. Unfortunately, he got a steel chair wrapped around his skull for his efforts.

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

The blacklisted Jacob McKail has once again found a home in PRIME and captured a victory over Big Bear with his Fearless Freefall.

I created the Sound of Madness.
Wrote the book on pain.

A flashing flurry of shots dedicated to Alexandra Pierce, The Spider in the Web. A Spider's Kiss for Hoyt Williams, The Sentinel, and Violence Jack.

Somehow I'm still here,
To explain,

The man who said he would never work for PRIME is now under contract to PRIME... Seymour Almasy.

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

Matt Ward stares down at the pride and joy of his career, exclusivity at being the only three time Universal Champion in PRIME's history.

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

Click clack, her heels pound on the cold concrete floors of the arena much like a football player's spikes before a game, American Football that is.

Tracy is stunning as always. She’s wearing a tight black dress that must have required grease to squeeze into. Her blonde hair is tied in a cute ponytail behind her giving a youthful and naïve appearance.

A voice halts her mid-step. The screen is about to get a lot hotter.

Kathryn Shaw: You’re not skipping out on our date, are you, sweetheart?

Tracy spins on her heels with a small smile forming.

Tracy: What date, Miss Shaw?

Kathryn steps into frame. She’s dressed quite provocatively herself, in a wine-purple dropwaist dress, the looping neckline and her heart-shaped pendant teaming up to draw the eyes down to her curves.

Kathryn Shaw: Oh, come on. No need to be formal! I thought we were friends.

Kathi pouts -- well, it's more like a smiling pout.

Tracy: What happened last week? You talked me into going out and then just disappeared.

Shaw thinks up a lie in a split second. For someone like her it’s second nature.

Kathryn Shaw: Guh, I thought I texted you. Lisa kept on going and going, about how I embarrassed the organization and blah-blah-blah-BLAH. I'm sorry -- I was so looking forward to it too. But look, why don’t I make it up to you?

Tracy smirks and twirls her hair.

Tracy: My husband says you’re trouble and for me to stay away.

Now it’s Kathryn who smirks innocently.

Kathryn Shaw: Do you always do what your husband tells you?

Tracy: Well not always. Michael’s never really approved of my friends, anyhow.

Kathryn Shaw: He can’t possibly be that bad, what’s he going to do. Kill you?

Tracy smiles as she tries to hide the look of panic behind her eyes.

Tracy: So how are you going to make it up to me?

Kathryn takes Tracy’s hand and pulls her down the hall. She smiles like a little devil as she coos in the blonde’s ear.

Kathryn Shaw: I see two beautiful women painting the town all sorts of red. It doesn’t matter where we are; guys will be guys, and I’m sure their wallets will be loose and open. You won't have to pay a thing all night.

Tracy: You’re bad, Kathryn.

Shaw links arms with Mrs. Michael Sloan, patting her hand.

Kathryn Shaw: Trust me, hon -- you haven’t seen anything yet.

The two women laugh as they walk down the hall oblivious to those around them. Were they not so full of themselves they would have noticed Roxy Phoenix, perched on a bench near the entrance, nursing a cigarette off to the side. In any case, her ears would fall deaf on such trivial encounters, but something told her that there was nothing better than stirring up some trouble in a big black pot. As the ladies depart, a wicked smile crawls across her lips.

Camera-switch: backstage.

Look, it's Matt Mills!

Matt Mills: Hi, everyone, I'm Matt Mills, waiting here outside the Yokohama Arena, waiting for Alexandra Pierce to arrive for ReVolution 246 – she'll take on Lance Marshall in our main event.

Just then (coincidentally, of course), a forest green, four-door sedan swings into the lot near Mills. We get a nice shot of the Chrysler logo as it pulls to a halt. The driver's side door opens, and it's a black, high-heeled boot that meets the asphalt. This isn't the three-or-four-inch heel one might see on a Kathryn Shaw or Tracy Stanton, but it's still there.

Alexandra Pierce stands, leaning against the door. She lifts her sunglasses away from that deadly gray gaze. The barest of smiles touches her thin lips as Mills approaches.

Pierce: That... did not take long.

Mills: Alex—Ms. Pierce. Last week, you suffered your first loss since King of Kings, and because of it, you won't get a one-on-one match at Culture Shock with Devin Shakur.

Pierce: No, I won't. Not yet, at least. I haven't given up hope yet, and I don't think that Lance has given up on the fans seeing Daniels vs. Marshall at the event either.

Mills: But because of that loss, you'll be in the main event later tonight on ReVolution, taking on Lance one-on-one for the first time in almost two years.

Pierce: Has it been that long?

Mills: Well, it seemed at the end of SCCW that you were on something of a collision course, and Lance has long been a detractor of some of your previous... previous methods, shall we say.

Pierce: That's an understatement.

Mills: And you have to imagine that Devin Shakur is hoping that your differences will split you apart. He must figure he can take you two apart individually, but...

Pierce: But together, we might be too much for him? I wondered that myself. Lance and I... we've been around the block a few times you might say. I first met Lance back in 2003, eight years ago. He was... well, he was Lance Marshall. He was strong. Powerful. Maybe a little bit naïve, but still the next best thing to a superhero. And I've tried... well, I've tried a lot of things to get rid of him. Tricks, traps, wrestling, weapons, turncoats, sweet-talk, hurting his wife, threatening his family... nothing stopped him.

Mills: Can you stop him now? Can you beat him?

She chuckles, low and dangerous.

Pierce: I'm certainly going to try.

Mills: And afterwards? Will you and Lance still be able to be friends after this?

The passenger side door opens and a large man climbs from the car.

Lance Marshall: The man asked a pretty good question.

Mills: You traveled to the arena together?

Marshall: No, she picked me up on the highway.

He grins.

Marshall: Of course we traveled to the arena together. Look, divide and conquer isn't exactly a new strategy, and I don't pretend to be the smartest man in that building, but I hold my own, and, more importantly, I have some people who've been around the block themselves a time or two. Alex is tough. Smart. And probably the most devious, underhanded bitch I've ever had the displeasure of crossing.

Pierce: Thanks for the compliment, I think.

Marshall: It's meant as one, believe me. Devin can try every trick in the book, and Christian can keep hiding behind everything that Shakur says, because he knows the same thing that I know. One-on-one, he's a paper tiger. And eventually... eventually I'm going to get my hands on that man, and I'll prove it.

Mills: But until then?

Marshall: Until then, I have a match here tonight against some woman who says she's the very best in the world. So I'm going to lace up my boots and climb into that ring and I'm going to leave it all on the line. I know Alex will do the same. The people in this city – in this country – have been through a lot in these last few months. And no matter what happens in the ring tonight, in the main event, when we go on to Singapore, they're still going to be struggling. So I encourage each and every person watching to go online to redcross.org or send a text to the number you see on the screen. All proceeds go to helping the people of Japan recover from this tragedy.

Across the car, Alex nods, folding her hands atop the car.

Pierce: In the world we live in, fights in a ring or anger over what we've done is everything. It's the center of our lives. And sometimes, we're faced with situations that mean a hell of a lot more. So Lance and I are there to put a show on. And we're donating the salaries we're earning tonight to the relief and recovery efforts, because we'll be lucky enough to earn them again next week.

Mills: Not to dwell on something much less important, but... we can expect a clean, high-impact wrestling match between you two? No chicanery, no tricks, no games?

Pierce: I think he's talking to me.

That draws a soft laugh from the big man.

Marshall: Probably.

Pierce: I can honestly say that I have no schemes in motion this week.

Mills: But you are the Queen of Lies.

Pierce: That's what they call me.

Mills: So you could be lying now.

Lance chuckles again, slamming the door. He circles around to the trunk, pulling out the bag of his gear.

Marshall: Sounds like he's got you there.

Pierce: I have no doubt that Devin will try something. If he can't split us up, he'll try to hurt us to keep us away from him. So we'll go out there and we'll try to do our thing, but I'm certain something terrible will happen. And we'll be ready for it. Just like we've been ready for everything else. And one day, Devin will stop hiding behind that desk and face me one-on-one. And then... then he'll learn that, while I might be the best wrestler in the world, I am definitely the most dangerous woman he'll ever have the displeasure of facing.

The doors thump closed and Pierce and Marshall make their way to the arena. Matt Mills turns towards the camera, lifting his microphone.

Mills: There you have it, fellas. Lance Marshall and Alexandra Pierce arriving together for their match here at ReVolution 246, and they're prepared to face each other – and whomever Devin Shakur might send after them tonight. Guys?

Cut back to ringside.

Nick: What a match we have for you later on tonight, fans. But again, as Alex and Lance both said, please visit the website you see on your screen now or text the words "Red Cross" to 90999 to donate ten dollars right from your phone bill.

Richard: It's that easy?

Nick: It's that easy.

Richard: Why haven't they done it already?

After trying every which way to make them fight for his own amusement, Shakur had no choice but to administer his rules in the wrestling ring, using himself as the example setter. Although, he’s got about ten board people in his ear, and he doesn’t want to damage that ear so he sent Daniels in to do the dirty work. Dawkins, being the consummate bruh that he is, offered to go in and take care of Daniels so both he and his partner could wail on Shakur. Postal shrugged his shoulders and agreed.

Dawkins tried baiting Daniels into a collar and elbow, but Daniels knew all of Dawkins tricks and wasn’t going for it. He tried to make it more enticing by offering a pineapple, but Daniels stood there and shook his head. Finally, Dawkins straight chucked it at Daniels, but it missed him and hit Shakur. The Boss took a tremendous bump, one not seen since 2008 when he was pursuing the strap. It involved two flips, picking out somebody’s card, and making himself disappear in a tank with his hands behind his back. Oh man, you should have seen it.

Right, off track. Daniels and Dawkins circled one another, Daniels trying to get into a boxing match, while Dawkins looked for any chance to use the rope. Shakur was on the floor recovering from the bump he took and surveying the damage. Finally, Dawkins came forward and kicked Daniels’ right leg out. The Biker reached down and tried to grab him, but Dawkins rolled through and got behind him, cartwheeled over, and whipped himself into the ropes, landing a slick forearm to the head. Daniels backpedaled. Dawkins moved forward and struck again. Backpedal. Again. Postal got tagged in for a brief second, and they both landed the forearm, sending Daniels over the ropes and to the floor.

Postal wasn’t going to flip off the ropes six times before landing a kick to the head. Instead, he took the fight right to Daniels, backing him up against the barricade and wailing on him with rights and lefts. The crowd was very receptive to Daniels getting his brains beaten in, and encouraged Postal to hit him harder with each shot. He looked to achieve the fanservice, but after a certain point, the arms tend to give out and someone seven feet tall tends to find creases in the game and look to exploit. While Postal was unloading his arsenal, Daniels wound up and caught him with a uppercut to the liver that dropped Postal.
He went down in a heap, clutching at his midsection, and Daniels wasn’t about to make it any easier on the newcomer, grabbing him by the neck and launching him head first into the barricade. Daniels spun around and threw his opponent under the bottom rope, before advancing forward with a big boot. He dropped down for the cover, and only got two. Daniels went for the cover again, putting his forearm against the neck. Postal kicked out again. Daniels shrugged his shoulders, lifted Postal up, and shot him across the ring. Postal ducked underneath the clothesline, bounced off the far side and landed a spear on Daniels, one that actually took him off his feet.

Both men were able to roll over, Daniels first, and get the tag. Dawkins almost flipped into the ring to get a chance at his longtime adversary, and the man who put him on the shelf back in 2009. Although, Postal wanted a crack, he figured Dawkins could soften The Boss up so he made the tag. Dawkins jumped to the top rope and landed a mother of a missile dropkick. Shakur got up, and Dawkins put him back down with another. Up. Down. Up. Down. WANH MOMMY. Sorry, that was Shakur. Up. Down. Shakur stumbled over to the opposite corner and was held in place for a Stinger Splash. Shakur stumbled out of the corner and, rather than fall on his face Flair style, was put down with a bulldog. Shakur was covered, but kicked out.

Dawkins turned Shakur over and ran off the ropes. He came back, went Boo, Boo, and landed the drop. Yeah, Dippy hates that. Dawkins went for another cover, but Shakur kicked out. Dawkins pulled him up by the poodle strain hair and chopped him across the chest. Again. Again. Again. Low kick.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Right in the pineapples. Dawkins collapsed to his knees. Shakur went over and took hold of his head, channeling his inner-G and slamming Dawkins head into the mat. Postal reached over and got the tag. Shakur made his acquaintance by lighting him up with a kick to the chest. Postal backpedaled and returned fire with a forearm and then a belly to belly suplex that left Shakur upside down in the corner in front of Dawkins. The Bruh bent forward and poked him in the eye repeatedly to the crowd’s delight.

Postal walked over and lifted Shakur up, yanking him back by the neck in an awkward dragon suplex that flipped him to the corner. Daniels reached down and got the tag, hopping between the ropes quickly and landed a roaring elbow to the head, putting Postal on his back. He grabbed hold of Postal, lifted him up, and stuck his head underneath the right arm, going for the Knockout Blow. Dawkins made the save, coming over the top with a cross body that put Daniels down. The Bruh was able to get in some shots, before Shakur threw him off and rolled underneath the ring.

Postal called out to the crowd, telling them to prepare for the end. Daniels stumbled to his feet and walked directly into a kick to the gut. Postal got underneath and looked to spin Daniels around, but the big man slid out the back and shoved Postal into Dawkins, letting their heads collide. Daniels moved forward, another elbow directly to the back of the head before rolling Postal up and grabbing the tights. Game over.

The flash of camera bulbs lights up the entrance to the Yokohama Arena like celebration fireworks. Frantic chatter amongst the group increases in pitch as the centre of the commotion moves through the grouping. Eventually a figure rises up out of the group of fans clad in grey gym gear with the raised hood doing nothing to conceal the identity of the bearded giant. Large sweat stains emanate from the armpits, chest and back of the hoodie, and his breaths are laboured as he cuts from a swift job to a slow limp as he climbs the steps to the entrance before turning back to the crowd and waving respectfully.

Hessian: Yes, thank you it's great to be here. Hope to see you all at the show.

The giant pushes beyond the doors and leans back against the glass.

Hessian: Christ is there nothing these people won't photograph...

Stepping off on his good foot the Murder Show traverses the lobby nodding at the familiar faces of the road crew while loosening his training belt and wiping the sweat from his brow off onto the sleeve of his top.

"Would the big bearded soccer mom please step forward!"

Craning his neck to the source of the call Hessian grumbles as Devin Shakur approaches him with a wide smile and open arms.

Devin Shakur: If it isn't my favourite numbskull.

Hessian: What is it this time? I've got a schedule to keep to, Shakur.

The Man in Black strolls to a halt beside the giant, giving him a once-over and furrowing his brow.

Devin Shakur: Yeah, and I don't. You see my entrance... Did you jog here all the way from Shanghai?

Hessian: No, don't be daft. Just from Tokyo.

Devin Shakur: Excellent, well great to see you keeping to your program. After all we wouldn't want to see you jeopardise your shot at the title would we?

Hessian: No...I don't suppose we would.

Devin Shakur: Of course not. It's not like given the severity of your injury and the nature of the recovery process you're going to limp your sorry ass into Culture Shock and throw away good money on a main event that could be saved for a future venture.

The giant throws his belt over his shoulder and rests his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the Boss.

Hessian: What is this another smack on the wrist for taking the bull by the horns? Here I thought initiative was the way forward in this place.

Devin Shakur: It's a swift goddamn kick to the balls you ingrate. You have absolute zero grasp of the main event scene, you know that? Even back to King of Kings when you practically gave away a title match, you just don't know how to act like a champion, do you?

The giant gets into Shakur's face and narrows his eyes.

Hessian: Now you about to cross some fuckin' liiines, boss.

Devin Shakur: Don't insult me. You're all about the competition and the violence of the sport but you lack the business mind of a champion who represents this company and thus plays a pretty damn big part in its revenue.

Hessian: You're concerned that PRIME would have better buyrates if, say, I waited until Colossus to have my rematch for the Universal Title instead of squeezing into the Culture Shock match which had already peaked?

Devin Shakur: Why can't you understand that at the-

Hessian: People watch the Murder Show because they know that whatever I get involved with it always ends in bloodshed and ratings. If I were to go out there tonight and call this rematch the numbers would go through the roof because people will pay good money to see me tear it up. Don't you go worrying about getting your money's worth out of me, you'll see. Culture Shock will be epic.

Devin Shakur: It better be or it's going to be your ass.

Hessian: You can bet your mascara I know it will.

Devin Shakur: Nice, another emo joke. Congrats, you are the one-millionth person to make such a thing. Your prize is a stern point and a warning.

The Man in Black points sternly and mouths the warning again at the giant before turning and walking ahead into the backstage area, leaving the giant to ease his way to his locker room to rest his weary knee.

Matt Mills and Angelica Brooks have had their ears to the door all night, using every method they could think of: Trying to access the security cameras inside, sticking an audio device under the door, trying to flick a bug inside the room, and even using the old cup on a string method to see if they could gather any information.

But they kept coming up empty, nothing was being relayed close enough to the door that they could pass along. The only thing they managed to come up with was a bunch of coffee and soda requests, none of which were useful because they didn’t know who was asking who to get what. It sounded like a ton of muffled noise, as if 23 Charlie Brown teachers were conversing amongst themselves.

Well, at least, they think there are 23, they don’t know that Devin Shakur has slipped out the back and just had a conversation with Hessian. Daniels already snuck in a door on the other side of the suite after the match. Shakur decided to take a leisurely stroll around the corridor.

Right now, Brooks is holding down the fort, leaning back against the wall while Mills eagerly darts back and asks if she has anything.

Brooks: They’ve gone silent.

Mills: Or they’ve figured us out.

Brooks: I doubt that. I haven’t heard one of them come near this side.

Mills: Think there’s a reason for that?

Brooks: They are lazy?

Mills: These people are Board, they know when they are being bugged and how to get away from it.

Brooks: Yeah, but how are they going to know it’s us?

"Well I’d venture to say that because we’ve got cameras all over the fucking building would be a starting point."

Cue the robot skeleton again.

"UH OHHHHHHHH"

Shakur stands behind Mills and Brooks, who give the "OMG WE’RE GONNA DIE" look to one another before keeping the expression and turning around to meet their boss.

Shakur: I’d tell you to drop and give me 50, but I don’t think either of you will have that by the time I’m done performing my autopsy on your paychecks.
Again, Mills gets shoved to the floor and Shakur enters the executive room.

"They don't talk to me anymore."

The shot settles on a grubby dive bar across the street, the sign outside ragged and grimy, uncleaned and untouched for untold years. Set against a stretch of similarly unkept, rundown buildings on the same litter-filled street, the pub ironically titled 'The Last Resort' is the only one that shows sign of patrons and traffic.

"We were like brothers once. But times change, and people change. The ties that binded us in the bad days have long since frayed, come undone, been scattered to the winds."

Moving in closer, on the ground sits Bruce 'Violence Jack' Shanahan. His attire is unconventional for his modern incarnation, the version known to today's audiences. He's garbed in the nondescript blue jeans and a black, blood-stained "Blood For Blood" band t-shirt that once stood as trademarks of his personality in the old days, the time before a vengeful madness overtook him and altered his persona into that of the warped cult mastermind he is today. The image of the grungy Violence Jack before us is a throwback. Almost a page ripped from time past, circa 1999, the bitter white trash crusader from the Boston slums that urged his ilk to set the world ablaze.

He seems downtrodden, a far cry from the charismatic Sect of Black Wisdom leader. A scowl twists his face as he faces old memories, a dark road long traveled and one strewn with regrets and rage.

"I was never supposed to be anything. For a place like this, a forgotten and broken-down world far removed from the glamour of the rich kids parading across town at Harvard and MIT, I was a standout in my classrooms. I aced exams and showed aptitude in areas that should have outdistanced my upbringing and environment. You'd think my teachers would embrace my success and glorify my achievements as examples to be followed by my kin, that they would have put me on a pedestal as a prodigy."

A pause, a forlorn shake of the head.

"But you'd be wrong. That's not how shit works in the ghetto of Boston. Instead I had teachers who were actually jealous of me, frustrated that they themselves couldn't find better jobs in more privileged school districts where more than half of the enrollment showed up on a daily basis, and where that minority weren't packing guns just to make it to and from the bus stop unscathed. Back to their broken homes, back to their culture of poverty, back to parents that were drug-addled and alcoholics. No, there was no praise for Bruce Shanahan, just disgust and envy from peopel that should have been seeking to nurture my talents. Did the higher-ups care? No, they just felt lucky to have a staff willing to come in on a daily basis and put up with us misguided youth, the discarded and unwanted of society."

He pulls himself to his feet, wiping dirt from his already sullied shirt.

"So what's a man to do? My mother died when I was young. My father was an addict that cared more for scoring his next fix than molding his son into somebody strong and worth a damn. Spent more time seeking out his dealer than a decent meal. I hated him. The last memory I have of the son of a bitch was the day I found him half-passed out in his own vomit on the couch, and I had enough. So I pulled him up to his feet by the throat, stared into his glazed-over eyes, and beat him to within an inch of his life. For what he did to me, for what he did to my mother because she died. From what I understand, they've never even bothered painting over the blood on the walls."

For a moment a trace of a smile finally appears on his face. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared as he moves on, remembering.

"When I left that shithole of an apartment that day I was a man, strong and ambitious, but not because of him. Because of my friends that endured exactly what I did. I couldn't depend on family or teachers, they both resented me for different reasons. So I left Boston with what little I had, and I went to Japan. And instead of nourishing the talents I found I had back in the classrooms, I fostered the ones that had kept me alive outside their walls. I started fighting."

The wail of sirens momentarily drowns him out.

"I got into wrestling, forged a reputation. I hurt people, and to my chagrin, at least initially, I found out that I enjoyed it. To me life had always been a war, one battle after another waged just to stave off hunger, pushers, and prison. But between those ropes it meant so much more. It made me money, it gave me fame, it instilled me with a power I never found in my hometown. To Boston I was just another wayward and unwanted bastard son, conceived through pain and violence. But between rings of the bell I was God."

He gestures to a stack of long-vacated championship belts at his side, remnants of his times in Japan and the minor leagues. He snatches up the top on the pile.

"This one? My first taste of gold in this business. I drove Hideo Tokugawa headfirst through a stack of light-tubes in the Shinjuku district of Tokyo. There were about 120 people attending that night. It didn't matter. There could have been 12 or 120,000 for all I cared. I remembered all of the insults my father spat at me in his drug-induced frenzies and all of the jealous put-downs my old teachers used after class when they tore up my 'A' papers. That was all I needed. I owned their champion that night."

He drops it, picks up another from the stack.

"In Osaka, against an old rival. Barbedwire Kidd. I landed awkwardly outside the ring, fought on, won two minutes later after fighting just to stand up straight. At the hospital they told me my neck was broken and that was my last match for nearly a year."

VJ sets it down, turning to gaze at the setting sun as it paints the horizon a radiant orange. Twilight is setting in.

"I said I would never become my father. I wouldn't be a failure, condemned to misery and an existence of just finding ways to just the suffering of living. But it started to haunt me, the terror of becoming just that. I needed an advantage. I found it. It took simply to peer into the abyss, and to let it peer back into me. If those who abandoned me would have embraced me instead, it would have never happened. Yet by breeding their own discontent and flaws, they also bred destruction. That is, the destructive tendencies dormant inside of me."

He closes his eyes, falls silent. For nearly ten seconds it remains that way.

"I tapped into the dark side of myself, of the forbidden outside. Used it for strength and to absolve myself of frailties. I discovered Them, the Old Ones stirring just outside the dominion of man's control. It was under them that I learned mortality is a fleeting thing, but in Their service exists eternal life and power beyond comprehension. But still, They are capricious masters. Their ways are mysterious, sometimes pernicious. Even now, no major top-tier championships. Tournament cups few and far between. Perennial runner-ups and top contender status, doomed to life as an afterthought. I asked Them...why? What step must I, your servant, take to ensure You are rightfully glorified? And, in time, They answered."

A shrug, he runs his hand over his shaven head as if his fingers comb through hair. An old habit fueled by risen memories. Sirens roar to life again as a fire truck flies by in the background, a commotion elicited in the background by something out of view.

"What's it going to take next? Perhaps it took digging up an old grave, and staring into the dead eyes of a corpse. The old Bruce Shanahan, the man that I buried the day that I started the Sect of Black Wisdom. I needed to rekindle that rage, rediscover the history of where it all started. If I'm going to unseat Matt Ward and avert Hessian's journey to regaining his throne then that may be what it takes."

He looks across the street at 'The Last Resort'. Through the gathering mob outside the alley, people have begun to file in, most of which will never move from the same stool the entire night as they drown their sorrows.

"Sometimes people can fall back on their past when they hit a rut, or when times get rough. My past involves a circle of dead addicts and broken men who abandoned me the moment our paths in life and philosophy diverged. The only person from my past I can look back to for guidance is me, the man I once was. The rage of a dead bastard."

He reaches beside him, pulling up a black robe with silver spangled cuffs and a red collar. Shanahan turns it, and on the back, 'Sect of Black Wisdom' is embroidered beneath the hood.

"This is all that matters now. I'll forever be one of Boston's tortured, its unwanted. An abortion the city wishes it would have made before it spawned the atrocity so many now refer to me as being. At Culture Shock I guarantee that PRIME will wish the same. I've toiled beneath my station long enough. When I walk out of Culture Shock as the PRIME Universal Champion, heads will roll. Horror will reign. Damnation will find all of those who spurned me and cast me down. You will pay for your impudence, your heresy."

He steps out of the alley, leveling a baleful glare on an apartment building down the street. A tower of flames leaps from the roof as the building becomes an inferno, splintered beams toppling to the street as onlookers look on. Shanahan impassively shrugs into his robe and smiles to himself.

"This will be how it ends. A world engulfed in flames. Only ashes. Only ashes..."

Trailing off, he stalks into the shadows as the locals watch a part of their neighborhood burn to the ground.

The man appearing on your television screen, or the PRIME*VIEW, if you’re live, is familiar, but tonight, he doesn’t earn the venom that he usually does. This is primarily because the platinum dye isn’t in his long hair, which is its natural, blonde hue. The PRIME Intense Championship is over his shoulder, but he’s not dressed to compete. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a Final Fantasy X t-shirt. On his right arm is an armband reading simply "PRAY FOR JAPAN."

His name is Seymour Almasy, and as you might imagine given that he’s made that moniker his actual name, this issue is slightly personal to him.

Almasy: Before we get too far into this evening, I asked the powers that be here at PRIME for a chance to speak from the heart. I’m not the Dynast-King tonight. I’m not here to talk about this title. There’s going to be plenty of great action tonight, but I’m finding it hard to summon up the usual bile that I have for this company and its athletes in the wake of what we’re doing here with this charity show.

Even as he speaks, voice hitching, it’s clear that he’s not used to this. Even when being a hero for millions in past years, never had he really been given the opportunity to champion a cause of any kind. The words are sincere, but they come far less easily than any promo he’s ever given in his life.

Almasy: I’ve been to some of the areas hardest hit by the earthquake and subsequent tsunami. These are places that I’ve wrestled in my career, but more importantly, they’re streets that I’ve had the good fortune to walk, filled with people that I’ve been lucky enough to meet. I have scrapbooks at home with pictures of buildings that no longer exist. People that no longer exist. Growing up, it was my dream to go to Japan. I’ve been fortunate enough to return to this country many times, but right now, it’s this country that needs a little bit of good fortune. I’ve met people who’ve lost everything, but I’ve also met people who will give the little that they do have in order to help those in need.

He looks down at the armband he wears, and then back up to the camera, as if drawing inspiration from his cause.

Almasy: I will be donating my paychecks from both nights of Culture Shock to the cause. Because, quite simply, it’s not much of an exaggeration to say without the Japanese people and culture, there’s no Seymour Almasy. There’s a now thirty year old kid named Jason Wilson living in a run-down apartment wondering what the Hell happened to his life. I owe everything that I have on this Earth to the creative minds of the video game industry that inspired me, and continue to do so to this day. Some of my greatest matches ever have been in Japan. This nation has been a second home to me over the years, and anything that I can do to help it now won’t even come close to repaying this country and its people for all they’ve given me. I don’t go by the moniker much anymore, but in my heart, I will always be the Final Fantasy, and millions of people worldwide know that nickname was made in Japan.

Nervous, twitching fingers wipe hot tears from his eyes as he struggles to get to the final thing he has to say. One look at the man, trembling with emotion, almost makes one ask just how the man on screen became PRIME’s Machiavellian Dynast-King in the first place.

Almasy: Tonight, I’d like to take this opportunity to ask you all, please, if you have the money to spare, to find it in your hearts to donate to any of the many worthy charities we are partnering with this evening to aid the great nation of Japan. Donation information, I’m told, will be scrolling on screen throughout the show. If you can’t donate, please, do what you can via social media to publicize the cause. Thank you for your time, everyone, and please enjoy the rest of ReVolution, and please, pray for Japan.

The scene soon fades from the PRIME*View back to ever familiar announce desk, leaving Nick Stuart and Richard Parker to follow the words of the Final Fantasy.

Nick: Words from the heart from Seymour Almasy, Richard.

Richard: I don’t have a pithy comment here.

Nick: As Mr. Almasy indicated, we will be scrolling donation information across the bottom of the screen intermittently throughout our ReVolution broadcast tonight. Fans, if you can donate, please do so.

Richards: It’s times like this that make me realize how fortunate I am to be able to make a good living taking the piss out of you on national television.

Nick: …I’d say you’re being disrespectful, Mr. Parker, but I know that you’re being 100% forthright, so I’ll let it slide. Anyway, we’ll be right back with more of tonight’s ReVolution: Benefit Japan.

Roxy Phoenix had a wave of momentum in her corner when she stepped into the squared circle to compete against Violence Jack. It also didn't hurt when she landed the first strike, a stiff kick to the liver that almost made Jack shame himself the hard way.

Another series of kicks, two to the legs and one to the chest, backed Jack into the corner and she flew into action. A forearm to the head caused him to shove her away. She came back into the corner and landed a spinning wheel kick on the top of his head, almost flipping him over the ropes. She flawlessly landed on the apron and jumped onto the top rope. He was helpless to stop her from landing a hurricanrana that sent him sliding across the ring. He remained resilient in his effort to prove superiority, although didn't look superior when embarrassed for the second consecutive time by her arsenal. She sprung off the ropes and flipped backwards, landing a reverse DDT. A cover was met with a kickout at the count of two.

Even with the opening sequence in her favor, she didn't let up. She pushed him into the corner and welted his chest with stinging knife edge chops. She took hold of his right wrist and acted as if she was going to hurl him across the ring, but brought him back toward her and landed a knee to the midsection, followed by a quick roll up. The surprise wasn't surprising enough as he managed a kickout at two. She kept herself busy, grabbing him and setting up for another onslaught. Much to her chagrin, he escaped with a jawbreaker and monkey flip combination that sent her onto the floor.

Since this was the first offense against her, she was able to recover pretty quickly and get back on the apron. He was ready, headbutting her in the abdomen and landing a knee to the forehead. He completed the series against her by grabbing her through the ropes and pulling her over, back into the ring. After spewing taunts to the crowd, he ran toward the cables and launched her over the ropes onto the floor in a Detonator. She wasn't so quick to recover after that maneuver.

He shouted down at her, something involving her weaknesses and strengths as a human being, but the rant doesn't warrant recap. She was slow to get up, but he was all too happy to assist, dropping to the floor and ramming her head into the steel post. She backpedaled into him, who lifted her up and planted her on the floor with a back suplex. The game plan appeared to be there for him, go only for high impact moves and try to take her out the hard way.

He grabbed hold of her left shoulder and threw her into the ring. He jumped onto the top rope and waited for her to return to her feet. He flew from the top rope in an attempted cross body block, but she landed a knee to the side of his head. Those who saw the move up close cringed while others got their fill on the two replays courtesy of the PRIME*View.

They were both on the canvas, not in desperate need to regain control of the match, but knowing that having dominant position wouldn't hurt. Max Newall laid down the count while both wrestlers pawed and pulled their way to standing positions. At the count of eight, she reached her feet first and looked to have him put away with a running/jumping DDT. She went for the cover, but he kicked out just before the three count.

She kept him on the canvas, stomping him in the injured head and going to the outside. She gingerly climbed to the top rope and briefly measured herself before taking flight, landing a shooting star press. Another cover, but he put a foot on the ropes.

She rolled him out toward the center of the ring and hoisted him up, booted him in the midsection, and looked to connect on a piledriver. He fought valiantly, straining himself, and was able to wiggle his way free. He flipped her onto her shoulders, and hit another Detonator. Another pinfall and another kickout.

He glared at Newall with infuriated eyes, but only received two fingers in response. He decided he was done playing games and got to his feet. Perhaps the strikes to his head were making him a tad woozy, but he felt she was ready to come back with that one glaring move to end him in an instant. He brought her up and went for the R’lyeh Anthem, but she held onto the rope, swung around, landed a boot downstairs, and worked her way into a reverse hurricanrana position, threw him backward and put him on the top of his head.

She crawled to the top rope and waited for him to get up. He struggled to his feet and pushed off just as she sprung to the top and landed a 450 DDT. She scurried over and managed to land the pinfall victory

We are welcomed by the sight of Katterina Wylde, emerging through the back door of a sushi bar, which has been set up at a PRIME benefit event nearby the arena. And we are getting an eyeful of her alright, as she is completely naked, save for some leaves covering up her unmentionables. As she heads over to the table, she is stopped by the manager, a small Japanese man who is none to happy. He also bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Fuji, but that may be purely coincidental. Just so nobody gets confused, we'll call him Fuji.

Fuji: Where the hell is Ms. Phoenix? She’s late!

Katt Wylde: That’s our Rox for ya. Girl’d be late for her own funeral.

The Dark Angel chuckles.

Katt Wylde: Just relax. She’ll be here. And quit staring at my tits.

Fuji squirms as he averts his gaze to the floor as Katterina shakes her head with a smile on her face.

Fuji: I…er…just get on the table.

Katt walks elegantly over to the table and in a manner so seductive, that every jaw in the sushi bar drops on the floor. She lays on her back as pieces of sushi are being places neatly onto her gorgeous figure. Fuji nods his head enthusiastically as he stands patiently, waiting for his second sushi model. He checks his watch a few times and begins pacing. Beads of sweat drip from his brow, and he once against checks his watch. He looks completely flustered.

A series of laughter can be heard approaching the door. A group comes in, "led" by Roxy Phoenix. Though she is the ringleader of the crew, she is being carried by three men into the room as though she were the prized dish on a luxurious platter. Her auburn hair is tied expertly into a bun with a pair of chopsticks. Her face adorns a similar geisha form, yet her face is not nearly as pale, and her lips have a bright pink heart at the center of them. Her black stilettos are about five inches tall, and the straps dance in a criss cross pattern up her calves and stopping at her knees. Her ensemble is complete with a hot pink geisha robe that ends mid thigh.

The gift bearers place her gently on the floor next to Katt, and she savors the beautiful site in front of her.

Roxy Phoenix: Mmm, Kitty Katt, you look good enough to eat.

Roxy Phoenix seductively derobes, revealing a similar outfit to Katterina Wylde - green leaves conceal her naughty bits. She slithers across the table, tempted to dump each sushi roll off Katterina's body and give the wealthy crowd a lascivious show, but she's been requested to behave by the powers that be for the night... at least for the first hour or so.

She swallows the urge to jump Katterina, and instead, she lies next to the Dark Angel, ready to receive her own rice and fish accessories.

Fuji: Finally, you show up. We've been waiting. Come now. Sushi! We haven't got all night!

The waitstaff do as they are commanded, and Roxy winks at Katt.

Katt Wylde: Good thing you arrived when you did. I thought his head was going to explode. One thing I don’t need to do later tonight is dig out someone’s brain tissue out of my snatch. Oh and did I mention that it’s really hard not to forget what we’re supposed to do and just fuck the shit out of you?

She paused.

Katt Wylde: I said that last part out loud, didn’t I?

Roxy chuckles.

Roxy Phoenix: You did. I would save your voice... you're gonna need it later.

Roxy Phoenix releases an exasperated sigh, and she watches the focused Asian waitstaff dressing the two of them in sushi. Her eyes travel around the room to the mouth-breathers... what the hell was she doing here? Really?

Roxy Phoenix: I guess I misread the text that asked if I would mind coming to a benefit to have people eat me.

She scowls, watching Richard Parker enter the room.

Roxy Phoenix: Ugh, I definitely missed the "people eat OFF me" part... the last thing I want are disgusting people's grubby mitts on me when they haven't paid.

She sighs

Roxy Phoenix: Of course, I am getting paid, but not nearly what I should be... what do you think about all this? Eh... but then again, you're a decent human being, so you probably care about mutated orphans in Somalia or whatever the fuck this is giving money to.

Katt Wylde: Well, yeah, I mean it is a good cause and…wait you’re getting paid for this?

Her eyes widen.

Katt Wylde: …well, shit.

Roxy rolls her eyes.

Roxy Phoenix: Yes, I'm sure you'll get a paycheck or something... maybe it was just a check from Randy Perkins, Parker,? Whatever his name is to make sure I would show up tonight. I'm sure I could get him to shell out big bucks for you too.

Roxy wistfully closes her eyes, and she moves the fingers on her right hand to delicately graze Katterina's hand. Unfortunately, that stirs the attention of one of the Asian waittresses regarding their work.

Woman: You keep hand still!

Roxy and Katt smile simultaneously as they try to stifle the giggles on the verge of erupting. Phoenix blows out a sigh pent-up sigh of relief, and she turns to Katterina, who is concentrating on remaining still.

Roxy and Katt smile simultaneously as they try to stifle the giggles on the verge of erupting. Phoenix blows out a sigh pent-up sigh of relief, and she turns to Katterina, who is concentrating on remaining still.

Roxy Phoenix: You are taking this way too seriously... you're so cute.

Katt Wylde: Well babe, one of us has to be the professional one.

She giggles.

Katt Wylde: But uhm…yeah, I’m trying to

Roxy Phoenix: Katt, my dear, I could teach you a lesson or two about professionalism... I could teach you a lesson or two on a lot of things.

An idea pops into Roxy's head, and she smiles at the tempting thought.

Katt Wylde: And you know that I’m more than willing to learn…

She breaks from her concentration briefly to wink, quickly returning to her still position before anyone notices. She’s good like that.

Roxy returns the wink to the Dark Angel before she returns to her position. She watches the men and women gathering around the beautiful centerpiece - Katterina Wylde and Roxy Phoenix and the expertly arrangement of sushi stretching across their gorgeous physiques.

An elderly man, standing at a a mere 5'-2", examines the two women and makes a comment to his guest - another short elderly man. They each select rolls off the ladies legs, put them on their plates, and retreat from the buffet line.

Roxy's eyes widen, and she turns to Katterina. Somehow, with each movement, no sushi is displaced... sushi placement expertise.

Roxy Phoenix: There has to be something deeply wrong with this... I mean, I get the concept of charity and all... but if Mr. Miyagi and his buddy come back and catch a nip slip, I can guarantee you that I will not be held liable for making all these old farts pop a stiff one and getting heart attacks.

As the patrons bus in and out of the room, Roxy grows weary of the stationary position... and to make matters worse, she is getting hungry. Very hungry. Her hand snakes across the table and up to Katterina's chest. She snags one of the pieces of sushi resting on Katterina's breast, careful to linger at that spot for a few moments. Katt's cheeks turn rosy.

Roxy Phoenix: Mmm, yummy.

The sushi continues to disappear off the female platters, wine glasses still clink, and conversations weed on and on as the attendants grow drunk and full. Yet, Roxy still finds herself feeling a bit peckish. That one sushi roll from earlier didn't satisfy her hunger. Her fingers crawl purposefully down to the V-shaped leaf that conceals her nether regions. Roxy's digits trace a painstaking path in that spot as she tries to decide which of the three rolls that remain on her pelvis to eat. Katt releases a sigh, restraining the urge to allow Roxy to continue her actions. She chooses the one resting above her pubic bone and pops it into her mouth, savoring each component within the sushi roll.

Roxy Phoenix: You taste so delicious, Kitty Katt.

Roxy places the roll from her right breast into her mouth. She hums in approval.

Roxy Phoenix: Mmm, I taste pretty damn delicious too.

She giggles. Katterina is trying to contain herself. She does all she can to maintain her composure, but her mouth is starting to water and small beads of sweat emerge on her brow.

Katt Wylde: Dammit, girl…you’re making me hungry…

She pauses…a seductive little smirk creeps across her face.

Katt Wylde: …but not for sushi.

Roxy Phoenix takes a look at the lingering sushi on her body... about ten pieces are left. Katterina's body is almost picked clean as well. The two of them can see that the waitstaff is already preparing a second round of sushi - the Sofia Spitfire can tell that it is time to back out of this party. Roxy places the remaining rolls from her own body onto Katt's. The Dark Angel furrows her brow with confusion.

Katterina Wylde: What are you--?

Roxy does not move from her current position stretched out on the slad. Her head meets Katt's breast, and she picks up a roll with her mouth. Her tongue flicks at the green leaf covering her breast - no hands necessarily. Katterina moans, but she tries to regain her composure.

Curious to see how far she can take this until Katt gives into temptation, Roxy eats another sushi roll off of Katt's breastbone, and another off her stomach, and another right below her belly bottom. With each graze of Roxy's lips, Katterina finds herself releasing her inhibitions. Roxy pauses right above one of the rolls at Katt's pelvis, and she watches the Dark Angel squirm... begging her to continue. Roxy returns to her stretched out position along the slab, leaving Katterina hot and bothered.

Roxy Phoenix: *sighs* Where's my robe? I'm busting this joint...

She grabs the cloth and drabs it around her body. She turns to give Katterina an inviting smile.

Roxy Phoenix: Feel free to join me when you're done being professional.

Katt doesn’t say one single word. She just leaps to her feet and the pair quickly make their exit. he Fuji, predictably furious chases after them, shaking his fist as he dashes after them.

Fuji: YOU GET BACK HERE! YOU HEAR ME!

Camera-switch: backstage.

This is a part of the backstage setup we very rarely get to see at an event: the referee's dressing room.

Meet Elvis Nixon, the best referee in the business. Though he doesn't look like he believes that tonight. Elvis sits on a bench, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. Regret hangs over him like a shroud.

Nick: There you see Elvis Nixon, obviously despondent about his actions in our main event last time out at ReVolution 245. There's no question that Elvis was in the pocket of Devin Shakur in Shanghai—

Richard: There was plenty of question. Can't you take it that the great Alexandra Pierce and Lance Marshall, the team you were ready to crown as the best tag team in all of wrestling, lost to the real best team in PRIME?

Nick: How can you even question it? You saw some of those calls Elvis made? He's in Shakur's pocket and—

Richard: He's not in Devin's pocket! That's an insult! It's positively slanderous! It's—

Parker shuts up as the camera pans away from Elvis to the tall heels of a woman approaching—not from the door, though, but rather from the bathroom. Four inch spike heels, a wine-purple dress with a hem that's more of a suggestion than a fact, and a draped-front halter top that can't possibly be considered decent... do we have to tell you this is Kathryn Shaw?

Shaw: Aw, don't be so gloomy, Elvis... it's not like you really had a choice out there. Besides...

She saunters closer, trailing her fingertips up Nixon's bicep.

Shaw: It's not like Devin isn't grateful. We just need you to do one more thing for us, and then you can go back to your boring life and your karaoke bars.

Kathryn leans over, her lips at his ear.

Shaw: ...if you want to, of course.

Nixon: What does he want now?

Elvis' murmur is quiet, sullen.

Shaw: Nothing more than you're already willing to give, sweetie. He'd just like it if –

"I thought I'd find you in here."

That whip-thin voice, whisper-soft and diamond-hard, can be no one other than Alexandra Pierce, who we find leaning in the doorway, her arms folded, a bare frown touching her lips.

Pierce: Come to do Devin's bidding again, Kathryn?

Kathryn straightens, scraping her nails over Elvis' neck.

Shaw: It really bothers you when any of us do anything to make a name for ourselves without you, doesn't it?

Pierce: Is that what you call this? Latching onto Devin's crumbling reign isn't "making a name for yourself." It's making a name for him. He'll use you for what you can do to people, and then he'll throw you in my way in the hopes it slows me down some.

Shaw: It's all badass, all the time with you, isn't it? Face it, Lexi. You accepted an unwinnable war from a guy who cared so much about it that he couldn't even be bothered to show up to fight it. These people in this locker room don't like you and they'll never like you. Hell, half the slack-jawed morons watching on television probably have standing bets with their brother-husbands every week that you'll end up standing at his side, laughing at anyone who bought into this idiotic "I'm the best wrestler in the world" schtick.

The Spider pushes off the doorframe, her arms unfolding to swing to her sides. Particularly eagle-eyed viewers may notice her hands tightening into fists as she surges across the room.

Pierce: You're my responsibility. Anything you do -- anyone whose lives or livelihoods you destroy are on my head.

Shaw: Well, technically, I mean... it's probably your sweetie's fault, not yours. She's the one who couldn't fly from California by herself and asked me to tag along.

Alex's smile thins into s line.

Pierce: I highly doubt Amy asked you to do anything.

Shaw: Mmm... you'd be surprised just what she's asked me to do for her, Lexi. So why don't you just--

The hollow thoom of Poerce's open palm crashing into the locker next to her head startles the Siren, but it's the hand tangling in her thick mane if hair that draws a yelp.

Shaw: Lexi -- Alex, think about this. Please think about this...

Alex twists her wrist, forcing Shaw to stumble.

Pierce: Believe me, I have thought about this. I told Lance I would take care of this, and I will.

Kathryn slaps ineffectually at Alexandra's hand.

Pierce: Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you apart right here before you have a chance to play games with my match with Lance.

"I'll give you two."

If the throaty purr is immediately recognizable as Kathryn Shaw and that deadly whisper as Alexandra Pierce, then it seems fair to mention that that low, snapping whip of a voice can only be Devin Shakur.

Shakur: For starters, if you don't unhand my employee, my loyal Enemigos may have to take matters into their own hands, and I'd hate to think what they'd do if they slipped off the leash.

Pierce: Your employee? Devin, come on. Even you are smart enough to know not to trust her.

Shakur: Of course I am. But still...

The smile that skims across his lips is nothing short of oily.

Shakur: She's a much more manageable problem than you are. So leave her alone. She hasn't harmed a soul. Has she, Elvis?

Nixon: Hm?

Shakur: Did Kathryn threaten, harm, or attempt to coerce you in any way?

Nixon: No, sir, she...

He looks nervously from Shakur to Shaw and back, shaking his head.

Nixon: She didn't.

Shakur: And there you have it. You're threatening an innocent woman. How very like you. Now let her go, or I promise you, there will be consequences.

Pierce: Do you think your little black-masked cockroaches actually frighten me, Devin? I'll tear through them like tissue paper.

Shakur: Oh, I wasn't talking about them, Al. You forget -- Tyler Rayne is gone. No more. It doesn't matter is he's disappeared into whatever opium den or got lost in some brothel or if he just got sucked up Lindsay Troy's vagina... he's not around to protect you anymore. The Board says I can't fire you without cause, but how hard do you think that'd be?

He smiles, and it's an unpleasant expression that just gets worse when Alex actually does release Kathryn.

Shakur: But really, if I fire you, you'll just scurry off to GCW to be with your sweetheart. So I'll keep you around. But if you keep being so aggravating, I'm sure I can come up with some grunt work to keep you busy. Maybe you can spell Mills or Brooks and hold a mic for interviews. Perhaps you can come to the arena early and help the crew put the ring together. Or maybe -- just maybe -- the PRIME site could use a new bikini spread. There's only so many times our fans can look at Angie, Kathryn, Roxy and Tracy with their dick in their hand, after all.

If you've ever wondered just what Alexandra Pierce looks like truly red-faced with anger, freeze-frame your DVR right now.

Pierce: Devin...

Shakur: Have I made myself clear? Do you know what you need to do now? (without waiting for an answer) Great. Kathryn, come on. I'm sure Al has some things to consider.

The Siren smirks, straightening the fall of her dress (which amounts to tugging on the hem, and which only tightens it further).

Shaw: Just a second.

And she hauls off and slaps the Spider. It sounds like a gunshot in the small room.

Shaw: If you ever lay a finger on me again, I swear to Christ, I will shave your fucking head.

Alex's eyes are blazing, and she's stepping into Shaw before she even realizes it.

Shaw: Come on! Come on and hit me! I have a nice pink string bikini I can lend you for the shoot. Hit me, Lexi! Hit me and I swear to God I will plaster those photos all over Quinn's school.

Alexandra blows the air out of her nose, forcibly unclenching her fists. She says nothing, even as Kathryn totters over to slip her hand through Shakur's arm. She tosses a smug smile over her shoulder at the Medusa.

Zoom in tight on Pierce, her brows knitted and her glare unwavering.

Pierce: Oh, I know what I need to do, Devin. Believe me, I know.

Cut away.

Tucked away in his locker room pounding out more ab crunches, the giant is too immersed in the pain in his muscles to notice the figure enter the room and stand over him, watching intently. Finishing his set, the Murder Show grabs a towel and lays back with it pressed against his face. From out of the corner of his eye he notices the looming figure and without looking any further than the gold shining on his shoulder dismisses the Universal Champion and relaxes his muscles in silence.

Matt Ward: Taking this shit pretty seriously aren't we?

Hessian: You know it.

Ward: You'd think you'd learned your lesson at Two-Four-Two.

The giant exhales through the towel and sits up, adjusting his knee brace before acknowledging the Inhuman Being.

Hessian: What do you care? You've got your own goddamn problems to worry about.

Ward: Take it from someone who's been there, if you keep pace you're going to blow out before the PPV comes close. Do yourself a favour, for the good of the company, and take it easy until you're one hundred percent.

The giant moves to get up but winces as his knee jerks and quickly settles back on his seat.

Hessian: The hell you think you're preaching to? Don't talk to me about risks and pace, I'm a juggernaut on the road to success right here-

The Murder Show pats his diminishing gut.

Hessian: -whereas you....you're looking a pretty sorry state yourself, champ.

Ward: That I am. I’m all busted up. And yet, old and tired and on his last legs, you’re lookin’ at a guy who knows how to manage the weight of the company on his shoulders and set the standard for everyone else to follow. Someone who thinks that, in your best interest, you take it easy for a while and don't rush headfirst into a tragedy.

The Murder Show clenches his fists and chuckles down to the floor, aghast at the tone of the Universal Champion. 

Hessian: You been talking to Shakur?

The Inhuman Being cocks an eyebrow.

Hessian: No? Well let me tell you like I told him, I've been doing what I do for ten years and I'm still going strong. The hell with the consequences. You need to be concerned with your damn self because once I'm ready I'm coming for you, asshole, and I'm coming for my Universal Title. Shit can't a guy recup in peace anymore?

Ward: Just some advice from a guy who was on fire – sometimes a little too much, and a decade later was already burned out.

The Inhuman Being turns to leave, but stops and rattles off one last word of advice.

Ward: And by the way, as the only guy to ever hold this belt on three different occasions, this is my title. Always’ll be my title. The rest of ya just get to borrow it from time to time.

The champion snorts at the giant and takes his leave, allowing Hessian to return to his exercise, seething at the comments he's received throughout the night.

"A Real Competition"

The scene adjusts its view to reveal Roxy Phoenix enveloped in a black satin Asian kimono, adorned with red and ivory flowers. The baggy sleeves with thick ivory trim hang delicately off her lithe frame, and the top of the robe falls gracefully down the front of her torso, revealing the soft nape of her neck and smooth décolleté. Her hair is still wound in a ball atop her hand with twin chopsticks, yet a few tendrils have fallen loosely in front of her beautiful face.

Accompanying her are three young Asian women, all ranging in their twenties, primping Roxy Phoenix for her busy night. One girl kneads at her shoulders, neck, and upper back. Another finishes up lathering her legs and feet in a moisturizing lotion as one of the many steps of the pedicure. The final girl labors over one of Roxy’s hands on a folding table, finishing up a manicure.

She blows on her fingernails, expecting them to dry quicker with this action, but she is sorely mistaken. The young Japanese girl grabs the hand and returns it underneath the small white clam shaped fan (that circulates air to dry the nails) near the set up on the table.
Roxy Phoenix rolls her eyes, and she releases a frustrated sigh. As much as she loves to be pampered, these young girls are not performing up her to standards… and she is becoming very vocal about it.

Roxy Phoenix: Aren’t you Asians supposed to be good at this shit?

The two Asian girls on both sets of nails mutter something to one another in Japanese, most likely a derogatory statement about "dumb Americans", to which the masseuse covers her mouth and releases a tiny giggle from her throat.

Roxy mocks the stereotypical Asian response.

Roxy Phoenix: Yes, yes. Stupid American no tip dumb Asian girls…

The three ladies obviously understood that comment, and they return to work on the command of the wave of Roxy’s hand.

Perturbed, she tries to ignore their current tasks, and she finds the camera man recording the footage taking place. She curls her index finger on her free and beckons him toward her. He obeys, and she clears her throat, ready to deliver a well-rehearsed speech.

Roxy Phoenix: So, I’m sure you’re expecting me to get on some soapbox and give you a big drawn out bitchfest about how I should win against Jack or whatever. All of the reasons are self-evident, and I don’t need to sound like a broken record, but for the sake of formalities...

She sighs, licks her lips, and prepares her dialogue.

Roxy Phoenix: I am going to win… yadda yadda, Jack is going to lose… yadda yadda. I am awesome… blah blah. Doesn’t even compare to my talent in the ring… blah and blah. Obviously it doesn’t take much retaliation, since everyone will see what I’m talking about when I come away with yet another victory.

The thought of another victory brings a triumphant smile to her face. Alas, it doesn’t last long; she’s got other business to attend to…

Roxy Phoenix: Anyway, now that that’s over with. I have been dying to get involved in a real competition here at PRIME. So… since there hasn’t been any, I figured I’d create my own.

The cameraman is confused as is everyone else in attendance that evening, yet they are still intrigued – all hanging on Roxy’s subsequent words.

Roxy Phoenix: I propose a free-for-all cage match for any of you brave Phoenix fans out there… winner gets to be my slave for a week.

She nods, reflecting on her plans.

Roxy Phoenix: I really do grow tired of those interns… they’re all the same. I’d like some new blood around here.

The cameraman laughs, but despite his normally silent post, he donates his personal advice on the subject.

Cameraman: Rox, I don’t think we can do that…

Roxy Phoenix: And why the hell not?

Cameraman: Well, for starters, even if we were able to get a ring to fit all those people…

Roxy Phoenix: Fine – make it a gauntlet match.

Cameraman: Like I was saying… even if we could do that, the liability and insurance on all of those fans… PRIME can’t invest in a risk like that.

Roxy bites her lip and scowls at the cameraman’s logic. Agitated, she waves the three Asian girls away, as she senses her match is approaching. They scurry off, and Roxy removes the kimono, tossing it on the couch and revealing a black bra and a black thong.

Roxy Phoenix: I’m sure we could do some sort of raffle… where the contestants are self-financed and self-insured that way PRIME assumes no liability?

Deep in pensive thought, she considers the different consequences posed by the cameraman as she dresses in her black vinyl wrestling gear.

Roxy Phoenix: I can talk to Devin – he’d be interested in something like that. We’ll sort out the details, but I need something here to amuse my time.

She pauses.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, and no PRIME employees are eligible to enter. The last thing I need is Big Bear or Ryan Park… Parker, whatever his name is, stalking me at the chance of winning.

Cameraman: I see where you’re going, but there’s no way that Devin Shakur is going to let anything like that get approved.

She tugs the zipper up to her bust line, and she gives one last look to the cameraman.

Roxy Phoenix: What the fuck? I mean, who are you anyway? Some dumb cameraman that makes $10/hour? Like I give a shit about your opinion… all questions posed were rhetorical.

The cameraman doesn’t respond. He knows he’s been commanded to shut up, and he should have never said anything previously as well.
She removes the set of chopsticks in her hair and tosses her hair about with one last look in the reflection of the lens of the camera.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, and when I do get my webshow, if there isn’t a fully mute digital webcam involved, I sure as hell hope I don’t have a cameraman as mouthy as you… Hope you enjoyed your job. I’m sure you’ll be getting canned by the end of the week.

Roxy exits her locker room, ready for her match with a wink and blowing a kiss at the camera. She heads out the room, and the door closes behind her. The cameraman mutters some choice curses, which are censored, and the scene fades to black.

The Japanese crowd gave Flyer a warm reception, and promptly dealt the business to Sloan who had no idea what they were saying. Still showing the mat-based tendencies from his previous stint, Flyer engaged in a collar and elbow with Chainz. It took zero time for Sloan to resort to his power game and shove Flyer back into the buckle. Flyer popped his neck to both sides and moved forward, looking for a second one. Sloan was all too willing to give him another go, but soon found himself on his back after having his back taken and swung around.

Sloan scooted around but Flyer proved too quick to thwart, keeping himself on the block and wrenching his waist lock. With the pest on his back, Sloan had no choice but to get himself to the ropes and break the hold. Flyer kept the hold on until 5, and broke away, pushing off the ropes and forcing Sloan back into a rollup. The Monster kicked out and once both got back to a vertical base, Sloan delivered a monster clothesline that took Flyer inside out. Sloan dropped for a cover, but only got two.

He continued his assault of Flyer, stomping him over to the corner and placing his left foot against the throat. Elvis didn’t have such an easy time getting Sloan to break the hold, threatening him multiple times with disqualification before he got a clean break. The former Intense Champion ignored Elvis’ threats, mouthing something to the effect of he wouldn’t penalize such a big star on such a big night. Nixon rolled his eyes while Sloan went over and pulled Flyer up. He was the victim of a small package, but Flyer again only got two.

Richard and Nick argued back and forth about the pros and cons of being a villain, like they always do. Chainz got up first, but was tripped in a drop toe hold. Flyer swung around and over into a side headlock, looking to turn it around into a guillotine and end the night early. Sloan kept his neck down and slapped his feet around, feeling for any sign of the rope. He also utilized his strength to push back and eventually found the rope.

Flyer let go of the hold but stayed on top of Chainz, dropping an elbow across the back of his neck and transitioning around to a camel clutch. The irony of Chainz being grounded by a submission game was not lost on anybody, especially The Monster himself. He tried rolling under and getting behind Flyer, but the technique applied was too pure and his strength couldn’t wiggle his body free. I’m saying words alright, they don’t sound pretty and likely aren’t, but most people aren’t going to read this anyway. So let’s get through this with my horrible ad-libbing and everybody can be peachy keen afterward, mmkay?

Again, Chainz had to use his feet to snake back and get to the ropes, although this time it took him a bit more time than he would like, and his back suffered the consequences upon him getting to a vertical position. Flyer also knew exactly what to target, driving his right forearm repeatedly in the back and pulling Chainz toward the turnbuckle. At one point, Flyer turned Sloan around so that his face was grinding against the ropes and put all of his weight against the shoulder blades. Sloan was at the mercy of Nixon, who, we’ll be honest, gave Flyer a bit more than a standard five count before becoming aggressive and demanding he break the hold. Shows what a big star Sloan is right?
The domination of Flyer continued, lifting Sloan off the mat and for a backbreaker. He made sure to turn Sloan over so that his back was exposed before continuing the Bret Hart chain of setup maneuvers, going to the second rope and dropping an elbow across the spine. Flyer then went an unconventional route, putting his weight on Sloan’s back and pressing into him with his hands, lifting his lower body up and bringing it down across the lower back. It was rather odd looking, but very effective as Sloan was immobile for about fifteen seconds. Flyer tried rolling him over, but was unable to flip the 295 pounds.

Richard screamed about the conspiracy of Elvis and 1970s while Nick played the oblivious good guy who said Flyer should continue to punish and look for a way to offensively turn Sloan over so he could get the fall. Flyer went for the Crippler Crossface, locking the right arm and forcing Sloan to roll over so he could get out of the way. He used the advantage to put a pinning combination on Chainz. Unfortunately, it did no good as Sloan was once again able to show his perseverance and kick out before three.

Flyer looked up at Nixon and gave a perplexed look, wondering what he would have to do to beat this guy. He struggled to his feet and brought Sloan with him, but The Monster was playing a bit of possum, and hoisted Flyer into the air for a devastating spinebuster. The air in the building went out as it seemed Sloan was going to wrap up another victory. Who knows, perhaps he’d go on another long winning streak like he did and get into the record books, breaking his own record. Yeah, I’ve got a word count and I’m trying to get to it. So let’s just end this shindig now. Sloan lifted Flyer up for the Chain Reaction. Pinfall. Match. We’re one done.

As the night has worn on, more and more heads have curiously taken a glance at the executive offices. The only people to emerge have been Devin Shakur and Christian Daniels, and those were for brief moments that consisted of important meetings. Shakur and Shaw didn’t talk in the main office, but rather a subsequent office, and she hasn’t gone blabbing whatever he said to the highest bidder about the comings and goings of the main meeting.

Nobody can get anything more than a few words that don’t have any correlation to one another, likely because they don’t have any correlation and are being said seconds apart. One person thought he heard total control, although it could have easily been remote control. The three most distinguished voices have either been speaking in sign language or have covered their voices so as not to be heard.

With about nine people stationed outside the door, the handle twists and out comes Christian Daniels. Those who figured to try and manipulate Lisa Tyler to give up a quality one-liner or verbally joust Shakur have been effectively shut down, because Daniels is the last guy to snitch on anybody (because he knows what happens to those who do).

He observes the peanut gallery observing him. This could be like that game of human chess, although nobody’s going to move or talk unless the other one does first.

Christian Daniels: Y’communiss wan’nething while’m ona run?

Said peanut gallery: Matt Mills, Angelica Brooks, Elvis Nixon, Dick the Janitor, Geoff Peterson, James Van Der Beek (Tosh isn’t the only one who can get an expensive cameo), Thad, Ted, and Barney (the sound technician triplets) all look at each other and shake their heads.

Daniels: Y’wont some scoop, eh?

They all nod like Pavlovian dogs.

Daniels: Aite, 247’s gon have big announcements. Bout what?

He reaches down and hands them the two cups attached by a string.
Daniels: Start guessin.

He walks to the room behind them, gets a 12-pack of Pepsi and goes back inside the room.

Fresh from her match, sweaty and sultry, Roxy Phoenix strolls the backstage area always on the prowl. To her great enjoyment she spots a famed and notorious man standing in the shadows, eyes ever present on those that pass him by.

Michael Sloan looks extra jacked in a gray tanktop as each muscle bulges and veins look like roadmaps on his arms. It's too much visual stimulation for Roxy to ignore.

Roxy Phoenix: Mmm, tell me you're waiting for me.

He smiles at the sexy woman in front of him.

Chainz: Sorry beautiful, but you're not exactly who I'm looking for.

She frowns playfully.

Chainz: Hey don't worry, I'd still give you a ride. If I wasn't married that is. I take my vows very seriously you see.

Roxy giggles flirtatiously at that statement, and she rests her palm on his muscular arm, tracing the definition in his chest underneath his gray tank top. She surveys his eyes curiously noticing her attention to the detail of his brawny stature.

Roxy Phoenix: Very seriously, I imagine...

She licks her lips, and she leans into his ear. She blows a small puff of air on his lobe and whispers her next comment.

Roxy Phoenix: Almost as seriously as your wife takes them?

And with that the formalities drop. His eyes narrow as he grabs the woman by the bicep, completely engulfing it entirely in his grip.

Chainz: Don't be coy with me girl and be careful what you get involved with. What's this about my wife?

Roxy Phoenix: Get your fucking hands of me, you fucking pig!

Roxy draws her hand back and slaps him hard in the face. He releases his grasp on her arm to touch his face. He chuckles at the slight sting of pain... it is nothing compared to the sheer mass of pain he can endure.

Roxy Phoenix: Your wife may let you smack her around, but not me.

Chainz: My apologies, I just assumed someone like you would be game. Look at, all hot and sweaty. You that excited or are you nervous?

Her smile reappears.

Chainz: That a girl. No reason we have to be enemies right? I don't make a good enemy, but I can surely be a great friend. Now what's this about my wife that's got you so bothered?

Roxy's smile turns to a coquettish giggle.

Roxy Phoenix: I am always excited, but I prefer to be the one smacking people around.

He nods, and Roxy wipes the sweat from her brow. His eyes follow the small bead of sweat at the nape of her neck trickling down the "V" shape of her cleavage.

Roxy Phoenix: Mmm, those are some serious vows, aren't they? It truly saddens me to see married people... they just gave up on having fun.

Her finger extends to beneath his chin, and she pushes his head up to be even with hers. His eyes are brought back up to her face, and he smiles at the consequence of being caught. She wags that same finger at him.

Roxy Phoenix: Your wife... hmm. Interesting subject...

Chainz: Where is she anyway? I assume you've seen her.

Roxy's smile widens, she's gotten her prey to bite.

Roxy taps her index finger on her lips.

Roxy: Hmm, I did hear her say that you thought this certain person was trouble...

Chainz's nostrils being to flare up at the thought of his wife lying to him.

Roxy: And well, I'm sure your little ol' wife with her big ass titties wouldn't dream of disobeying you... ha, but she did.

His cracks his knuckles and growls as though he were going to break someone's skull.

Roxy: Oh, yes... Kathryn Shaw. I would say she's dabbling in the labia pool, but I believe they went out... to pick up some dirty old men together. Isn't that sweet?

Before she can get a response - he is off like a bat out of hell.

Camera-switch: backstage.

In what's become something of a theme tonight, here's another place we rarely get a camera: outside a shower. And while that fact could be a bad thing (who wants to catch Hessian looking for a towel, for example?), this is far more of a pleasurable experience, as the frosted glass door slides open to allow a long, long expanse of leg to slither out.

The camera trails lovingly up fhe woman's leg, from the slender foot with its toenails painted a dusky cinnamon, up along her calves and to lithe thighs, a last few rivulets of water running down her taut flesh in lazy lines.

Fortunately for the censors (but unfortunately for the rest of us), there's a fluffy, sky-blue towel knotted around her torso. Even so, Kathryn Shaw is still walking sex, but if she's aware we're playing voyeur, she certainly doesn't show it.

While the Siren has been all but ubiquitous this evening, we're not just here to watch her get out of the shower. That shot if her lifting a foot to the toilet will likely be played and replayed and slowed down, however, if only for that moment where the towel parts just a bit along her leg, offering a frame or three to hint at the treasures hidden beneath.

Then all our fun is ruined, because while Shaw is not alone in that changing room, she's not in for any sexyfuntime. Well, probably not, at least, judging from the snarl curling Michael Sloan's lips as he shoves Kathryn up against the glass wall, hard.

Chainz: What did I tell you? What did I say?

For a moment -- just an instant -- Kathryn seems surprised, even afraid. But it only lasts a moment before it's folded away as if it never even existed. A simmering little grin blooms on her plump lips.

Shaw: As I recall, I believe you told me you took your wedding vows to heart and that you were more of a blond man. Does your sudden need to touch me mean you might have changed your mind, baby?

Chainz: I told you to stay away from my wife, Kathryn. She's not interested. Was that unclear?

Shaw: It may have been.

She tries on a smile -- as with most things, it fits her remarkably well.

Shaw: Relax, sweetie. I told you, I'm not interested in getting your wife fucked. I don't know who you've been talking to--

Chainz: It doesn't matter who I've been talking to. Whatever game you're playing with my wife--

Shaw: We talked about this in Shanghai, lover. Games are all I'm good at playing.

She skims her fingers over his ribcage, so lightly that it's hardly noticeable.

Shaw: Besides, I think you want me to be friends with Tracy.

Chainz: And here I was thinking I'd been clear about this.

Shaw: Oh, you have been. Believe me, I get the intense, furrowed brow, overprotective thing. It totally works for you. But unless you're gonna lock her up in a tower, how did you plan to keep her away from other people?

Chainz: People have a funny way of disappearing, Kathryn.

Shaw: You're not threatening me, are you, babe?

Her smile never leaves her face.

Chainz: I don't make threats, girly.

He squeezes her arm tight enough to put a small grimace of discomfort on her lips.

Chainz: I'm just trying to get through to you without having to resort to more unsavory methods, but you're trying my patience.

Shaw: Maybe I just want a friend around here. Have you thought about that? Maybe your wife needs one, too.

Chainz: You're not exactly what I had in mind.

Shaw: And if I promise to keep her out of trouble? I could keep an eye on her for you, letting you go do whatever it is you do around here when the cameras aren't rolling.

He releases his grip and ponders the proposal.

Chainz: Awfully tempting, the only problem I have is what good is your word?

She doesn't grab at her arm, but the temptation has to be there.

Shaw: I don't really see where you have a choice. She's going to find someone with a sympathetic ear. Would you rather it be me or, say, Lindsay Troy?

His lips curl, half a frown and half a snarl, but he doesn't stop her when she slide-steps away from the shower, her hands lifted. She lifts a dress bag off a nearby rod.

Shaw: Look, it's obvious you both still care. When she's fretting and biting her nails about what to do with her feelings for you, who do you want giving her advice? Me, or someone less inclined to treat your marriage favorably?

Chainz: You don't strike me as the kind of woman who believes in the sanctity of marriage.

As if in answer, Kathi tugs on the knot holding her towel in place. It falls to the tiled floor, but he doesn't get more than a second's look before she slips behind the screen, and we don't even get that, blocked off by his massive frame.

Shaw: Oh, I believe in marriage plenty. I just believe in adultery more.

It's just a silhouette, but she seems entirely unconcerned as she steps into a pair of panties.

Shaw: Look, I don't begrudge you your doubts, Michael. But you strike me as a smart man, so you should know what the proper play is. If you warn me off and I don't listen, what are your options?

She opens the bag, slipping out a dress that seems short even just in shadow.

Chainz: Oh, I think you know what would happen if you defied me.

Shaw: I do. I do and I know that's not a good result for me. But if you do trust me, think of how much help I can be.

She pulls the dress over her head, and her smile is audible.

Shaw: And if everything works out really well... It's not really cheating if your wife is in the bed with us, is it?

She sticks her head around the barrier, her smile full of promise.

Shaw: Zip me up?

Michael doesn't hesitate. Painfully slowly, he zips her up.

Chainz: Just seconds ago, I was ready to rip your head off, literally-

She's grinning as she leans back against him.

Shaw: And now you love me right?

Chainz: Not a feeling I'm overly familiar with.

Shaw: So we have a deal?

Chainz: Very well, but don't make me regret this. I so hate being wrong.

Shaw: Don't worry honey, we'll be the best of friends.

She turns, but disconcertingly stays behind the opaque screen.

Shaw: All three of us. And you should see how I treat my friends.

To see how she treats her friends (and what she's wearing), you might want to stick around for the main event.

Cut away.

Camera-switch: backstage.

We cut to a shot of the nicely-formed-but-guys-she-doesn't-swing-that-way derriere of Alexandra Pierce. Her foot rests on a wheeled crate as she adjusts the cuff of her boot. Alex is dressed for combat – again the singlet abandoned in favor of snug pants and her dove-gray tanktop. She pushes off the crate, turning down the hallway, running a hand along her taped wrist.

Alex stops short. The camera swings around to take a look at Lance Marshall, adjusting his own wrist tape. The Lion wears his new, heraldry-inspired t-shirt and his trunks, and somehow he looks even more massive than he did just a week ago.

Lance looks down to the Spider.

Pierce stares right back up at the King of the Jungle.

Marshall: So.

Pierce: So.

Marshall: You ready?

Pierce: As always. You?

Marshall: Hell, yes, I am. I've been waiting for this since Homecoming.

Alex smiles, ruefully. Her chuckle is soft.

Pierce: You're never going to let me live that down.

Marshall: I would have had you if not for Cozen.

Pierce: You mean you might have had me.

Marshall: Guess we'll find out.

Pierce: I guess we will.

Marshall: Then let's do this.

He lifts a fist. Actually gets a fist-bump in return. She turns smartly on heel and toe and they walk side-by-side down the hall.

Marshall: You know I don't buy that you've got nothing cooking.

She dips her head to the side, a bare ghost of a smile touching her lips.

Pierce: I'd be insulted if you did.

And that's all the words they exchange, but we get a cool shot of them walking down towards the ring.

Nick: Alexandra Pierce! Lance Marshall! One on one – NEXT on ReVolution!

Nick: Here we go, folks! It is main event time! Two long-time friends, forced by Devin Shakur's manipulations to face each other. I have no doubt they're going to lay it all on the line here.

Richard: Good! I hope they do! The more they hurt each other, the less that Devin has to do it!

Nick: We've already seen that Pierce and Marshall are very much a unit here in spite of this match tonight, and in spite of the tasteless suggestion that Devin Shakur might put Alex in a bikini photo spread on the PRIME website!

Richard: You say "tasteless" like it's a bad thing. Bring on the butt floss!

Nick: (sigh) Let's just go to the ring for the particulars!

Camera-switch: Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, it is time... for your FEATURED CONTEST! It is set for ONE FALL with television time remaining! When the bell rings, the referee in charge of the action will be Elvis Nixon!

Nick: Oh, come on! Is this what Kathryn Shaw was talking about? Devin's sending Elvis Nixon to make sure that these two beat each other up?

Richard: Or because he's the best referee we've got.

Vince Howard: Introducing first!

Lights out. Projector sounds bring us familiar sights.

Voiceover: David Bruce Banner. Physician. Scientist. Searching for a way to tap into the hidden strengths that all humans have. Then an accidental overdose of gamma radiation alters his body chemistry...

The music playing behind the video begins to pick up speed slightly as our narrator continues.

Voiceover: And now when David Banner grows angry or outraged, a startling metamorphosis occurs.

Onscreen, David's eyes turn a sudden, violent shade of green. His body locks rigid and begins to expand, erupting with muscle while turning a deep shade of green. The scene cuts and the creature stands at the top of a hill, growling at the universe. The narrator continues.

Voiceover: The creature is driven by rage...

The video begins to shake and stutter, the same sequence repeating several times. Finally, the film appears to burn out leaving the screen black. The audio, however, is still coming through. We hear again:

Voiceover: The creature is driven by rage...

Quickly followed by the most famous phrase -- which the crowd speaks along with.

Voiceover: "Mister McGee, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

The crowd explodes as the driving guitars of Muse's "Supermassive Black Hole" blast out over the PA system and the King of the Jungle make his presence known at the top of the aisle.

OH BABY DON'T YOU KNOW I SUFFER?
OH BABY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME MOAN?
YOU CAUGHT ME UNDER FALSE PRETENSES
HOW LONG BEFORE YOU LET ME GO?

Lance prowls his way down the aisle, each step being made with deliberate precision. Even in a sport known for impressively developed individuals, Lance Marshall can still manage to give an audience pause. He is heavily muscled and incredibly defined, to the point where he'd make your average comic book powerhouse look small... and the sense of power radiating from him leaves no doubt that the muscles are not just for show. Clad in a pair of workmanlike blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a gold lion's head emblem imprinted on it, he makes his way down the aisle with a grace one would not expect from a man of his size.

OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
(OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT)
GLACIERS MELTING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
AND THE SUPERSTARS SUCKED INTO THE SUPERMASSIVE

Lance slaps at the hands at the hands lining the aisle, his gaze never straying from the ring. His eyes seem to almost burn with energy. As he approaches the ring, a smile slowly starts to creep along his mouth.

Vince Howard: Standing six-foot-three-inches tall, he weighs in at three-hundred and twenty pounds! This is a former SCCW Universal Champion! THIS IS "THE LION"! LAAAAANCE MAARRRRRRRRRSHALLL!

I THOUGHT I WAS A FOOL FOR NO-ONE
OH BABY I'M A FOOL FOR YOU
YOU'RE THE QUEEN OF THE SUPERFICIAL
AND HOW LONG BEFORE YOU TELL THE TRUTH

Lance leaps onto the apron and climbs through the ropes, turning to wait for an opponent he knows all too well.

Vince Howard: And HIS opponent!

You know how those lights were on for a short while? Yeah, they're off again. The soft, plinking beginning of AFI's "Prelude 12/21" rings out in the arena.

Vince Howard: She hails from Tampa, Florida and weighed in tonight at one hundred forty and three-quarters pounds!

This is what I brought you, this you can keep
This is what I brought, you may forget me
I promise to depart, just promise one thing
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

The beat kicks in as flickering, purple-tinted light emerges from a hole on the left side of the stage, smoke billowing out.

Vince Howard: She is the GTT7 champion! She is the Medusa! She is the SPIDER in the WEB! She is the QUEEEEEEEEN OF LIIIIIIIIES! Alexandra! PIIIIIIIIIERCE! DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-SAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHD(uh!)!

This is what I brought you, this you can keep
This is what I brought, you may forget me
I promise you my heart, just promise to sing
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

This would be where Alexandra Pierce usually ascends into the arena, and we'd wax philosophically about her carved-from-alabaster features or her arresting gray gaze. Richard Parker might even mention exactly how much he loves those pants -- she might not have an ass that sears corneas, but it at least stings them a little.

This would ordinarily be where we do all of that and have the dramatic entrance and the staredown and the flashbulbs would pop.

But if you squint really hard at that cloud of fog, you might notice something.

There is no Medusa on that elevator.

It takes Lance Marshall only a moment to realize something is wrong, and he turns to look for her, his fists coming up defensively.

He's a moment or so too late.

Nick: Pierce! Springboard! Double knees! She rides Marshall to the mat!

Richard: Where did she COME from?

Nick: Lance rolls onto his stomach! He pushes himself onto his hands and knees! Alex with a running start! She leaps onto his back and DOWN! Senton! She got huge air on that senton! She shoves Lance over onto his back! Lateral press!

ONE!!

Nick: Just a one count, and the Lion launches her skyward! Alex lands on her feet! She charges in for the Bitchkiller! Knocked aside by Marshall! Lance up to his knees! Pierce spins into a sole-butt -- caught by Lance!

Richard: There's no pause button here!

Nick: Marshall hops to his feet, keeping hold of her ankle! Pierce -- enzugiri! Ducked! She lands on one foot and spins over the other way! Lance ducks that, too, but he has to let go of her foot! He surges forward into a half-nelson and -- SUPLEX!

Richard: Good God, she landed on the top of her head!

Nick: Lance Marshall drops a heavy elbow! He reaches back for a leg! Elvis slides in for the count!

ONE!!

TWO!!

TH---

Nick: No, she got the shoulder up somehow! Lance yanks Alex up into the standing headscissors! Powerbomb -- countered! Armdrag?

Richard: Not a chance.

Nick: Marshall's base is just too wide! He yanks Alex close! German suplex coming up! Pierce trying to counter -- she does! Modified victory roll!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

Richard: No way can she hold him down.

Nick: Lance with another strong kickout! He bounces off the ropes for a laria--whoa! Matrix evasion by the Spider! Marshall's lariat sails overhead! He stops, turns -- she rolls backwards! Two feet under Lance's chin! Pierce continues all the way over!

Richard: What impressive balance!

Nick: She scuttled backwards into a kick aimed for the Lion's kneecap! He takes it without flinching, pulling Desade up, wheelbarrow style! Alex reaches blindly over her and shifts her weight--STUNNER! She kiosk up and--

The wet smack of boot leather on flesh is like a gunshot.

Richard: Holy--!

Nick: What a kick! That savate kick caught Lance right on the side of the jaw!

Richard: But he's still standing! How the hell is he still standing?

Nick: Pierce hooks a headlock! Bulldog THROUGH THE ROPES! Marshall left draped over the middle rope! Alex on one knee on the floor! She's not waiting--

Richard: She's not human!

Nick: Alex back up to the apron! What's she gonna do now? Springboard -- she leaps backwards! Legdrop across the back of Lance Marshall! He flops back into the ring!

Richard: She's not human!

Nick: Pierce back onto the apron! She runs the length of it and leaps onto the top rope! Alex runs it like a damn tightrope! Shooting star press! Missed! She missed, but she lands on her feet! Alex turns--Lance! Marshall launches himself headfirst at Pierce's midsection! She's doubled over--

That's a meaty slap of flesh on flesh.

Richard: She's not doubled over anymore!

Nick: A European uppercut straightens her up! Lance grabs a waistlock! He spins and--

Richard: Holy monkey poop!

Nick: OVERHEAD BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX INTO THE TURNBUCKLES!

Richard: She dead.

Nick: Pierce folded up like an accordion! Lance drags her back into the center of the ring! He hooks a leg!

ONE!!!!

TWO!!!!

THRE--

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Richard: HOW?

Nick: Pierce kicked out! That's just pure instinct! Alex Pierce has GOTTA be running just on fumes!

Richard: Fumes and a death wish, Stuart!

Nick: Lance slowing down the pace a little now! He forces Alex back into the corner and... a running knee to the midsection!

The King of the Jungle wipes his brow with the crook of his elbow before whipping the Queen of Lies corner-to-corner.

Nick: And Marshall follows her in with a thunderous clothesline! Lance Marshall coming right into your living rooms, ladies and gentlemen!

Richard: Only not literally.

Nick: After that breakneck pace in the opening minutes of the contest, you can definitely tell that Lance Marshall is looking to slow down the Spider here! He lowers the shoulder and--OH! Drops a shoulder into Alexandra's ribcage!

Richard: And she's only had one week off since Devin annihilated those ribs back in Abu Dhabi, Stuart!

Nick: Lance Marshall with another shoulderblock! And a third! And a fourth! Rapid-fire, pistonlike shoulders to the gut!

Richard: You can't make him run a marathon if you can't get any air!

Nick: Lance is feeling it here! He takes a few steps back to get a running start!

Richard: He's gonna saw her in half!

Nick: Marshall charges and--OH! Pierce up and over to the apron! Lance goes shoulder-first to the ring post!

Richard: I think the ring moved a couple of inches!

Nick: Lance Marshall might've separated his shoulder, maybe even broken a clavicle! Alex on the apron, she's not moving too fast after the damage Lance did to her ribs!

Richard: And this is why Devin Shakur is the smartest man in the arena! Pierce and Marshall have gone out of their way to mess with him, and now look at them!

Nick: Notice that Elvis Nixon isn't even laying down a count! Alex up to her feet! She grabs Marshall's wrist and wraps that arm back around the post!

Richard: She's opportunistic!

Nick: Now what's Desade doing? Pierce steps up to either side of the post and has both of Lance's arms! She leans back! All her weight! All the pressure on Lance Marshall's shoulder!

Richard: And Elvis might be making the slowest five count in wrestling history!

Nick: Alex has until the count of five to break the hold or she'll be disqualified! She breaks at four and a half, dropping back down to ringside! Lance stumbles back away from the ringpost, clutching his shoulder! Alex up to the apron and to the top! Lance reaches out to pull himself up and -- OH! Double-stomp to the arm! Alex swoops in and takes the arm! Swinging cross-arm breaker!

Richard: Still no!

Nick: Marshall won't budge! His base is too strong! Lance Marshall clasps his hands! Marshall DEADLIFTS Pierce!

Richard: Holy crap!

Nick: With one arm! With one INJURED arm, Lance lifts Alex up and --

Richard: HOLY CRAP! She landed with a splat!

Nick: He throws her over the top rope! Pierce crashes to the floor! Lance slumps against the rope, his hand on his shoulder and--

"The devil is and always was a gentleman."

Nick: Oh, come on!

Richard: What, he just wants a closer view!

[SHAKUR]

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And here comes the Boss in Black, who lives up to his name. Black slacks, black button-down dress shirt, black loafers. At his side, the Biker, Christian Daniels, in leather and carrying a thick-linked chain. Between them is a knockout of a brunette in a snug black dress with a lacy V-back and sky-high heels.

Nick: Oh, now SHE is with them? Why?

Richard: ...you have to ask that question?

Nick: Kathryn Shaw, Christian Daniels, and Devin Shakur coming out here -- and they're not alone! Those black-masked Enemigos joining them! It's... an impromptu lumberjack match out here! The Dark Enemigos pick up Alexandra Pierce! Double kick to the midsection! And they pitch her into the guardrail!

Richard: Whoop, wrong way!

Nick: Lance up to his feet! Daniels on the apron! Marshall turns to him! Shaw in the ring behind Lance! Do something, Elvis!

Richard: He is doing something! He's watching!

Nick: Lance lunges for Daniels! Kathryn -- LOWBLOW KICK! Low blow kick from behind!

Richard: THE KITTEN KICK! THE MOST DEVASTATING MANEUVER IN ALL OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING TODAY! FEAR ITS ALMIGHTY MIGHT!

Nick: It's just a kick to the nuts! Daniels with that chain wrapped around his fist! Straight punch! The Dark Enemigos pitch Alex Pierce into the ring! And NOW Elvis Nixon is paying attention! He's laying the double count on the Lion and the Spider!

ONE!!

Richard: That's his job. If both competitors are unconscious, the referee is supposed to count them down.

Nick: The referee is also supposed to stop that harpy from kicking one of the competitors low to let another man punch him in the face!

TWO!!

Richard: Technicalities.

THREE!!

Nick: Shakur demanding that Nixon count faster!

FOUR!! FIVE!! SIX!!

Richard: No one wants to sit through the ten count!

Nick: Alex rolling over!

SEVEN!! EIGHT!!

Nick: She leaps atop Marshall! Cover!!


ONE!!







TWO!!!




THRE--


"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Nick: LANCE KICKED OUT! LANCE KICKED OUT! Alex rolls back into the corner and uses the ropes to prop her up!

Richard: She still wants to win, Stuart!

Nick: Lance up to his hands and knees! Alex charges--BITCHKILLER! Punt to the head of Lance Marshall! COVER!!


ONE!!












TWO!!!












THRE--


Richard: Foot on the ropes!

Nick: Shakur put it there! Devin doesn't want Alexandra to win, he just wants to screw with both of them! This is unconscionable!

Richard: No, I'm conscioning it now.

Nick: Alex shoots up to her feet! She tries to kick out at the Boss in Black! The Dark Enemigos form a protective wall in front of him! Alexandra turns back--forearm to the midsection by Marshall! Lance up to his feet! Gutwrench POWERBOMBS! What velocity!

Richard: Her head bounced off the mat like a basketball!

Nick: Marshall with the cover!



ONE!!








TWO!!





"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Nick: Christian Daniels pulled Elvis Nixon out of the ring! This is a joke! A travesty!

Richard: A traveshamockery!

Nick: Lance snaps the big man a glare and he pulls Alexandra up again! Marshall--

Richard: What's he doing?

Nick: Marshall slapping Alexandra to wake her up! They're--I think they're talking to each other!

Richard: Is this a match or a chat?

Nick: Lance... lifts Alexandra up! Gorilla press! He hefts Pierce up! Marshall walking around the ring! Marshall--HE PITCHES ALEX OUT AT THE ENEMIGOS AT RINGSIDE! Marshall out after them! Marshall and Pierce! Marshall and Pierce laying waste to the Dark Enemigos! Alex with a spin-wheel kick to another Enemigo! He goes stumbling into Lance! Wheelbarrow pickup! Pierce swoops in--SPIDER'S KISS!

Richard: Daniels!

Nick: Christian Daniels from behind! He whips that chain across the back of Lance Marshall! Pierce up! She springs onto the apron and dives at Daniels -- but she's going for the arm! Pierce grabs the arm of Christian Daniels! Marshall up -- kick to the midsection! He pitches Daniels at Shakur! Devin Shakur and Christian Daniels in a tangle of limbs on the entrance ramp!

Richard: Behind you, buddy!

Nick: Pierce behind Marshall! Another savate kick--CAUGHT! LEGTRAP SUPLEX ON ALEXANDRA PIERCE! Lance tosses Alex into the ring! Marshall climbing in after! Alex trying to get to her feet! She can't quite make it! She can't quite find her footing! Lance pulls her up--

Richard: It's a trick!

Nick: Split-legged chinbreaker! Lance stumbles into the corner! Alex up -- high-speed corner dropkick! Alex up! Alex up to the top rope!

Richard: What kind of lunacy is she trying now?

Nick: Lance stumbling out of the corner! Alex leaps -- diving Spider's Kiss--BLOCKED!

Richard: How strong IS Lance?

Nick: Marshall blocks the Spider's Kiss! He deadlifts Alex up again! Torture rack? YES! HERE IT COMES! Lance spins and--Alex fights free! Pierce whips around front! SPIDER'S KISS! BOOM! BOOM!

Richard: Marshall toppled over like a tree!

Nick: Alex can barely manage to drape an arm over Lance! Nixon is up!



ONE! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!"







TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"









THREE! "THREEEEEEEEEEEE!"

DING-DING-DING!

Nick: She did it!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner! The Spider in the Web, Alexandra Pierce! DEEEEEEE-SAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHD!

Nick: What a grueling, fast-paced encounter, and Alexandra Pierce just barely survived! But still -- STILL -- Violence Jack is the ONLY competitor in PRIME who has a pinfall victory over the Medusa!



IN EITHER EVENT:

Richard: Yeah, it was fine, I guess.

Nick: What's this? Christian Daniels in the ring! Daniels with a kick to the back of Lance Marshall's head!

Richard: About damn time!

Nick: Daniels stretching out that injured arm! He stomps a biker's boot across the shoulder! Alex up to her feet! Pierce with a kick to Daniels' stomach! She straightens him with a knee to the face! Pierce to the outside! She's gonna take out Christian Daniels!

Richard: No! No! No!

Nick: Alex leaps--

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Richard: I told you it wouldn't happen!

Nick: Damn him! Shakur pulls Alex off the top rope! She falls to the floor! Devin waiting now! Devin waiting and -- BOOM! GOOD TIMES!

Richard: PAINFUL MEMORIES!

Nick: Alex is out! Devin rolls the Spider into the ring! Lance is up! Lance with a shot to the midsection! Lance with a shoulder-to-shoulder chinbreaker! Daniels stumbles to a knee! Marshall waiting! He's calling for Code Red!

Richard: Can he get Christian up?

Nick: Lance steps into Daniels! He ducks his head to lift Daniels--

Richard: She is the greatest woman on the planet!

Nick: Kathryn Shaw! Shaw with a grip on the ankle of Marshall! Lance delays--

Richard: And that's all it takes!

Nick: Single-arm DDT! Single-arm DDT by Christian Daniels! Dammit, that shoulder might be seriously hurt!

Richard: Oh, boohoo. What's Devin doing?

Nick: Devin Shakur lifting Alex onto the top rope! He climbs up to the middle and chickenwings the arms! Devin leaps backwards and pulls her with!

Richard: THE HOLY SHIT! GOOD NIGHT, ALEX!

Nick: Alex Pierce just got spiked! Pierce is down! Marshall is down! Once again Devin Shakur and Christian Daniels stand tall! And they've got Kathryn Shaw with them!

Richard: Neither one of them look like winners, do they?

Nick: What will this mean when we get to Singapore? What will this mean for Culture Shock? What will this mean for PRIME? Good night from Yokohama!

We end with the Red Cross logo.