The Nationwide Arena. Home of The Last Stand. As the run up to Colossus continues, the venues are packing more heat every week and Columbus is no different. PRIMEates descend on the city, filling it with an electric buzz that's carried through each and every one of the thousands-strong crowd as they file in and take their place around the squared circle. Any eruption of emotion lies dormant now as the last few tweaks are made to ensure the arena will hold up against the rush of wrestling action that's about to hit Ohio like Mt. Vesuvius, Mt. St. Helen's and Hessian's ass after a night of Indian cuisine.

Speaking of the giant, that buzz around the arena is following him like a shadow as he makes the painful trek from his hired car in the parking lot through the usual warren of hallways, past in-house staff and into the throng of PRIME personnel milling around their quarters and the locker room area.

Nobody expected to see Hessian tonight, not after Wade Elliott pulled the upset of the century on the big man and went through Hell and back to get the W in their epic Last Man Standing confrontation on 250. The message boards are still alight with talk of the war that saw the giant deal out some of the worst punishment to an opponent to-date, and the arena is full of chatter concerning the health of both men. In comparison to the 'Bama Bruiser, Hessian made it out relatively unscathed; if you can call bursting through the screen on the PRIME*View and taking a thirty-odd foot fall to the hard steel of the ramp entrance area unscathed.

His bare arms are scarred with shallow welts running from his wrists to his shoulders; the deeper cuts are still covered by numerous dressings. Even beneath his shirt the contours of thicker bandages can be made out as he huffs and grunts towards his room, occasionally hugging his torso with his free arm as he lets out a cough. Though his beard is immaculately presented as always his face appears to have been scratched to pieces by a cat. A big cat. Welts streak his face, there's bruising all around his eyes and sutures are holding his right cheek together after the brutal contact with the steel landing pad that cushioned his fall from grace. He's not booked for a match tonight, but damn it he showed up all the same.

Disappearing into his locker room the Murder Show does what little unpacking he has to, changes into his ring gear and checks his healing wounds before getting into focus and heading back out into the wild to carry out his tasks for the night, playing down the limp plaguing his left leg. Still he ambles on towards the gorilla position. Before he can give the go-ahead for his entrance Lisa Tyler suddenly appears, running past the crew finishing up their duties and stopping the giant in his tracks.

Lisa Tyler: Von Kelsig! Wait a minute, we need to talk.

The giant turns to the bitch in charge and groans holding his side.

Hessian: Hey. What's the matter? You wanna switch my Colossus promo to an interview or something?

Lisa Tyler: No, you're still good for an in-ring, but it's Colossus we need to talk about.

Hessian: What? Card placement changed? Stipulation?

Lisa Tyler: Not quite.

Hessian: Well hit me with the details quick, it's show time already.

Lisa Tyler: He's not gonna make it to Colossus. We haven't been able to reach him since the initial negotiations...

Hessian: WHAT?? You told me it was signed, sealed and delivered for the PPV! The fuck do you mean he's not showing?!

One of the runners steps up to the pair suddenly with a clipboard in one hand and the other pressed over a Bluetooth ear bud.

Runner: The truck's ready to go Miss Tyler, we need Hessian in position now.

BLT shoots the kid a look like butter would sizzle, sending him promptly on his way as she sighs and addresses Hessian again.

Lisa Tyler: Look it's not happening. I know how much you wanted it and we tried, Christ knows we tried. Fact is shit happens and despite our best efforts to stop it happening on these last few shows it has. He's a no-show.

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead suddenly hits, rocking the arena to its core and garnering a huge ovation from the crowd out there past the PRIME*View. Clasping her hands together in front of her Lisa has to shout over the music to get her message through to a shocked giant.

Lisa Tyler: JUST PLAY IT AS IT IS. WE'LL GET YOU SOMEONE BUT IT WON'T BE HIM. AND DON'T FORGET TO ADDRESS LAST WEEK. I'M SORRY VON KELSIG, I REALLY AM. NOW GET OUT THERE.

Hessian: FUCK.

The giant slams an open palm into one of the equipment cases sat beside the gorilla position as he takes off up the steps, ignoring the stale nagging pain and throwing back the curtain to an even greater applause from the sold out house. At that very moment the camera switches to a wide pan shot from the nosebleeds as the giant appears on stage looking pretty pissed off indeed.

Nick: Looks like we're kicking things off early tonight with an appearance from Hessian! I can't believe he's walking out here one week removed from that incredible match last week against Wade Elliott!

Richard: Tell me about it, Wade packed as much punch into that last shot as Hessian did throughout their entire match. Never expected either man to show up tonight.

The giant takes his time coming down the ramp, every bit the wounded warrior. The grimace on his face, however, is hiding more than just the pain. Nonchalantly fist-bumping a little kid wearing a wraparound Hessian beard at the barricade corner, the giant takes one look at the steel steps and then the ropes and shakes his head, instead opting to simply roll under the bottom rope and rising up putting all his weight on his good leg. Crossing the ring to take a microphone from Vince Howard at ringside the giant takes centre stage, gathering his thoughts and suppressing the anger that's built up since his run in with Lisa Tyler.

Show's gotta go on...

Hessian: Last week on ReVolution...

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Nick: Haha, the fans don't need a cue. They're well aware of how extraordinary that match was!

Hessian: Yeah well, you said it. I've been with PRIME since what, two-thousand-six, seven? And after all those years of raising hell I can honestly say that last week's Last Man Standing match ranks right up there among some of the greatest battles I've been a part of in this place.

Richard: Oh come on, the last guy I expected to come out here and drop a big soppy dookie was Hessian.

Nick: What else do you expect these guys to do? After Colossus we're done, sentiments like this have to be aired now or never.

Hessian: I've been in worse scrapes myself, but I'll be damned if there's another opponent of mine out there that took a tougher whipping than ol' Wade did last week.

ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT!

Hessian: Yeah he deserves that I suppose. But at the end of the day everything that Wade went through is just another part of the legacy I leave behind. I've dropped Vampir Nosferatu down an elevator shaft...sandwich-banged Devin Shakur inside a ladder...went up to bat against Killean Sirrajin-

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Hessian: -with the goddamn ringpost...y'know, shit like that. Going right back to Primetime Championship Wrestling and all the way through 'til the here and now there's a list miles and miles long filled with names that have come up against me and, win or lose, I've beaten, broken, whipped, shattered, smashed, crushed, maimed, burned, bruised, bloodied, crippled.........

MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW! MUR-DER SHOW!

Hessian: …......Murdered 'em. I don't need to stand here and rattle off my accolades-

Richard: Again.

Hessian: -because we've all, every one of us in the back, won some and lost some. Even Snow couldn't claim to being undefeated in his tenure here. I'm not about to boast about the fact I'm the last ever Universal Champion this place will ever see because I'm the same guy that got beaten on three separate occasions by Tony Gamble. Remember him? The little dude. Beat my ass three goddamn times, no word of a lie. But what I will say, what I can say without fear of sounding arrogant or egotistical...is that I brought the God. Damn. Pain. Shakur can blab on all he wants about putting Tyler Rayne on the shelf for months with broken legs but that's a pretty bare looking shelf when ya look at it. Hell I've put more wrestlers on the shelf than he has Ambien in his medicine cabinet. Crunch those numbers.

Nick: Don't bother folks, you'd be quicker filling out your tax return forms.

Richard: What return forms?

Hessian: Then there's Chandler Tsonda, a guy I've injured more times than I have wrestled. Every time that kid went to Doctor Fihlguud to sign off on a sabbatical he had to write down my name under "Reason for absence." I always hoped one day he'd call me up for a revenge match but the guy's a bonafide superstar, he's got better things to be doing than chasing that dragon. Yep, you name 'em I've maimed 'em. And it's all been leading up to now. To the last stand. To Colossus.

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

Hessian: At least it was supposed to. I was meant to come out here tonight with breaking news that a monumental dream match had been signed for the eighth and final Colossus pay-per-view. Everyone else is already charging at full speed towards that show with their quarry set already, but not me. No, I held back because I wanted a match to top them all, and to do that meant finding an opponent who could stand across the ring from me, look me dead in the eye and put their legacy on the line as they took a walk through Hell with me. I'm not talking about the kind of Hell you all saw last week. I'm talking about ninth circle stuff here, a true end of days apocalyptic confrontation between me and one of the very best this sport has ever seen and BEFORE YOU ALL START CHANTING NAMES there are only four men that were ever considered for that honour. Just four. And none of them are available, ain't that a bitch?

Nick: You gotta wonder who those four are...but you can be sure if Hessian picked them the match would have been epic regardless of who got the final call.

Richard: Is Minion the Imp one of them y'think?

Hessian: What good is it being the elite of your craft when you won't even pick up the phone to book a date with destiny at what is undoubtedly the biggest and most important show in PRIME's illustrious history? Huh? Champions? Legends? HEROES?? Where are they now?? I'll tell you where they are, damn it. They're sitting at home in some isolated little ice box in the back of beyond nursing their old bones as their body succumbs to age. They're hiding from you, every one of you, because they got tangled up in some kind of real life crap and essentially dropped off the face of the planet. They're counting the millions in their bank account and thanking the Gods they made it out alive before they ended up a vegetable eating caviar through a straw for the rest of their life.

I sought out the BEST in this business because YOU deserve to see it. The four men on my hit list? I've been wrestling longer than all of them, outlasted every damn one of them. I'm still here. Maybe I'm built of sterner stuff, maybe I'm too stubborn to call it quits but I'm still here. I'm still here. The big tall streak of goth piss that used to wear a gas mask and lived the Dark Gimmick for Dummies lifestyle. He's a flash in the pan. He's a token giant. He won't make it past the mid-upper card. I proved those assholes wrong a long time ago but I didn't rest on my laurels once I got there like these so-called legends; I fought every step of the way to be standing here before you now every bit the Murder Show I claimed to be on day one.

Nick: A little tongue-in-cheek there but he does make a valid point...

Richard: Dude wins one major fed title in his career and thinks he invented the sport...get over yourself.

Hessian: I've wrestled for the majority of companies under the now-defunct Primetime Central banner, whether it was from beginning to end or halfway through to the end, I've never joined a company I didn't stick with 'til the final bell. I intend to be there at Colossus to see PRIME out in style and if that means......if that means I need to throw out an open challenge, then damn it there it is. To Hell with the rest of them. The word was already put out weeks ago to anyone that held an affiliation to this place and now I'm bumping that word back up to headline status. I want my match at Colossus. Any and all applicants better get their name down by the end of the night otherwise I'll limp my ass back there and pick someone my damn self, and be under no illusions...I'm gonna make ReVolution Two-Fifty look like a walk in the park compared to what's gonna go down at Colossus.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Hessian: Now speaking of Two-Fifty.........Wade Elliott, I'm talking directly to you right now. Get your ass out here.

Nick: Calling Wade Elliott out? What's the Murder Show up to?

Richard: Aaaaw yeah! I knew it! Slinging the sop isn't Hessian's style, I knew the big guy had something brutal in mind. No way was he gonna let Wade get away with that win last week!

Nick: I'm not sure Richard he did just say the outcome didn't matter. Is Wade even in the-

Nick is cut off suddenly as "Still Unbroken" by Lynyrd Skynyrd hits, sending the Columbus crowd into a frenzy as the giant stalks across the ring and leans on the ropes awaiting the arrival of his opponent from last week.

Nearly half a minute passes with no sign of the Bad Dog anywhere.

Richard: Well I guess that answers that. He's probably still lying in intensive care in D.C.!

Nick: You might be right there...after that match last week I doubt if we'll see him-

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Nick is cut off yet again as a wild ovation rocks the house accompanying a fling of the curtain and the appearance of the 'Bama Bruiser in the flesh, despite the fact he looks like a building fell on him. His face is still discoloured around his left eye as a result of all the hard punches he took and his mouth and nose are dotted with separate breaks and splits. His left arm surprisingly isn't in a sling, however the shoulder is visibly tight and with every movement the limb is kept very still to avoid aggravating the injury. If his ribs are taped you wouldn't be able to tell due to the gray t-shirt covering his rugged frame, and though he moves carefully out onto the stage with all the pomp of a wounded warrior, he keeps his fist level, pumping it slowly as if to remind everyone just who the victor was after all. In his other hand, hanging by his side, is a microphone, though to use it now would be pointless.

ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT!

Nick: The Ohio support is out in full force for the Bad Dog!

ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT! ELL-I-OTT!

Wade Elliott: Hope ya didn't git this crowd too riled up, Big Man. Ain't sure if I'm ready to put on another show like last week.

The Bad Dog shoots a wry grin at Hessian who can't help but smirk in retort, whatever he's thinking inside. Wade takes a slow step towards the ramp, every movement obviously an uncomfortable one. By the time he gets to the top of it it's apparent this is going to be a very drawn out entrance. Luckily the Murder Show is on hand with a solution.

Hessian: Stop right there Buckwheat. By the time you limp your ass down here it'll be time for the main event. I'll come to you.

The giant drops and rolls out of the ring, landing carefully on his feet and proceeding to stalk up the ramp towards the Bad Dog to another cheer from the crowd.

Nick: What's this all about then?

Richard: He's gonna kick his ass off the stage...that's what.

The Murder Show reaches the top of the ramp and stands over Wade Elliott, looking the still unbroken warrior up and down with a sneer. The Bad Dog remains stoic and unimpressed, as if anyone expected him to flinch in the first place. Hessian directs his gaze up to the PRIME*View and the new screen stretched across the rigging replacing the busted one from last week.

Hessian: Feeling pretty good about yourself right now?

Wade Elliott: Yeah, happy as a pig in shit. Had a helluva week wonderin' if was gonna puke up one of my god-damn bones.

Hessian: Good for you. Can't be that bad if you're cracking jokes already.

Wade Elliott: Worse than I'm willin' to admit, but yup, I'm pretty beat up alright. Don't wanna pat yer ass all night, though. You ain't lookin' so pretty yerself.

Hessian: Me? I'm just peachy. Wanna go another round tonight?

"WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH!"

Nick: I don't think our insurance will cover another last man standing match like that...

Wade Elliott: I hate to disappoint these fans an' all, but I'm man enough to admit when I git out-fought, an' I sure as hell know when I git lucky. That said, another one of them Last Man Standing matches'll probably send me up this ramp in a box instead've a stretcher.

Hessian: Well ain't that a sin. Here I was looking forward to a repeat performance. You at least get some face time with your Bo Peep?

Wade Elliott: That's all've my business an' non've yers. You got a point t'git to or are ya just here to lemme know how sour them grapes taste?

A loud burst of static fills the arena suddenly as Hessian swats the microphone out of Wade's hand with his massive paw and closes the distance between them, looking Elliott dead in the eye and staring him down for a moment while the frenzy builds in the crowd once again.

Hessian: You know, despite everything you endured last week I didn't quite get everything out of our match that I wanted.

That a fact? Wade can be heard saying through Hessian's microphone.

Hessian: Yeah. I'm not talking about the win, that'd contradict everything I just mentioned in the ring there. No, all the violence and ass kicking aside there's one thing I had left to do...if only I wasn't somewhat incapacitated...

The giant steps back and tosses his mic to the side with another static hiss, and the crowd immediately burst into a roaring chorus as the prospect of another brutal onslaught hangs in the air between the two warriors.

Richard: HERE WE GO!!

Nick: Are they gonna go at it again?! There's no way either man can sustain more damage after all they've been through!

The Murder Show pulls back a fist causing the ovation to literally shift the nuts and bolts in all the fixings around the arena as Wade takes a step back and puts his dukes up, gritting his teeth, and when he snaps it forward with his hand open awaiting a handshake the fan reaction turns from a frenzied cheer into one full of applause for the respect shown by the giant. The Bad Dog cocks an eyebrow staring at the hand, mouthing something along the line of that so? to the giant.

Nick: He wants to shake Wade's hand?? For a second there I could have sworn they were about to beat seven shades out of one another again.

Richard: If you'll excuse me I'm going to whip out the ol' smartphone for a sec and watch some Faces of Death before I puke my guts up from all this lovey-dovey crap.

When Hessian gestures with his open hand once more Wade cautiously lowers his fists and, with less trepidation than a warier man should have, extends his hand and meets Hessian with the handshake. The applause throughout the arena grows louder as Hessian shows Wade the respect he deserves, pulling the Bad Dog in close and holding up the index finger on his other hand, gesturing what can only be to Wade getting lucky that one time. The 'Bama Bruiser nods back and pats the giant on the shoulder before Hessian takes his good arm and raises it in the arm to another standing ovation as "Still Unbroken" plays throughout the arena once more.

Nick: Tremendous show of respect there by both men. It looked like there was gonna be some bad blood spilled but shockingly Hessian initiated that handshake. I guess he really meant what he said about their Last Man Standing match being up there with some of the greatest wars he's fought.

Richard: Hey Nick, the guy in this video looks kind of like you.......

Nick: Focus Richard, how many times are you gonna see the same two men damn near kill each other then walk out a week later in front of the world and shake hands like that?

Richard: Hey this is a wrestling show, if I want blood then by the ghost of Bon Scott I should have it!

The giant compliments the Bad Dog again on a match well won and disappears into the back, leaving Wade Elliott to soak up the cheers as the scene fades to the opening credits.

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

The Risen Star, Nova, hits the Bourbon for Breakfast on a series of opponents: Danny Ferguson. Vangelus Olsig. Tchu.

Yeah, I get it
You're an outcast.

Johnny Noble catches an airborn Chandler Tsonda and drives him to the mat with a viscous powerbomb.

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

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.

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

Thug roC, in a clip from the first ever Colossus, hits the roCing Horse on Chris Chaos during a Leather Strap match for the roC-TV Title.

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

Roxy Phoenix leaps off the ropes and connects with the Phoenix Splash on Big Bear, the culminating moment in her 5-Star Title victory.

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.

Clyde Walkins hits the Cyclyde on Tchu to win the Universal Title.

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.

Katterina Wylde is shown in a photo from six years ago with Tyler Rayne, both mugging for the camera.

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

Dusk flies through the air and crashes through a table, but not before landing the Sunset on a prone Tony Gamble.

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?

High Flyer hits the LOCOMOTIVE on Duke Williams. Mary-Lynn Mayweather goes for the pin, and Team V.I.A.G.R.A. are the new PRIME Tag Team Champions.

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

Troy Douglas, running on adrenaline, lifts Hessian up for the "End of the Road."

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

"The Underground Pimp," Tyler Rayne, flashes his patented smile at the camera before dropping David Noble on his head with the "Varga’d" small-package driver.

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

In a clip from ReV 248, Tyler Nelson sneers into the camera, then lifts a microphone to his mouth to address the crowd.

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

Flanked by Interns, Chandler Tsonda struts down a hallway. He lowers his Tom Ford sunglasses down his nose and gives the audience a wink.

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?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas and the Enemigo security guards stand in front of an exposed brick wall, mean-mugging for the fans (well, you can imagine the Enemigos mean-mugging behind their masks). The camera cuts away to Angelica Brooks and Matt Mills holding microphones in front of an unmarked locker room.

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.

Looking ready to crumble to pieces, "The Bad Dog", Wade Elliott, somehow reverses his position atop the PRIME*View, and throws a boot into the chest of Hessian, sending The Murder Show free-falling to the ramp and setting off a fiery pyrotechnic explosion.

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

Lindsay Troy thwacks Devin Shakur over the head multiple times with a steel chair, then watches the (now former) Boss in Black crumple unconscious to the mat.

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

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.

Somehow I'm still here,
To explain,

Blaine Blair and Lisa Tyler sit side-by-side behind a desk. Their stoic expressions don’t hold for long before each give a small, sly smile.

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?

The Murder Show, Hessian, glares daggers through the camera while the strap of the Universal Title hangs loosely from his gigantic paw.

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

Devin Shakur's VO: A parking lot at ReVolution: The Last Stand. Hold on, people recognize my voice so allow a second for the hatred to pass over.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

SVO: For those of you who don't know me, I'm Devin Shakur. Now where was I? Ah yes, it's been described in hundreds of ways by hundreds of different authors so there's no point in building to a weak crescendo. It's a bunch of overhead lights. A lone asshole is out there thanking his lucky stars he's got a union to back him up because these events usually get volatile in a hurry.

SVO: A black Lamborghini Diablo cruises down a ramp and pulls into its designated parking space. The license plate on its back says SHAKUR so you know Tupac's hologram figured out how to drive. FEEEEEEEEEL ME.

Awkward silence.

Like really fucking awkward. Even Richard Parker scratches his head and looks around to see if anybody is helping a brother out.

Switching to a more conventional means of narration, the Lamborghini pauses for dramatic effect because how else is a douchebag supposed to make an entrance?

The driver's side and passenger doors rise in succession. The dark clothes on pale white outline invoke those aforementioned boos again, but a bald, chubby, short man brings forth happy memories and a vocal contingent.

"GEORGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE CAN'TSTANDYA!"

He correctly no-sells the adoration, because George Costanza isn't bogged down by your judgment in the real world. Instead, he's in awe of the masterful parking job Shakur has done, and dude knows it because he's fist pumping like Tiger on the 18th.

Shakur: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Alexander: Inspiring, truly inspiring.

The two share a "we know we're assholes but this moment is still great for us so go fuck yourself, we're gonna be boisterous" high five.

Shakur: What'd I tell ya?

Alexander: You told me.

Shakur: Right down Broadway.

Alexander: Front row, center.

SVO: This goes on for about another minute so let me explain this whole... crazy thing. I'm one of the biggest stars in the world. I mean, you already knew that but it bears repeating. I get approached daily to do commercials, endorsements, online social media stuff, but I don't do any of it. I don't really give a shit about Twitter, FaceBook, or Instagram. I don't need to give people more ways to send me death threats, snail and e-mail are both acceptable. I usually pay more attention to the zany requests and I got a call one day from Jason who said he's a big PRIME fan and wanted to get tickets to a show before we closed. He knew I still had gangsta pull, but I decided to do him one better if he'd also do me a solid. So we talked about it and agreed that he'd be in a segment if he agreed to bring back a diluted version of George Costanza's Parking Gimmick. Now, back to your regularly scheduled marking out, already in progress.

Alexander: I know this might be stealing from the moment -

Shakur: Nah, man, go ahead.

Alexander: I just gotta get a picture. It deserves commemoration.

Shakur: Then you gotta take one of me.

Alexander: Of course, you got it.

Walking toward the car like a father proud of his son, Alexander leans against the trunk and gets his photo taken. He then squats down and Shakur takes a wider shot to acknowledge the car's perfectly placement. Alexander gets up and Shakur goes to take his spot.

Alexander: Equidistant from the SUV and the HUMMER. I tell ya, this is going to be viral.

Shakur: You know it, baby.

More photos take place while at the top of the parking lot, a figure decked in a black trenchcoat and Phantom of the Opera style mask ducks behind a fleet of vehicles nearest the Exit/Entrance. Nobody pays him mind due to the narcissistic display going on below.

Shakur finishes his photo opt and the two share an embrace before taking a last look at the vehicle and heading inside.

Shakur: Come on, I'll give you the grand tour. Anything you want to see I can show you.

Alexander: Awesome, can't wait to see the festivities this evening.

Unbeknownst to Can'tStandYa, he's about to be a part of the show as he's being impeded from entering the building thanks to a large Enemigo security force and a half-dozen cops, all headed by Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas. Standing in front of the wall are Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair. Shakur has a big grin on his face.

Shakur: Here's our first stop of the tour. Security is very strict and you are going to receive a personalized greeting from Depressed Business Barbie and European Hacker Ken.

Alexander: LARRY KING'S SON? SO IT IS TRUE? I KNEW IT!

Blaine lets out a loud sigh as the Seinfeld exit music plays. We'd play a clip but copyrighting and what not.

Tyler: Always up for jokes aren't you, Dev?

Shakur: I'm not running the place anymore so I have to keep myself entertained.

Tyler: I think it best if your guest is escorted up to a skybox because this is business we need to settle, right now.

Shakur (whispering loudly): I think I got in trouble for that speech last week.

Tyler: That's putting it lightly.

Shakur: Alright, J-Dog, I'll catch you on the flip after I've handled these clowns. Keep it classy.

A quick fist pound between the two before Alexander is escorted by a few Enemigos into the building.

Shakur: So what do you guys want? There's a dice game in there and if I'm not around to watch him, Gamble usually gets mistaken for the dice.

Tyler: I'm not in the mood for your schtick, especially not after your actions on 250. Do you realize the amount of eyes you placed on us?

Shakur: Well, pardon me for drumming up business because it seems like the inconsistencies of everyone else wasn't cutting the mustard. You are welcome for having Colossus sold out, bee-tee-dub. I'll take my cut up front.

Tyler: There are a lot of people who would like to do that, I'm sure, but you seemed to have put us in a financial hole. We've endured hundreds upon hundreds of calls from outraged people demanding a refund for their Culture Shock 2010 experience.

Shakur: Oh, that. You're still harping? Take a Xanax, girl. PRIME isn't in the business of handing out refunds, especially not for something like that. Wrestling is predetermined anyway. I just admitted it in a sleazy way. There were no technical issues or mistimed pyrotechnics so anybody in the audience can go fuck themselves. Unless Youngblood has called and is demanding reparations, I'm not in the business of giving a fuck.

Tyler: Well, we happen to be in the business of giving a fuck because it's a problem you threw in our lap.

Shakur (sheepishly): Yeah, I did.

Tyler: There will be repercussions, you can bet your ass on it.

Shakur: You won't get a red cent out of me. My lawyers will pound you into the pavement and I'll make you pay their legal fees so go ahead, stop with the faux threats and just tell me why you are out here.

Blair, having been silent ever since he was demeaned by one of his idols, decides to jump in.

Blair: Other than the fact you are a dead albatross around our necks, we're out here to make sure you are reminded of the fact that you should be grateful to still be around here. You sh-

Shakur: Are you seriously trying to tell me to be grateful I'm still employed by this place? You could have fired me, you should have fired me, but you didn't. I'm here and you guys are closing in two shows so what is the point of keeping me out here when you know I can do better selling tickets in there?

Blair: Well, when it came right down to it, a lot of wrestlers, you know the ones who are grateful to be a part of our final run, didn't want you in the locker room because they might have the need to show you exactly how they feel. For the safety of everybody, and since we're not in the business of injuring even those we dislike, we made a collective decision to bar you from the building this evening.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Alright, Devin Shakur has been banned from the building. Finally, we can have some peace of mind!

Richard: NO! NO! NO! THIS IS A TRAVESTY! What did he do to get banned? I mean really?

Nick: What de - What did he do? He went above and beyond the call of selfishness and candidly admitted he threw Youngblood and the entire roster of PRIME under the bus during the 2010 Dual Halo.

Richard: Wanh, they got hotlines for people to deal with those problems. Let the man in!

A supportive crowd expresses its elation.

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!"

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!"

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!"

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!"

Shakur doesn't look surprised and barely changes his expression.

Shakur: Wow, that's going to make me feel real bad. OK, I'll stay out here, refuse to interact with anybody, bring all my boys out here and we'll have a party in the parking lot. Oh, I'm gonna hire a shitload of call girls too since I still have the company banking information.

Tyler: For the accounts that were closed before the return, sure. But in reality, you won't be doing anything of the sort, because later on you're going to be in that ring.

He doesn't bite, instead rolling his right pointer finger in a circle to tell Tyler to get to the punchline.

Tyler: Because you'll be competing in a match.

Blair: And it's gonna be a tag team match.

Shakur (pointing at Dam): Why didn't he say that part? It would have been funnier.

No response from Dam. He's too good for that shit.

That was also your Devin Shakur Slightly Racist Comment of the Week.

Shakur: And really, a tag match? What's the point of putting me in a match. You do know I have the right to refuse it, yes?

Tyler: Actually, you don't. We've already gone through the process of calling our lawyers and ensuring this was capable of taking place. You are contractually obligated to us through the final two shows, and you are right in some respect, you would do some good in there selling tickets, so we're going to give you the chance to do so. Plus, if you decide to renege, we will be able to take you for every last penny you made.

A weak smile and a wipe of the brow.

Shakur: Wow, you actually figured out how to make something stick. I'd say I'm proud but you already know my true feelings for you. So, let me go ahead and take the air out of this balloon. Who's my partner?

They are more than happy to tell him but he puts a finger up.

Shakur: No, wait, let me guess. You've gone to great lengths and flown Brandon Youngblood himself in so you can have him murder me and pretend you had no prior knowledge, right?

Tyler: As tempting as that was -

Blair: It was, we tried, multiple times.

Tyler: We decided to give you a partner you had more in common with. If you want to stake your claim as the most devious person to ever step foot in PRIME, that's fine, but this individual gives you a good run for your money - Tyler Nelson.

Shakur (monotone): Oh, grand, just grand. Let me guess, we're facing Youngblood and Snow?

Tyler: Chandler Tsonda and Wade Elliott.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

A heavy facepalm from Shakur.

SVO: I facepalmed.

Yeah, thanks asshole.

Tyler: We're going to leave some Enemigos and a few of these fine officers out here to ensure you don't get within 25 yards of the building until your match. Have a nice evening, Devin.

Dam, Blaine, and Lisa all turn and head back through the rest of the Enemigos Security Wall while Shakur lets out a loud sigh.

Shakur: Well, I didn't want to brave the elements, but they've let me no choice.

While Shakur pulls out his cellular phone, the camera pans back to show the black trenchcoat individual has moved closer to the building and is keeping a keen eye on Shakur.

Shakur: Yeah, get me a portable TV and megaphone delivered to Nationwide Arena's parking lot and put it on Lisa Tyler's personal card... The account number?

He turns toward the Enemigos.

Shakur: What is the numerical equivalent of the word C-U-N-

Matt Mills clears his throat as he knocks on the door leading to the locker room of the Sofia Spitfire. His demeanor is one that is considerably more calm than has been in previous interactions with Roxy Phoenix… perhaps this is because the Bulgarian Bombshell has received ample notice prior to his appearance.

However, Roxy ignores his initial rapping at the door, causing him to repeat with slightly more persistence. This leads her to rip open the door, with a sneer plastered across her face. She grits her teeth, attempting to be the gracious host.

Roxy Phoenix: Come in...

She did not schedule this abomination. Those damn PR people she pays caved to Lisa Tyler. That afternoon she would be looking for new representation, or would she? Would she continue to wrestle after this night? Millions of unanswered questions could race through her head at that moment, yet she couldn’t reflect on any of them as she had a heaving human thumb perspiring in her doorstep (with tightening pants, no doubt) and begging to enter her dressing room.

He tosses a wink her way, closing the door behind him.

Matt Mills: Why thank you, my dear.

Roxy laughs mockingly.

Roxy Phoenix: My dear? Be careful how comfortable you get. Remember, I charge by the hour, and last I checked, your lawyer was working with my lawyer to settle what you still owe me.

Sure that this "rendezvous" won’t turn into anything scandalous, Roxy reopens the door. The action also gives her easy access in kicking his fat ass out of the room before he got too comfortable. He shakes his head in disbelief.

Matt Mills: (mumbles) I’m caught up.

Her hands planted on her hips and her stern expression likely stands to differ with his statement. Yet, he falls into the overstuffed leather couch that begins to slowly absorb him.

Decked out in a purple vinyl dress ending mid-thigh and a black zipper extending from the center of her bust to the hem of the dress, Roxy Phoenix bends over to resume tying her knee-high heeled black vinyl boots.

Awaiting Roxy’s finishing touches before the interview, Matt Mills cannot help himself but lean back a small peek underneath her skirt to find a black lacy pair of cheeky boyshorts accentuating her round bottom quite well.

He nods in approval, clears his throat, and pats his lap eagerly expecting Roxy to take a seat in the designated spot. She spins around, pursing her lips in disapproval.

Roxy Phoenix: So, we done yet?

He laughs in incredulity.

Matt Mills: Wha? We haven’t even started.

Releasing an overtly obvious frustrated sigh, she plops onto the couch next to Matt Mills. She rests her elbow on the top of the couch, and her head falls into her palm as her long red tendrils cascade down her folded arm and shoulders. The PRIME 5-Star Championship belt rests on her lap comfortably.

Roxy Phoenix: Let’s make this quick. I agreed to meet you, but it ends there. It's my time.

Matt Mills: Great. So, Roxy, how does it feel to be PRIME’s final 5-Star Champion?

Phoenix rolls her eyes at the puerile tidbits spewing out of his mouth, yet she continues to play along for financial sake.

Roxy Phoenix: Amazing, wonderful, fantastic.

Matt Mills: What was the moment like when you won the belt from Big Bear and now that you know that PRIME will end with you going down in history as its last holder? (pauses in reflection) You’ll be immortalized in history…

Roxy surveys her chipping nails in displeasure. She’ll have to get some Asians to look at that shit sometime tomorrow. She doesn’t answer him, as she hasn’t heard what he’s said.

Matt Mills clears his throat.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, yeah, um… amazing, wonderful, fantastic. Greatest moment in my life.

Matt Mills: (sighs in exasperation) Roxy, if you aren’t going to take this seriously, than I’m leaving.

He thinks about his previous comment and then retracts it.

Matt Mills: No, because that’s what you want. Hey, if you care so little about your belt, why shouldn’t someone have the opportunity to take it from you?

Roxy Phoenix: Look, Mark – whatever your name is...

Roxy soon becomes enamored with her image, reflected in the shiny metal pieces of her belt.

Roxy Phoenix: I care very much for my shiny accessory… it’s the competition that I care so little about. There is no competition here, so with the end of PRIME, why shouldn’t I be its final 5-Star Champion?

His eyebrow furrows in conclusion.

Matt Mills: You’re kidding, right? No competition?

Roxy Phoenix: I’m sure everyone here strokes his or her own ego to think they could beat me and take my title, but it would never happen.

Matt Mills: Big words for someone who doesn’t have a shot at losing the belt.

His snarky refrain catches the attention of the Sofia Spitfire’s rising temper.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, how cute, you expect me to get angry and put my belt on the line and challenge any comer? It’s not necessary… even if I had a contender, I would win.

Matt Mills: Any contender?

He poses, a wicked grin forming on his face. He stretches across the couch, reaching his arm with the microphone closer to her lips. His eager attitude is quite legible. She grows uncomfortable with this display, yet she concedes.

Roxy Phoenix: Yeah, fuck, whatever… any contender.

Matt Mills turns his focus to the camera in an announcer format, professional yet enthusiastic to share the latest news.

Matt Mills: You’ve heard that, folks! Roxy Phoenix, 5-Star Champion, is so confident that she will defeat any and all contenders for her belt, that she will put it on the line tonight! Interested parties need not apply, just show up—

Roxy Phoenix: (interrupts) Wait, wait, no, no, no. I never said that.

Mills springs to his feet and heads for the door, satisfied in his pursuit.

Matt Mills: Sorry, I don’t make the news… I just deliver it.

However, Roxy is not pleased with this latest "delivery."

Roxy Phoenix: Hey, you fat sonofabitch! You get back here!

The camera fades to black.

Killean Sirrajin is, as they say, less than pleased.

In a perfect world, he would have had Devin Shakur kicked off the premesis and into a dark, damp hole somewhere far away from any cameras, people, and the Internet. Both he and the rest of the ownership body had figured that bringing The Man in Black back would cause a headache in some form, but the propsect of someone finally putting Shakur down for the count once and for all ended up outweighing any poision associated with his person.

A little bit egotistical? Maybe. Besides, the chance of Shakur crashing a show or two was very much a reality, and who's to say that all of what went down at ReVolution 250 wouldn't have happened in some form. Better to just confront the problem head-on.

The Supreme Machine has been dealing with the ReV 250 fall-out the best he can, and with Shakur temporarily dealt with there's another problem on his hands that he needs to address.

Killean stops in front of a locker room and knocks loudly.

"PASSPHRASE!"

Killean stares at the door, confused. The crowd roars at the voice of one Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas.

Sirrajin: You've gotta be kidding me.

Dam: "Passphrase!" ain't ever been no joke, Boss.

Sirrajin: I'm not even sure that makes sense.

Dam: All th' same. Passphrase.

Sirrajin: Aren't owners technically exempt from this?

Dam: Naw, Boss. Rules 'r rules.

Sirrajin: Fine. Whatever.

The door remains closed.

Sirrajin: Umm... (grumbles, under his breath) Canada sucks?

Nothing.

Sirrajin: Really? Even that?

Dam: Not that it ain't true, Boss, but do ya see me openin' the door?

Sirrajin: Jesus. Alright. (thinks) Devin Shakur is the biggest piece of shit walking, and someone ought to skin him like the Emo Bun he is.

The door swings open. Killean enters the room and Dam gives him a nod of approval. He's greeted by the sight of Lindsay Troy sitting on a couch and texting on her phone, while Katt Wylde zips up her thigh-high boots. Troy glances over at Sirrajin and smirks.

Troy: Thought I heard someone trip the Canadian Alarm.

Sirrajin: We're starting in on the jokes early, I see.

Troy: Hey, you said that Canada sucks, not me. Besides, Killy, people have certain expectations. Can't be letting them down, you know?

Sirrajin: Mmhmm. And the thing with Dam? That an expectation too?

Troy: Oh, that. A bunch of people on Twitter thought it'd be hi-larious to bring back "Passphrase!" before we close this place down. I happened to agree.

Katt peers over at the Supreme Machine. She stands up and frowns.

Katt: I really hope you didn't come here with a rehearsed "Whatever you do, don't kill Clyde" lecture because I'm not rightly in the mood to hear it.

Sirrajin: Well...

Troy: Katt's kinda been itching to maim Walkins. Can't say I blame her, because who wouldn't, and she can turn into a cranky pants if she doesn't get her weekly dose of unrestrained violence. I wouldn't mind punching Farwell in the face a few dozen times, myself. Dude's a creeper.

Sirrajin: About that...

Katt: Not seeing how a follow-up's necessary.

Sirrajin: They're not here.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Troy: What?

Sirrajin: They're not in the building. Who knows if they're even within city limits. One of the staff handed Blaine a crumpled up note written on a Whopper wrapper that said, "Not showing. Chasing clone. BRB. Clyde'n'James."

There's a pause as the Queen of the Ring and the Dark Angel process this information. Katt's growing visibly agitated. Troy rolls her eyes.

Troy: Are we really sure that either of them know how to write?

Sirrajin: (sighing) Whether they can or can't, bottom line is they're not in the arena, so I have to cancel your match.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Troy: This is just-

Katt: -fucking bullshit.

The Dark Angel grabs a nearby lamp and hurls it against the wall, where it smashes into pieces. She storms out of the room, eyes turning deeply black, fists clenched.

Sirrajin: Did her eyes just...?

Troy: (waves him off) Don't ask. I've learned not to.

Troy stands up and walks over to Killean. She leans against the wall.

Troy: Can't say I'm happy about this, either. As much as fighting Clyde and James probably would have been akin to a night off, there's a difference between a cakewalk and nothing at all.

Sirrajin: Trust me, I'd rather see you get your licks in. But this doesn't mean you won't have anything at all to do tonight.

Troy: Oh?

Sirrajin: I was hoping you'd be up for being a part of the main event tonight in a guest-referee capacity.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Sirrajin: I think I speak for Matt that it would be something special for three of the greatest Universal champions were all involved in the last ever ReVolution match.

Troy, for her part, looks surprised. She glances over at Dametreyus, who nods his approval, and then meets Killean's eyes again.

Troy: Listen, Killean, I'm flattered. Really. But you don't need me taking away from a rematch that's been this long in the making.

Sirrajin: I wouldn't think your presence would take away from anything.

Troy: (chuckling) But it would be. That's history and a story that pre-dates my involvement in this company and my friendship with either of you. Everyone here tonight, and especially you and Matt, deserves a match as meaningful as the first one. That means just the two of you, nothing and nobody else.

The Supreme Machine nods, although he does look a little disappointed.

Sirrajin: I respect that. But if I didn't know any better, I'd think you just don't want to play favorites.

Troy: Are you trying to insinuate that picking between a Canadian and a Frenemy is difficult?

Before Sirrajin can come back with a retort, a very tired and very sore Wade Elliott pushes his way inbetween The Queen of the Ring and the PRIME Choice. He may have also, accidentally, bumped Sirrajin on his way through the door. He makes a bee-line for Troy's empty couch and plops down, face first.

Killean and Lindsay both look at each other and then over at Wade.

Sirrajin: (to Elliott) An "excuse me" might've been nice.

Wade replies with a flip of the bird. Killean frowns and Troy snickers.

Sirrajin: Anyway, I'd better be going. Paperwork won't deal with itself, y'know.

Troy: That's what I hear, anyway.

Killean nods and makes his way out into the hall. Troy looks over at Wade and frowns.

Troy: Just make yourself comfortable, why don't you.

Wade: Mmph.

The Queen sighs and looks over at Dam.

Troy: Since the Drifter has managed to drift in here and take up residence, I'm going to find him some ice.

Wade: (muffled) Don't need it.

Troy: I don't rightly care what you think you need. You're getting it or you can go stumble somewhere else.

Wade: ...

Troy: (to Dam) Think you'd mind finding Tyler and see if he'd babysit?

Dam: Sure, Boss.

Dam exits the room first, followed by Troy. The Queen looks back over her shoulder at Wade, shakes her head, and shuts the door.

We could hit you with a long, grandiose set-up here. Describe all the activity taking place behind the scenes at the Nationwide Arena. Show you what the backstage monkeys are doing, who's getting what at the catering area, maybe even take you up to the skyboxes and check in on Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair.

But we're not going to do that.

Instead, we're going to take you to a quiet white-washed hallway and present you with a guy in a chair with some booze.

But not just any ol' guy in a chair with some booze.

Tyler Motherfuckin' Rayne, in all his sexocity. He's got a cigarette in his mouth. The fans cheer, the ladies shriek, and The PRIME Minister smirks at the camera.

Tyler Rayne: So here we are. The final ReVolution. All good things must come to an end. Blah blah blah. Bullshit bullshit bullshit.

He pours a shot of whiskey and holds it up to the camera as a toast.

Rayne: Vive la revolution.

He slams the shot back, pours another, and downs that one, too.

Rayne: Sad as is it, this day’s been comin’ a long time now. We all knew it. Of course, we didn’t want to believe it, but as the hour draws nearer, we’re all faced with the unfortunate reality that PRIME will soon be no more. And apparently, as each of you comes to this sad realization in turn, you also come to realize that this will be your last chance to ask me a veritable shitstorm of questions when you see me out in public. I get a lot of interesting questions. Not surprisingly, a lot of them are sex type things. Some people want advice on how to pick up women. Or how to please women. All of these questions have been forwarded to Katt, her being an expert in all things vagine. Last I checked, though, she was mostly just replying with lewd photos of her various conquests. I’m sure that’s just as satisfactory as a real answer. Some people want to know if Chandler Tsonda really does like putting another man’s penis in his mouth, or if that’s just a vicious rumor I made up and people believe it because I’m so naturally charismatic and charming. Other questions get a little more personal. Most of them asking about sex with Lindsay Troy.

Here he stops and his expression becomes a little more vacant and a little more… excited. If he wasn’t so gods damned attractive, it would be a little creepy. Fortunately, The Most Desired Man in PRIME has been blessed with stunning good looks, which makes him immune to the creep factor that befalls other, lesser, men. Like Chris.

Rayne: Look, people, this is a very dumb, dumb, dumb dumb dumb question that you all, shockingly enough, know the answer to. In all the years you’ve been watching PRIME, have you ever known Lindsay Troy to be less than absolutely and totally dominating? Have you ever known her to settle for anything less than being on top? And have you ever known me to be anything less than the most straightforward, take what I want, do what I’m told not to, hardcore sexual deviant this company has ever known? Well… OK then. So what do you think it’s like? We’ve broken at least four beds in the last twelve months. Two couches. Three doors to bathroom stalls. All at very expensive and exclusive restaurants, mind you. We keep our fucking classy, damn it. And one dining room table. Which, by the way, Dawkins, if you’re watching, I mighta sorta kinda lied about how your table broke when you asked me to house-sit a few months ago…

He pauses to munch on a pretzel. Where that came from, we don't know. Another shot. Good to go.

Rayne: I’m consistently surprised that people want to talk about something that’s not sex, but it seems to be the case that the general public is curious about more than just my privates. In fact, a lot of people seem quite concerned with the state of my career. So the question I end up hearing the most is some variation of the following… Am I satisfied with my PRIME career, considering I have never won the Universal Title? I’ll answer that in the form of a long ass story. See, before I came to PRIME I made a small stop in some small-time fed I’ve since forgotten the name of. I had an old tag partner there who was looking for a little help. So I showed up, and they killed the tag division. Go figure. But their world champion at the time was this powerhouse of a monster named Munson. Dude had held the title for six months or something. Maybe a year. Had never once been beaten in his entire career there. Full-on unstoppable juggernaut. When I got there, people said it was impossible to beat him. Now none of these fuckers knew me from Dusk, so I had to work my way up the ladder. Went about six weeks undefeated before the demand from the fans became too loud to ignore. So the powers that be threw me in a non-title match against their terminator… and I knocked his gods damned lights out. This earned me an automatic title shot at the next pay-per-view, which was a few weeks away. I agreed to participate in the match ol’ Munson claimed to have created, some hack-ass hardcore "improvement" to the usual cell match. Weapons hanging on the cell walls. Tacks and chairs and ladders and shit thrown in around the ring. I can’t remember what else. Match was a brutal fucking blood bath. Some of these scars are from that match. Just a fucking battle. But in the end… I knocked that Munson fella on his back again and won that coveted World Championship no one else had even been close enough to breathe on in months. Now I’ll give you all a moment to talk amongst yourselves and take bets on how long I held that title before I came to PRIME.

The Golden Boy gives the camera a curt smile and nod. He looks down at his wrist to check the time on a watch he’s not wearing, and ticks his head back in forth to count off a dozen seconds or so before looking back up.

Rayne: Everyone put their bets in? OK. Good. So there I am, standing in the ring with the World Championship, having done the impossible in defeating their unstoppable behemoth. I’d proven that no one else in the company could beat me, either. I was poised to set another record breaking world championship reign. Which is exactly what I did. It lasted all of about seven seconds.

He flashes that rogue’s grin at the crowd. The crowd responds with the customary roar of approval. Or orgasm. Pick one.

Rayne: See, this place had come up with a system they thought, quite mistakenly, would help people break through the glass ceiling. A championship match, for any of their titles, could be bought with the earnings made at the company. So maybe there’s this guy who’s been busting ass for years and never got a shot, but he really thinks he can pull it off. Well if he wants to cash all his chips, he could buy a championship title match and try to make his dream come true. Now some of you might know that I’m rich as fuck, so whatever money I was making at this place was pretty much just extraneous income. I used the entirety of the earnings I’d made there to purchase a World Championship Title match. For Munson. Then I laid down on the mat next to his unconscious body, draped his fat fucking arm over my chest, let the ref count the three, and gave that fucker his title back.

The Most Desired Man in PRIME flashes his trademark smirk at the camera. That mischievously confident little fuck-all smile.

Rayne: The thing with Munson was never about the title. I could give a shit less about their strap of tin. What I cared about was doing the impossible. Was doing the exact thing people said I couldn’t. What I cared about was leaving an impression. Giving the fans at home something they’d never seen before. Giving people something to talk about. Some people in this business define their career by championship reigns. Good on them, but that’s never been my bag. I’m more about defying expectations. I’m a man of moments. For better or worse, Munson will never forget what I did to him. And the fans will never forget the night they saw, not Tyler Rayne win a title, but Tyler Rayne embarrass a grown ass man out of the fucking business. Dude quit three weeks later. Couldn’t handle all the criticism. And I don’t feel one ounce of remorse. Just like I’ve never felt an ounce of remorse for ending Danny Ferguson’s career. That’s a fun one. The night I won the Dual Halo, another one of those things people said was "impossible." No one even remembers that shit, though. They just remember me knocking Hollywood’s ass from the top of the cage. They remember watching that asshole crash down to the mat. Shit, they still play that clip in highlight reels for PRIME to this day. That is a fucking moment that lives in history. I’ve got dozens of moments like that. Every PRIME fan has at least one Tyler Rayne memory. One moment that lives on in their minds as the quintessential example of what I do. And that is what I’m here for. That’s what I’m in this business for.

He takes the final drag from his cigarette and puts it out on the table.

Rayne: I had a few shots at the Universal Title and I fell short. No excuses. No regrets. The chances were there and I didn’t come through. Don’t get me wrong, that would have been a nice feather in the cap, but it didn’t happen and I don’t need it to feel accomplished. Besides, I had that epic 5-Star Title reign. Heh… which, you know, man… people always wanna give me shit for that. Like I’m using it as an excuse. A lot of people think it’s bullshit for me to hang on the reign of a "secondary" title. Well, it might have been a secondary title before I had it, and it might have become one again after I lost it, but you best well damn believe that there wasn’t a championship in this company that was more noticeable, respected, or sought after than that 5-Star Title when I was champ. Anyone even remember who was Universal Champion at that time? Anyone? Did it even fucking matter? No. It didn’t. That was the highlight of my PRIME career, and I have no shame in saying that. I made that title mean something, which is a lot more than most Universal Title holders could say. When I had a belt, people fucking paid attention. I don’t even know who the 5-Star Title holder is now. Doesn’t matter. But… you know what? Fuck it. I’m booked for Colossus, but I’m all kinds of free tonight. Whoever has the 5-Star Title, if you’re watching… let’s make one more moment. You and me. Non-title. Keep the strap. All I want is the win. One last chance to prove I’m the best there is at what I do. And what I do isn’t very nice. Find me. Or I’ll come find you.

Fade Out

The camera cuts to the ringside area and focuses in on Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.

Nick: Folks, we were supposed to have a tag match between The Forsaken and the team of Katterina Wylde and Lindsay Troy, but as you heard earlier the contest was canceled due to The Forsaken's absence.

Richard: As far as I'm concerned, we're probably all better off. No one has to see The Forsaken bumble around the ring, and I don't have to hear these people cheer for Wylde and Troy.

Nick: The ladies aren't just going to leave the building because James and Clyde aren't here, you know.

Richard. One can dream, Nick. One can dream...

"I Don't Need You"
"I Don't Need You"
"You are See Through"
"I Don't See You"

"I Don't Need You" by Die Antwoord blares over the PA speakers and cuts off Richard's wistful thinking. Numerous fans turn their attention to the entrance ramp in quiet and confused anticipation. A soft fog rises from the entrance ramp as the lights dim to a soft blue.

"I Don't Need You"
"I Don't Need You"
"You are See Through"
"I Don't See You"

Out from the back steps Tony Davis, wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt of a cartoon Tony Davis pissing like Calvin on the "Superfly Express" logo. He storms to the ring, ignoring the PRIMEates who give him a generally negative reception.

Nick: That's Tony Davis, one third of the former three-time PRIME tag team champions Team V.I.A.G.R.A.

Richard: Yeah, and three months ago he became my new favorite wrestler after he took out his crazy lunatic partner!

Nick: You have a new favorite wrestler every five minutes.

Richard: What can I say? I live in the now.

Tony slips in underneath the bottom ring rope. Laying in the center of the ring is a microphone, which Tony leans over to pick up. He taps it twice, as his music dies down.

Nick: Maybe we'll finally get some answers.

Richard: Shhh! He's talking.

Tony Davis: When PRIME returned earlier this summer, I attacked my long term tag team partner and brother-in-law Jack Ha-

Davis catches himself.

Tony Davis: - High Flyer.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He strokes the fake felt goatee glued to his chin, which actually hides a fully grown goatee underneath it.

Tony Davis: And after the show, I was pulled aside and told my services were no longer needed.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Tony Davis: PRIME didn't want me anymore. (He scoffs) Not if I wasn't standing next to the so called "glorious and legendary" Lunatic and his innocent sex virgin, Mary-Lynn.

CLOSE UP SHOT as a cameraman has entered the ring.

Tony Davis: (pacing the ring) But they NEVER asked... WHY? WHY did I attack my best friend?

Nick: That certainly was out of the blue, and nobody ever got an explanation for his actions.

Richard: Oh who cares? High Flyer's a lameass who hangs around with that perpetual weed-pusher Nova, and Mary-Lynn's so saccharine-sweet that I got three cavities after Tony said her name.

Suddenly, Tony rushes the camera and shouts into the microphone.

Tony Davis: Cause he's an ASSHO--

"ALL ABOARD~! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

Davis turns his attention to the entrance ramp. Stomping out of the backstage area is Jack Harmen, wearing an old-school PRIME V.I.A.G.R.A. T-shirt and looking quite unhappy. He's also dragging a protesting Mary-Lynn Mayweather behind him, who is trying her best to stop him from confronting Davis, but succeeds only in getting her trademark red skirt-suit dusty from said-dragging.

Nick: Flyer's back! Maybe now we'll get some answers!

Richard: I think I'll just go ahead and take a bathroom break...

Nick: You're not going anywhere, sit down!

As High Flyer reaches ringside, Tony Davis invites him into the ring by sitting on the middle rope. Flyer takes the steel steps instead, and enters on the opposite side of the ring. He's also brought his own microphone.

High Flyer: Tony, man. We don't have to do this out here.

He places his hand on Tony's shoulder, who instantly shrugs it off.

Tony Davis: (nonchalant) Yeah. We do.

High Flyer: I want to know, but not like this.

He lowers his head and sighs.

High Flyer: (conceding) Alright. What do you want?

Tony Davis: FOR THREE YEARS, I stood in the background playing DS and cracking JOKES!

He gets up in Flyer's face.

Tony Davis: And all anyone talked about was you and little Miss Teacher's Pet over there!

Davis points to Mary-Lynn on the outside. Mayweather frowns, clearly not pleased with this turn of events.

High Flyer: (smirking) Maybe you should have had better material.

Davis snarls and backs off a few steps.

Tony Davis: I want those years of my LIFE BACK!

Harmen tilts his head to the ceiling.

High Flyer: So... you want the impossible? (He frowns) Tony, we're Team V.I.A.G.R.A. We should stand together on the grandest stage of them all. When the curtains close and the lights shut off, we should be together, hand in hand in victory! We're PRIME's greatest tag team! We should ACT like it!

Tony Davis: (sighs) You just don't get it.

High Flyer: (shouting) Then TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!

Tony turns his head to Jack, and a smile creeps over his face. He raises the mic.

Tony Davis: I want to face you at Colossus. (He laughs) And I want you to lose.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Tony disregards the jeering fans and keeps his focus on Jack. Jack's eyes widen and he shakes his head from side to side in disbelief.

High Flyer: You're telling me... (Extends his hand) You want me to take a dive?

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

High Flyer: Here in PRIME?

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

High Flyer: In my VERY last PRIME match?

He shakes his head from side to side.

High Flyer: I'll do anything for you Tony, but I'll NEVER take a dive.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

High Flyer: Never have. (Takes a step toward Davis) NEVER WILL.

Tony Davis: (rolling his eyes) I guess we're at an impasse then.

High Flyer: Yeah.

The Lunatic crosses his arms over his chest then, instantly, blinks in surprise.

High Flyer: Hey, wait, how do YOU know a word like impasse?

SFX: BOOM!

Richard: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Nick: I can't believe it! Tony Davis has snapped again!

Indeed, Tony strikes High Flyer in the temple with the butt of his microphone. Flyer is stunned, which makes himself easy prey to be locked in a double-underhook. Tony Davis PLANTS High Flyer in the center of the ring with his patented EQUALIZER.

SFX: SLAM!

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And then, in a rush of fury, he lifts Flyer back off the canvas without breaking the double underhook, and hits him with ANOTHER EQUALIZER.

SFX: SLAM!

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Mary-Lynn hits the ring, as Davis lifts Flyer for ANOTHER!

SFX: SLAM!

Mary-Lynn: STOP! (She rushes over) STAAAAAH-OP!

Davis relinquishes the hold as Mary-Lynn dives on top of Flyer to protect him. "I Don't Need You" by Die Antwoord picks back up over the sound system as Davis quietly exits the ring, calm as ever.

Nick: Another despicable attack on High Flyer by his former tag partner, and you've got to wonder if he's been seriously injured here.

Richard: It's about time Tony stood up for himself. He's a role model for all background players everywhere!

Nick: This is just sick.

Mary-Lynn tests to see whether Flyer is lucid or not. After a moment, and quite a bit of blood gushing from his eyebrow, Mary-Lynn waves for EMTs.

The EMTs rush past Tony Davis, as he shakes his head in disgust.

Even in defeat, High Flyer still gets all the attention.

"That is such complete and utter bullshit."

The crowd roars as the PRIME*View lights up to show Tyler Rayne once again in the backstage area. This time he’s leaning against a stack of equipment trunks, in what appears to be a heated debate with one of the crewmen. The man is a few inches shorter with shaggy brown hair and a thick, bushy lumberjack beard. The crewman closes his eyes and pinches his nose, clearly aggravated with the discussion.

Crewman: You can’t possibly be telling me Captain America made a bullshit call.

Tyler Rayne: I am absolutely telling you that. Cap made a snap judgment and went in there looking for a war. Why else would he have four Avengers rosters with him?

Crewman: Because Cyclops is a psychopath! You saw how he reacted!

Tyler Rayne: They were trying to take his family! Look, man, Scott took up the burden of leading the X-Men when no one else could. And everyone knew it was the right choice. He had to protect his people, and Cap came there to take one of them away under bullshit charges. They wanted to arrest the girl just because she might do something? That’s ridiculous. The Nazis did the same thing to the Jews. You’d think Cap would know a little something about that.

Crewman: You did not just even… I can’t believe you would even think something like that!

Tyler Rayne: Everyone wants to point fingers and say Cyke turned into Magneto. But I’ll tell you, man, Cap turned into Red Skull first.

Crewman: That is the most ludicrous load of shit I have ever heard.

The crewman turns his back on Tyler and walks a few steps away, clearly attempting to gain his composure before continuing. Tyler smiles, having won for this brief moment. He turns to look down the hall and loses his smile quickly when he sees Matt Mills marching toward him.

Tyler Rayne: Whatever it is, I don’t give a fuck. I’m in the middle of something important here.

Mills stares questioningly at Tyler, then over at the pacing crewman who is muttering something about Captain America and the Holocaust. Mills shakes his head and turns back to Tyler.

Matt Mills: I think I have something you’ll want to hear.

Tyler Rayne: Mills, in the long, pathetically sad history of you speaking to me, I don’t think such a thing has ever, ever happened. I cannot imagine you’ve suddenly struck gold now.

Matt Mills: I saw what you said earlier. Well it just happens that I talked to the 5-Star Champion right before that. And the champ issued an open challenge to anyone here for the title.

Tyler Rayne: Is that so?

Matt Mills: It is so.

Tyler Rayne: Huh. Well, then, guess we’ve got ourselves a match. You go tell… whoever the fuck this chump is, that he’s got a challenger, then. And since I have authoritative powers like that again, it’s legitimately official. I’ll see his ass tonight.

Matt Mills: I’ll go and tell the champ right now.

Tyler Rayne: You do that.

The interviewer scurries off, one huge grin spreading across his face. Tyler stares after him a moment, wondering what’s got the little asshole so damn excited, but doesn’t have too much time to wonder as the crewman has come back for more.

Crewman: OK, regardless, Cap was right in the end. The Phoenix force turned Scott evil. So they were totally justified showing up at the island and—

Tyler Rayne: Slow your roll there, Bucky. First of all, Cap came looking for Hope, not Scott. Second of all, Tony’s the one who blew the Phoenix all to hell and gave it to Scott in the first place.

Crewman: He was trying to destroy it!

Tyler Rayne: Damn good job he did, too.

Crewman: Dude. No. He at least tried! Scott was going to let that thing take Hope! And for what?

Tyler Rayne: To save the mutant race. Which, I’d like to point out, it did. So… Cyclops was right.

Crewman: Only because of Wanda! If she hadn’t interfered—

Tyler Rayne: If she hadn’t cursed the mutants to begin with, would have never been a problem.

Crewman: Yeah. I guess that’s true. I mean, then Scott wouldn’t have had to pin all his hopes on the Phoenix.

Tyler Rayne: Exactly.

Crewman: So… it was all Wanda’s fault?

Tyler Rayne: I can live with that.

There’s an awkward silence as the argument comes to a close. The crewman looks a little embarrassed, as if he’s just now realizing he had a yelling match with one of PRIME’s most infamous stars over comic books. He shuffles his feet across the floor. Tyler snatches a pineapple cube from the nearby table and tosses it into his mouth.

Crewman: Sooooo…. You played Injustice?

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Story’s kinda shit, but the game is pretty fun.

Crewman: Really? I mean, I didn’t think it was that bad. Kinda cool to see Superman—

"Ahem."

Both men turn to look at the woman standing next to them. Fire red hair. Seductive smile. Tits shoved into a two sizes too small dress, forcing up cleavage that would be next to impossible for any other woman to manufacture. Just another wonderful appearance by the sexpot vixen, Roxy Phoenix.

Roxy Phoenix: You can stop staring at my tits now, little man. You’ll never touch them.

She gives the crewman a cold stare. It takes him a moment to process the information, but when he looks up from that bountiful chest, his expression turns from pleasure to fear in an instant. The crewman makes a quick exit, most likely to find a private bathroom stall before this memory fades. Roxy’s face softens, turning that ever so seductive smile up at Tyler.

Roxy Phoenix: You, on the other hand, can touch as much as you want.

He's staring down at her, and, from her angle, it might even appear as if he was looking at that very same cleavage that had so captivated his unnamed friend. Rather, he happens to be staring down at the 5-Star Title hanging over her shoulder.

Tyler Rayne: So, uh…. how long you had that belt?

Roxy Phoenix: Pfft. This stupid thing? I don’t even know, anymore. I wouldn’t even be carrying it, but Mills came busting into my locker room to tell me someone accepted my stupid challenge. Which, by the way, that little fucker conned me into. Probably just so he could linger around and try to get a look at my goods.

Tyler Rayne: Rox, if anyone wants to look at your goods, they can just do a Google search.

Roxy Phoenix: And how would you know that? Hmm?

Tyler Rayne: So, he, uh… didn’t tell you who the challenger was?

Roxy Phoenix: No. I’m sure it’s just some no-talent jag-off looking to get his rocks off by rubbing around on me. Whatever. Easy paycheck.

Tyler Rayne: Mm. Yeah. About that… I, uh, might have made a blind challenge to the 5-Star Champion earlier tonight.

Roxy Phoenix: You did what?

Tyler Rayne: I didn’t know it was you. I just—

Roxy Phoenix: Wait. How the fuck did you not know I was the champion? I’ve had this belt for over a year!

Tyler Rayne: OK, but let’s be fair, a lot of that time this place was closed down. It’s not like you were a defending champion for all of that time.

Roxy Phoenix: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Her demeanor has turned a lot less flirtatious and a lot more hostile in the last ten seconds.

Tyler Rayne: Easy, kid. I just meant to say—

Roxy Phoenix: That you think you’re better than me. You think you were a better champion than me.

Tyler Rayne: Well… yeah.

Roxy Phoenix: Fuck you, Tyler.

Tyler Rayne: Did. Moved on to better now.

The words come out before he can stop them. These two are hot-headed and stubborn, quick to trade insults without much thought.

Sure, that's always his "go-to" defense mechanism… to strike a blow right to her pride, where she chooses the "high road" of delivering cheap shots. It isn't her fault that he has chosen a life of boring old monogamy, why should he fault her for wanting to experience the different flavors of life?

Dumbass can fuck whoever he wanted to. But to claim she is better? Better than Roxy?

Flabbergasted, she coughs out a laugh and shakes her head at the audacity of that statement. Her mouth is agape as though she could quite possibly ponder the plausibility of that being true… as if something could leave that beautiful Bulgarian bombshell speechless. Roxy purses her lips with heated intent and raises an eyebrow.

Roxy Phoenix: Hmph, as if that could even be possible.

Tyler cocks his head to the side with a smug grin, still pleased that his retort has bruised her ego. That stubborn son of a bitch. Roxy clears her throat and straightens herself to deliver a confident stance.

Roxy Phoenix: Fine, then, you wanted a match? You got it. I’ll show you, her, and everyone else in this festering shithole just who the better woman is. Get yourself prepared, you old fuck.

She storms off. Tyler stands on the spot, fuming. He does so hate not getting the last word. After a minute of quiet seething, he manages to unball his fists and turns to leave. There, leaning against the corner and still smiling from ear to ear, is Matt Mills. Tyler marches past him, a little too close, hitting Mills with a hard shoulder check that knocks the interviewer on his ass.

Standing in the cold Columbus air is a man with a portable television in one hand and a microphone in the other. His black trench coat is in stark contrast with his pale white skin and judging by the crowd he's drawn, it's obvious he's kind of a big deal.

Shakur: Since the powers that be have elected to ban me from the building until my ... match, later this evening, I decided to come out and speak among my brethren, my people!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"FUCK YOU SHAKUR!"

"GO WATCH TWILIGHT YOU EMO FUCK!"

"COME OVER HERE AND TALK SHIT TO ME SHAKUR!"

"RAHSHSHFDKDJSKLFLKFFL;KFLKSJL;FDLKDS"

The angry crowd halts its rage and looks at the muscle head spitting on himself and talking indecipherable gibberish.

Shakur: Anyway, as I was going to say -

A shorter man wearing a fur coat and oversize glasses with no lenses makes his way in front of the camera.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

"GAMBLE!"

"WHAT UP PLAYA?"

The raucous crowd shows its appreciation for The Grin as he smiles for the camera and then holds his arms up. They reach Shakur's waist. God, short jokes never get old.

Gamble: WHERE MY HOOD RATS AT, WHERE THEY AT?

"HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO!"

Shakur glances over at Gamble and then raises his hand.

Gamble: Si?

Shakur: Two questions, one why would hood rats bark like dogs?

Gamble: Because why would anybody make a sound like a rat?

Shakur: Then why call them hood rats?

Gamble: I'm gonna go to the glasses.

He removes the Russell Westbrook glasses and puts on a pair of real glasses with lens.

Shakur: You already had glasses on.

Gamble: Not the point. Hood - An urban area, Rat - A whore, you ought to know that you found the Asian one.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Gamble: That term has been used in the business for years, man. And that was the latest installment of Tony Gamble's Guide to Breaking Down Complex Words for Ages 2 and Up. Check out the YouTube show every Wednesday at 10, MST.

Shakur: Midget Standard Time?

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Gamble: Mountain, ugh. Didn't you have a second question?

Shakur: Yes, I did. Hey, where are the white women at?

Silence

Nobody even bothers to boo.

Shakur: What?

Gamble: Can't say that because your last name is Shakur, dude.

Shakur: Sure I can.

Gamble: Nope, can't do it.

Shakur: Let's ask my legal council.

Both look down at Shakur's legal counsel, and permanent security force, Steve. He used to be with Mega Job before he decided to embark on a solo career reading children's audio books. Plus, let's face it, Beef and El Janito hit their glass ceiling about 20 years ago. He also wears his glasses like a fucking man, with lenses, all the time.

Shakur: Can I say that because my last name is Shakur?

Steve: NO.

Shakur: But... Dude c'mon.

Steve: NO.

Shakur: Goddammit.

Gamble: Perfect opportunity for a Daniel Bryan or Kane cameo.

Steve/Shakur: NO.

Gamble hangs his head, pops out his fur coat like a G and walks off into the crowd. Two six foot four women accompany him to a nearby limousine.

Shakur: Work your magic.

Steve: BACK.

He holds his arms out as if to drop a flurry of clotheslines, but they all know what's up and take a few paces back.

Shakur: Now that I have your undivided attention, I would like to tell you a story.

In the midst of the crowd is the same individual who was following Shakur earlier in the evening from the parking lot.

Shakur: The story of how Jason Snow vs Devin Shakur should have headlined Colossus VI but was replaced by the God awful Title vs Title scenario, or How I Learned to Stop Holding it In and Drop the Atomic Bomb. Copyright that, legal.

Steve: COPYRIGHTED.

Shakur: At the time, Jason Snow was in the midst of his unprecedented run as Universal Champion and I was the undisputed #1 contender for the strap. I was the biggest cash cow the company had, pulling in money hand over fist. It turns out a lot of people want to come out and pay money to hate you when you break their hero in three pieces. I was in the doghouse for about a month after that, but ultimately the suits got over themselves and realized I made more than Rayne ever did. But would you believe the deciding factor was because Snow and I were both heels?

Given his knack for shooting as of late, and the tendency for everybody to enjoy backstage gossip, the usually volatile crowd has calmed down, and a few people are sitting Indian style.

Shakur: Vashaun was the 5-Star Champion, certainly making his way as an upper midcarder toward Main Eventer, and of course he was a face. Historians can go back during that time and see it was Snow #1 and Shakur #2. GBJ and Tsonda had both failed miserably and Hessian wasn't ready to take the lead, neither was Chainz. None of the other fan favorites were in serious consideration.

He takes the role of master orator, walking back and forth knowing the eyes of the entire world are on him.

Shakur: Although even Chainz would have made more sense given Snow had him as his bodyguard at one point. But, you really can't give PRIME's powers that be credit for being credible long term storytellers. In the end, it was down to three people: Chandler Tsonda, Kaiser Vashaun, and myself.

He reaches off camera, grabs a small bottle of water, sips, and then flips it over his right shoulder.

Shakur: So the brass called us in and wanted to hear our arguments, competition breeds and all that shit. There was a lot of bickering in those meetings. Truth be told, I didn't have a gripe with Vashaun. He's a nice kid, but was no where near ready for the kind of heat Snow would bring on him. Tsonda, on the other hand, was a fucking cock behind closed doors, always was and still is. He already had his chances and tanked so I'm still confounded as to why they let him anywhere near the office. It was an undeniable fact I could have given Snow a legitimate challenge, something neither of the other two were able to provide. Snow was an alcoholic and a drug addict. Christ, I would have had notebooks of material -

Steve: NO.

Shakur: Sorry, retract that, I would have had weeks of promo material. I could have called six spots per show just to run down his vices. I would have been under his skin, gotten him to explode, shown a side nobody had ever seen of him, but I had two major strikes against me – The whole Tyler Rayne Incident. While I might have been out of the doghouse, so to speak, it still factored in, and Two – My alignment. The only way Snow vs Shakur had a chance of being booked is if one of us turned heel. Now two heels can't fight on the biggest stage of them all, no, but two faces can duke it out because that's a concept that has only worked out once. Oh wait, THE SHOW WOULD HAVE FUCKING SOLD OUT ANYWAY!

Another sip of water.

Shakur: Tsonda had failed twice, and it should have been blatantly fucking obvious he wasn't going to beat Snow if given a third chance. Plus, there was no money there. Tsonda was a marquee name only because he had C.P. Cantrell in his back pocket keeping him on top until Snow ran through him. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure he was third in line. So what did Vashaun have, other than one of the most unmarketable looking faces I've ever seen? He was a face. He was fresh. He had a title.

A loud sigh.

Shakur: Colossus would have been a much hotter ticket if you knew one of the two most dominant people in PRIME would have been brought down a serious peg instead of trying to copy WrestleMania VI. One man in a federation this prestigious can't hold two titles. You all saw how that collapsed on itself when it was decided that Gamble get the strap in that debacle that was ReVolution 205. I mean Christ, there was no appropriate way to get the belt off Snow so he decided to come up with his own "unique" way to do it, and God that flopped because Jay Phoenix's heart wasn't into it and Gamble was the only legitimate mid-carder we had around who could be presentable with the fucking thing.

Another sip of water.

Shakur: But the match itself was bland as fuck. Snow ran him over. The program was a dud and I was forced to work with the up and coming Bryan Dawkins. I didn't want to work with the third wheel of an overrated group that never lived up to its potential. I showed the world what happened when I didn't get my way, I broke that prick's neck. I would have done the same thing to Snow but at least I would have done it with some respect. It would have been a moment in PRIME's lore talked about for years after the federation closed when bloggers did the federation's eulogy. But no, instead they hotshotted another failure as a Main Eventer into a fireball and he got burned. I ended a career. You had a disaster of a 5*Star Title picture because the guy who held it also held the Universal Title. Rule of thumb: Bookers are sometimes fucking idiots.

He drops the microphone and looks into the camera with a cold expression.

Shakur: A smart idea to ban me from the building now? I've got five years of backstage bullshit I'm more than glad to divulge and if you guys keep panning to me like it is some sort of cruel joke, I'll tear down all the walls in this place.

A worn forearm drapes over the eyes of a battered warrior. Lying on his back he takes long, labored breaths, his chest heaving through a gray t-shirt. Exhausted, crushed, obliterated.

At least he has a couch.

Yes, The Bad Dog was all but taken back behind the woodshed at ReVolution 250 against Hessian in a Last Man Standing match. Somehow The Blue Collar Brawler had turned the tables after taking an absolute thrashing from The Murder Show, and right now he's paying for it, shielding his eyes from the locker room lights on a couch he probably wishes was a little more comfortable.

Just like he probably wishes a particular pair of military issue combat boots weren't resting on a coffee table next to him.

Or that they belong to the one and only Tyler Rayne.

RAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

The cheers of the arena sound off in the background as the camera zooms out to expose the situation. Wade Elliott, a not so sparky Southern Sparkplug resting his bones on the couch, and The Golden Boy reclined in a chair, Mountain Dew Code Red in hand, boots up on the table, and a very pleased grin across his stubbled face. Either he's chosen to table his annoyance at Roxy Phoenix for the time being, or the prospect of ribbing Wade is enough to temporarily mask it.

Rayne: A Last Man Standing match against Nessie. Man, that was an AWESOME choice! Good thing my Golden Ticket perks got reinstated, although I guess that means Alpha Flight has a sense of humor or something…

Elliott (mumbling): Yer an asshole.

Rayne: Not gonna argue the point, but c'mon, Country. You were asking for it. 'Sides, what was I supposed to pick? A tuxedo match? Bra and panties?

Elliott (moving his hand to his forehead): Remind me why 'xactly yer here makin' my evenin' that much harder?

Rayne: Huh. Good question. I think Uni wanted me to keep you company, make sure you weren't going to take that beat-up southern body of yours and go do something stupid.

Elliott: This ain't much better...

Tyler chuckles, taking a swig of his beloved cherry-flavored beverage.

Rayne: Oh, I'm sure you've spent time with bigger pricks than me. Anyway, I wanna make sure you lumber yourself to the ring at Colossus for our match. I've gotten all excitable about it.

Elliott (groaning): No promises...

A knock interrupts Rayne's playful jabs and the two turn their attention to the door as it opens. The Queen of the Ring pokes her head inside, and the crowd unleashes another cheer for the Chairwoman.

Troy: Everyone playing nice?

Rayne: Everything's shiny, love. I was just telling Country here just how much I enjoyed watching that blood bath of a match against Nessie last week.

A stiff middle finger is Wade's only response. The Queen steps into the room fully, a bag of ice in her hand, and shuts the door.

Troy: That's good, since the Big Southern Dummy has apparently made himself at home.

She strides past the couch and tosses the bag of ice onto The Drifter's stomach, which causes him to lurch forward with a pained "oof!" He shoots a gentle glare her way only to receive a wry smile from her lips. Troy grabs a bottle of water and pulls up a chair next to The Hero of the Day. Realizing he's unlikely to get any rest in this particular company, The Bad Dog sits upright, grabbing the bag of ice and placing it on his left shoulder.

Elliott: If I'd known this was the sort've treatment I was gonna git I'd've stayed in the truck...

Troy: Hey, you came stumbling into my locker room, remember? Besides, it's not like it'd do any good, considering you're in another match later, you idiot.

Elliott: Well what was I s'posed t'do? Turn down a match 'gainst Shakur? I may be beat t'hell, but I ain't gonna tuck tail from that little cunt. Hessian coulda tore my arm clean off an' I'd still go at 'im.

Rayne: Hey, I'll happily take your spot if you're not feeling up to it, Country.

Wade waves Tyler off, and Lindsay rolls her eyes mid-swig of her water bottle.

Elliott: If ya wanna git involved I'd do it by keepin' an' eye on Ol' Tsonda, he's gonna be takin' the brunt've this load.

"I'm not that worried about it."

The voice of The Model Citizen reaches the ears of the three as the door opens once more, and once more the arena roars their approval off-screen. Rayne raises his bottle of Code Red as he enters.

Tsonda: Just coming to check in on my partner for the evening, is he good to go or do we need to take a trip to the vet?

Elliott shakes his head and leans against the backrest of the couch with an annoyed grunt.

Troy (smirking): I think he's just looking for attention.

Rayne: With me keeping him such wonderful company and Uni getting him ice, yeah, I 'd say he's milking it.

Elliott: You can all go fuck yerselves.

Tsonda: Aww, c'mon Big Fella...

The Model Citizen takes a seat on the couch next to The 'Bama Bruiser, giving him a pat on the ribs.

Tsonda: ...we're just concerned about ya!

Elliott stifles a groan, blue eyes squinting at a grinning Tsonda.

Troy: Alright, I think we've beat up on him enough for the night. You do at least want him to BE at the ring, right?

Tsonda: Yeah yeah, but all kidding aside, how ya doing Wade? You gonna be any help tonight or are you still sore after I knocked you out those three years ago.

Elliott: If ya saw what I did t'my truck that night you'd know that gettin' counted out by you was the last thing fer me t'worry 'bout. Far as t'night goes, git ready fer a one-man show, ain't sure how much good I'll be.

Rayne: Hey, 90% is showing up, right?

Elliott: Somethin' like that.

Tsonda: It's all good, we'll figure something out. In the meantime, I never thought I'd see this pairing, got to think of a name for our team! Maybe...Tselliott?

Troy: Ugh, that's awful.

Tsonda (ignoring her): Chanlliott...this is harder than I thought.

Rayne: Wadler?

Troy: Really? You're just as bad at this as he is.

Tsonda: The Drifting Model?

Rayne: You're getting somewhere. Citizen Bad Dog?

Tsonda: Ooooh, not bad! The Southern Citizen?

Rayne: That one's a step backward.

Tsonda: Got it. "Citizen Sparkplug."

Rayne: Bingo.

Tsonda: Perfect! What do you think Wade?...Wade?

But there was no one to pick on, as The Bad Dog had already slowly stood from his couch and snuck out of the locker room, likely in search of coffee.

"It's funny..."

A deep, clear, unrecognizable narrator opens the scene. A sleek, black BMW M3 pulls up in front of a towering skyscraper on an overcast day, stopping in front of a sign reading "Reserved for C.E.O."

"...if you stop to think about it."

The scene shifts. Troy Douglas sits in front of a computer in a typical cubicle, surrounded by co-workers doing the same. He pushes a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose, squinting at his small screen and typing furiously.

"To imagine ourselves doing something completely different for a living..."

Tyler Nelson slides a drink to a customer at a busy bar, sleeves rolled up and wiping his brow, trying his best to handle the restless customers.

"...and the absurdity of it."

An enormous man writes on a chalkboard, writing the words "Mr. Kelsig" before turning to his college classroom lecture hall. Hessian removes a pair of glasses to address his students.

"...but is it?"

Chandler Tsonda adjusts a white hard hat on his head, heaving a bag of cement off his shoulder and onto a palette. He rubs the back of his neck and looks around the hot construction site before turning around to hoist another. "Wait for Me" by Rise Against starts softly in the background.

"Somewhere along the road of our life, we made a choice..."

The Prime Cut, Killean Sirrajin, stands up from under the hood of a car, setting a wrench down on a bench in favor of another size, wiping grease off his fingers on his mechanic's suit.

"...a decision that set us on our path."

Devin Shakur lowers a patient in their reclined chair. He pulls on a mouth cover, and the patient opens wide as he leans over to clean their teeth.

"It could have been that easy. A normal life."

The door of the black BMW M3 from the opening scene opens, The Bad Dog, Wade Elliott, stepping onto the pavement, looking very clean cut in a fine black suit and tie.

"A life without all the physical pain, all the sacrifice..."

Tchu stands from his table, clad in a gray suit, and turns to a jury in a courtroom, pleading the case of his client.

"...the blood, the sweat, the tears..."

Lindsay Troy points out the various exits to the aircraft, clad in a classic flight attendant outfit, all smiles.

"...the glory, the fame."

Draped in a very, very cheesy plaid suit, Tyler Rayne does his very best to sell a young couple on a used car.

"But who are we kidding...

The team of James Farwell and Clyde Walkins model white underwear, changing their pose with each flash of a light-bulb. Mull that one over.

"...THAT'S WHAT WE LIVE FOR!!!"

Katt Wylde and Roxy Phoenix, across from each other at their cash registers at a resort cafeteria, look to each other, stand, and tear off their uniforms, revealing their wrestling attire, and strut toward the exit, kicking the door open and seemingly moving through a portal to a wrestling arena and thousands of screaming fans.

"The roar of the crowd!"

High Flyer, in a moment of frustration, hurls a box from the back of a delivery truck at Tony Davis, who barely catches the box on the ground. High Flyer runs toward the back of the truck, bursting through it into the same arena in his wrestling gear.

"To stand in the spotlight!"

Tyler Nelson chucks his towel to the ground and storms through the back door of the bar, showing up in the arena where a kitchen should have been.

"To walk down that ramp!"

Tsonda drops his last bag of concrete, and tosses his hard hat. He strides toward a work truck, stepping in through the passenger's side and exiting through the driver's, only to show up at the top of the arena ramp.

"Lights flashing!"

Killean slams the hood of the vehicle, ripping off his mechanic's suit and turning to the garage door, reaching down and throwing it upward, putting him amongst the fans of the stadium.

"Music blasting!"

The Queen of the Ring, realizing her situation, steps to the closest exit of the aircraft, wrenching the emergency lever to open the door. She jumps out, landing in her wrestling gear center ring.

"It's indescribable! Like a drug you can't kick..."

Troy Douglas stands up rapidly from his small desk, flinging his glasses and bashing through the cubicle wall, which serves as a curtain to the bellowing crowd.

"...like a habit you'd never want to break."

Wade sits at his large, fancy desk in his large, fancy office. His brow furls suddenly, and he stands, flipping the desk. He strides to the door of his entrance and kicks it open, arriving in his usual boots and jeans on the entrance ramp.

"So, really..."

Hessian bursts into the arena amongst the fans, shredding his dress shirt off his enormous chest, slobbering at the mouth.

"...we never had a choice..."

Tchu suddenly stops mid sentence in front of the jury, who eye him with confused faces. He grins, and sprints towards the big doors in the back, blasting them open with his palms, placing him in the ring, hands in the air.

"...it chose US..."

The Golden Boy pulls off his plaid jacket, placing it in the arms of the young man, giving him a pat on the back before turning and running through the dealership entrance, transporting him to the top of the arena among his fans, basking in the golden lights.

"...and anything else would be just plain wrong."

The camera slowly zooms out of the arena, the PRIME stars making their way to meet in the ring before fading away.



"Wait for me!
Wait for me!
Wait for me!
Wait for me now!!"

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentleman, the winner of this match, scheduled for one fall, will be the new and final PRIME 5-Star Champion!

The crowd responds in high praise, thrilled that Roxy Phoenix has inadvertently placed her title on the line to any interested contender. That interested contender just happened to be her main ally and good friend, Tyler Rayne. Of course, the crowd would love nothing more than to see her stripped of that belt.

The lights dim down, and the eruption of Quarashi's "Stick Em' Up" sends the fans into hysteria. The spotlight seeks out certain points in the crowd, narrowing in on women throwing flashing their breasts or fainting at the sight of the Underground Pimp. Men clank their beers together in unison as Tyler Rayne comes through the crowd with a smug grin across his face.

Vince Howard: Coming first to the ring, he IS the most desired man in PRIME…

The crowd erupts in cheer to a near deafening level, yet Vince Howard continues. Pure chaos explodes from each end of the stadium as every fan in this arena wants nothing more than Tyler Rayne to claim the Championship Belt.

Vince Howard: From Baja, California… with a height of 6’-1" and weighing 221 pounds… Tyler Rayne!

The Golden Boy casually makes his way through his people, cockily winking with a confident nod to different women as he passes. He high-fives fans left and right as he continues to the ring. Bras and panties are flown in his direction, yet he gives no care to them, as he is a committed man to a certain Queen of the Ring.

Once he reaches the ring, he slides in underneath the bottom rope. He spins around the ring, raising his arms in the air and amping up the crowd – as if they could be any more rowdy. He leads a chant in unison throughout the arena, "RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE!" The fourth and final chant forces an explosion of golden light from four corners of the arena.

The lights resume to their original brightness as Tyler Rayne stretches in the ring, eagerly awaiting his opponent.

Nick Stuart: Boy, this proves to be an amazing matchup, Richard, don’t you agree?

Richard Parker: No kidding! I overheard Roxy talking about adding a "Strip" match stipulation. Each partner loses a piece of clothing with a pinfall or tap-out…

Nick: Not a chance.

Richard: Hey, it could happen!

Nick: What also could happen is that the very confident Roxy Phoenix could lose her 5-Star Championship Belt!

As the song opens, the arena falls to black. The slow rhythm plays, and the spotlights dance about the darkness of the stage. Sexy silhouettes of Roxy Phoenix rise from the shadows of the base of the lights and are projected on the background of the stage. The shadows slither and elongate her slim frame to the seductive melody, each beckoning the crowd to her lascivious will.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The beat of the song quickens, as do the speed of the lights. The shadows follow the same pattern, and swift movements of the hips and arms become rough and deliberate.

Vince Howard: She is the PRIME 5-Star Champion…

The words commence in the song, and the shadows grow narrow and slowly descend at a diagonal path towards the center of the stage at the site of the curtain entrance. The silhouettes continue to get smaller and gravitate towards one another until they become one at the size and height of the anticipated Roxy Phoenix.

The shadow freezes in a victorious pose with arms in the air simultaneously as the music and spotlights both halt. The words "Pop Sexy Sucker" echo in the darkness.

Vince Howard: Coming from Sofia, Bulgaria, with a height of 5’-9" and weighing in at 145 lbs…

The succeeding beat crashes immediately with the drop of the curtain, as two blasts of pyrotechnics explode on opposite ends of the stage. Yet… no one appears.

Vince Howard: …Roxy Phoenix??

No one. Vince Howard looks at Tyler Rayne who shrugs in response.

Richard: Where the hell is she?

Nick: Fans, it appears that Roxy Phoenix has gotten cold feet! She is nowhere to be seen!

The Golden Boy shakes his head with a laugh. Likely, he anticipated she would not show up.

Richard: That’s impossible. My leading lady would NEVER get cold feet!

Vince Howard resumes his announcement, attempting to encourage Roxy to join her opponent in the ring.

Vince Howard: Ahem… ladies and gentleman… here is ROXY PHOENIX!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Sofia Spitfire has not shown up yet. The crowd starts to boo.

Nick: Well, Richard, where do you think she is?

Richard: Probably somewhere more important… didn’t she mention a manicure?

Nick: You stalking her now?

Richard: Hey! My restraining order never mentions the word, "stalking."

Nick: Folks, I don’t know what else to think. It doesn’t look like Roxy Phoenix is planning on showing up tonight to face Tyler Rayne.

Snickering to himself, Tyler Rayne exchanges a few words with Vince Howard. The announcer hands over the microphone and a cell phone from his pocket. Rayne punches in a few numbers, and the ringing of the dial echoes into the microphone and throughout the arena.

Richard: What the hell is that punk doing?

Nick: I think The Underground Pimp is curious to find out where Roxy Phoenix is, just like the rest of us.

The annoyed voice on the end of the line, clearly that of Roxy Phoenix, finally answers.

Roxy Phoenix: (on phone) What!?

Tyler Rayne: Rox?

Roxy Phoenix: Who the fuck is this?

Tyler Rayne: It's Ty, you comin'?

Although aggravated, the Bulgarian Bombshell still has a sense of humor.

Roxy Phoenix: (on phone) Ya better believe it, hot stuff.

Richard: That’s my girl! Whoo!

Tyler Rayne rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

Tyler Rayne: Rox, our match. Get off your ass and get out here.

Roxy Phoenix: (on phone, groans) Fine, whatever. Fuck you.

Victorious, Tyler Rayne returns the microphone and cell phone to Vince Howard.

As Roxy's theme song opens again, the arena falls to black. The slow rhythm plays, and the spotlights dance about the darkness of the stage. Sexy silhouettes of Roxy Phoenix rise from the shadows of the base of the lights and are projected on the background of the stage. The shadows slither and elongate her slim frame to the seductive melody, each beckoning the crowd to her lascivious will.

The beat of the song quickens, as do the speed of the lights. The shadows follow the same pattern, and swift movements of the hips and arms become rough and deliberate.

The words commence in the song, and the shadows grow narrow and slowly descend at a diagonal path towards the center of the stage at the site of the curtain entrance. The silhouettes continue to get smaller and gravitate towards one another until they become one at the size and height of the anticipated Roxy Phoenix.

Roxy Phoenix appears at the top of the stage with a cigarette stuck in her mouth. She removes the cancer stick from her lips and flicks it into the audience, possibly burning an innocent fan caught in the line of fire. The middle finger on her right hand flies up as she sticks her tongue out at Tyler Rayne.

The song continues with the screens playing highlights of her matches, and she makes her way down the ramp. Men reach out to her, but none of them get to touch her. Most get a flirtatious wink, but every now and again, one grubby paw grazes her flesh. The fan regrets it as she twists the hand to break it... or at least result in a severe injury.

She climbs the stairs and delicately toes the edge of the ring. She bends over and straddles the middle rope, pausing to display her assets to the fans.

The crowd is torn - they love to hate her. Women are jealous. They want to be her. The men are jealous. They want her.

After a few seconds, Roxy enters the ring and does a few provocative poses on the mat. The song fades into the background, as she surveys her competition.

Before Vince Howard can exit the ring, she takes the microphone from him.

Roxy Phoenix: Hey, "Strip" match stipulation, or no match.

Richard: I told you! It’s gonna happen! It’s finally gonna happen! ROXY PHOENIX IS GONNA GET NAKED ON TV!

Nick: Settle down there, Richard… I don’t see Tyler Rayne going along with that stipulation.

Tyler Rayne shakes his head in doubt. Phoenix shrugs and tosses him the microphone for his response.

Tyler Rayne: Fuck that, kid. You and me, a real match.

Roxy Phoenix steals the microphone from him, and she teases him as she begins to toy with the zipper at the center of her bust.

Roxy Phoenix: Come on, Ty, I'll even give you a handicap.

Within an instant, she collapses to the ground, waiting for Tyler Rayne to cover her for a pin. The fans release a chorus of boos. Rayne does nothing. He looks at the referee who shrugs.

Richard: I’ll pin her!

Nick: Roxy Phoenix is mocking Tyler Rayne! She can't even fight fair.

Richard: I know! She’s giving Tyler Rayne this match! Get up, Roxy!

Wanting a decently fair fight, Tyler Rayne reaches his hand down to lift Roxy Phoenix to her feet… but Phoenix wants no part of playing fair. She delivers a swift helicopter kick to Tyler Rayne’s face, and he crashes to the mat.

The SMACK to his face is AUDIBLE – as the entire crowd reacts with an "OHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Richard: Oh! She got him! He didn’t even see it coming!

Nick: Hey- that’s not right! She took him off guard!

Phoenix scrambles to the corner, and she climbs to the top of the belt. She stands high, and it’s a swift 450 Splash as she crashes onto the lifeless Tyler Rayne!

Richard: Twisted Phoenix! It’s the Twisted Phoenix!

Nick: No way! She can’t have won yet!

But Tyler Rayne isn’t moving… he’s out. Roxy Phoenix covers him for the pin.

ONE…………….

TWO…………………..

THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The bell rings.

Vince Howard: And still your PRIME 5-Star Champion… ROXY PHOENIX!!!!

The crowd does not approve, and the mocking gesture of Roxy Phoenix planting a long kiss upon Tyler Rayne’s lips certainly adds fuel to the fire.

Nick: That is just sick. Ladies and gentlemen, Roxy Phoenix in a very bizarre twist of events has defeated Tyler Rayne to keep her 5-Star Championship belt… I just don’t understand what just happened.

Richard: Because… she’s just too amazing for you and all these other inbred half-wits to understand.

Tyler Rayne opens his eyes and closes them immediately. The blinding glare of the overhead arena lights has never been, and likely will never be, good for soothing a possible concussion. And let’s be fair, he would know. The man who once proclaimed himself as the greatest 5-Star Champion in PRIME history, (and likely still will despite this monumental defeat), rolls out of the ring and lands hard on wobbly legs. He almost goes back down but manages to steady himself. Roxy’s music is still playing over the speakers. The fans are still in shock from witnessing such a quick and decisive victory, so they can only manage to muster a polite round of applause as he stumbles back up the ramp toward the curtain.

Tyler Rayne: What a way to go.

The Golden Boy pushes through to the backstage area, ending the debacle that was his last match on ReVolution. He’s regained enough of his senses to look up when he walks now, instead of staring at his feet to make sure he remembers to pick them up. Standing a few yards away, arms crossed over her chest and title slung over her shoulder, is Roxy Phoenix. He should’ve just kept looking down.

He licks his lips to taste a mixture of some blood… and strawberry lip gloss. What the…? He returns his focus to a satisfied Roxy who watches him sluggishly trek in the direction of the hall leading towards the locker rooms. Of course…

Tyler Rayne: You feel better now?

It is now her turn to mock him with a cock of her head to the side, complete with a raised eyebrow and a smug grin. She is quite pleased with herself. Though for Roxy, if it's possible, she feigns her pride just a little to not hurt Ty’s feelings too badly.

Tyler Rayne: Good. Hell of a kick.

Roxy Phoenix: Yeah, well, some of us are still in our prime. Not past it.

Tyler Rayne: Oh. We’re still going? Figured that would be an embarrassing enough revenge. Fine. You’re still a slut.

She stares at him for a few seconds, questioningly, then relents with a sigh. The tension eases and she slumps into a less hostile pose.

Roxy Phoenix: Come on, Ty. It’s not as much fun if you’re not even going to try.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah. Something about this mild concussion that sorta makes me not give a shit.

Roxy Phoenix: You mean something about losing that makes you realize you were wrong.

Tyler Rayne: No. I wasn’t wrong. But… yeah. You beat me. Pretty fucking badly.

Roxy Phoenix: Very fucking badly.

Tyler Rayne: Yes. So now I’ll have to go to a bar tonight and drink so much I forget this ever happened. See you there?

Roxy Phoenix: If you’re buying first round.

Tyler Rayne: Sure. Fuck it. Now, uh… which way is my locker room?

Roxy Phoenix: I’ll show you.

Roxy pats Tyler’s behind twice with a light slap, and she points down the hall to the left before sauntering in that direction. Tyler nods and follows her. One of the sound technicians hustles past The Golden Boy toward Roxy. The technician points down the hall in the opposing path.

Technician: Uh, Roxy, isn’t his locker room--

Roxy Phoenix: Excuse me, aren’t you, like, a "Grip" or whatever? Piss off and go grip something…

He sighs in defeat, casting an exasperated glance towards the cameraman before returns to his hidden place behind the camera. Roxy stops in her track, and she pauses for the injured Rayne to join her.

Roxy Phoenix: Come along, Ty. Let’s get some drinks and blackout.

With a wink at the camera, Roxy closes the door behind them, and it appears as though old habits die hard for the Sofia Spitfire.

Nick: I'm being told we're heading back to the parking lot at this time.

Richard: It's about good goddamn time we brought Shakur back on the TV.

Nick: It's a fitting punishment to keep him off as long as possible.

Richard: You can't keep greatness down, Nick, and we're going to find that out.

Nick: We'll certainly see about that, but nonetheless, we're heading out to the parking lot in 3...2...1.

Begrudgingly stretching moments before his match, Devin Shakur has the look of someone who is prepared to do as little as possible. He's stretching because of habit, not because he needs to. It should be noted in the history books that he has no intention of being in the ring longer than thirty seconds, and it will be a miracle if he is.

After touching his toes four times, he looks up and notices the camera back in his face. He provides a quizzical look, drawing the conclusion the front office is either a serious glutton for punishment or oblivious to his earlier tirade.

Shakur: So you want more? Alright, we're about to LOCK AND LOAD! LOCK AND LOAD! BRING ON THE PAINNNNNNNNNNN!

He wipes the drool from his face.

Shakur: It seems if this company had any interest in protecting its image, it would hope to stay as far away from me as possible. I didn't order this time. I haven't been to any of the meetings so why I'm being asked to deliver must really be a testament to my star power and the fact none of the insiders can deliver the goods like I can.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur: Boo all you want, doesn't make me lose sleep because I'm going to get paid. Fact is, tonight I'll wrestle for you, even though you don't deserve it. I'm going to do less than go through the motions. I'm going to be in the ring for a grand total of probably 30 seconds. Why am I telling everybody this?

I don't know because I just did.

Because Tyler Nelson, on his own, is completely hollow and physically impotent - Sampson bald, a shell of his former self.

He pauses and walks over toward his car, still perfectly idle.

Shakur: But there's one elephant in the room I haven't addressed yet. The one who has ingrained it in everybody's head that he's back to make sure this place has a proper send off. The new "Boss" as it were, Killean Sirrajin.

Richard: Oh shit, he's gonna go after Kill. Finally, we're going to hear the truth!

Nick: Or what you believe to be the truth.

Richard: So long as I believe it, bub.

Shakur: You want to be real, Kill? I mean reallly real? Fine, I'll level with you. There is no sunset. You just can't bother to take off your rose colored glasses and see the landscape for what it really is. PRIME is incapable of having a proper send-off because the egos involved simply won't allow themselves to rise above and endure the proper sacrifices for the team. Case in regurgitated point: it took six goddamn months after the tumbleweeds had blown through and I hauled ass for someone to go, "Hai, wha happen'a PRIME?"

Behind the wall of security stands an inconspicuous Elvis Nixon, a Shakur hire, on a smoke break. He wouldn't stand out if it weren't for the keen eye of the secondary camera. He's just as irked as the rest in the locker room, but he's a believer in letting someone else do the work. Plus, he's outweighed by about 60 pounds.

Shakur: I threw this company into a hell it isn't coming out of. I'm the only one who is going to leave this shithole smelling like a rose because I'm upfront about my intentions. The lethargic pieces of fuck walking around the back are caricatures of hard-working wrestlers and motivated employees. They are there for the same reason I am, to get a paycheck. Independently, they hope to get some legacy bookings because otherwise their lives are going to be stuck in neutral, living off memories of past adrenaline that will never come walking back through the door. You are perhaps one of the guiltiest parties on this list.

Nixon isn't a fan of Shakur, especially not after he defaced the business with his public acknowledgement of corruption on 250. He flicks his cigarette, stomps it out, and goes back through the double doors to alert someone inside.

Shakur: I'll run down your accolades: You've won EVERYTHING in this goddamn business. All the belts. On paper, you are the best superstar to walk through the door. You have zero to prove. You haven't been around in fuck knows how long but you came back because you crave that spotlight, because you can't get enough of your past success. You are like a heroin addict, begging around for that one last hit before you "promise" to go clean.

Sans parody, he retrieves a water bottle and takes a sip.

Shakur: I took my share of money you said? No shit, dickweed. I've readily admitted that more than five times. I'm all about the money. Speaking of the money, I'm calling bullshit on you putting down to cover "some" of what I stole. Kill, you have no idea how much money I've made off this company. If I told you, you wouldn't believe it. I'd say that you probably put down about 1/400th of what I took and yes I'm assuming you put down at least seven figures.

Richard: I always wonder, Nick, why he never bought and sold your sorry ass when he had the chance.

Shakur: There's good news though, Kill, nobody was around to give a fuck enough to sue this company, so you are going to get your wish. The second-rate swan song you desire shall happen, but let's be clear about something. This company doesn't deserve better than what I gave it, because I gave it the best environment it could have imagined. You should be accosting those you call your friends because they abandoned this place when a swan song would have actually meant shit.

Scurrying down corridor after corridor, Nixon happens upon the locker room area where only one person is inside at the time, Killean Sirrajin -

Nick: Uh oh. Look who he found.

Richard: Censorship extraordinaire.

- who is gearing up for his match against Tchu. Nixon lightly knocks on the door. Sirrajin looks up and the two begin a conversation with Nixon pointing to the TV.

Shakur: You also said that I was a big star before I took the reigns? All those chair shots must have wracked your brain a lot harder than I expected. I was the whole fucking show from the moment I took over because nobody else had the ability to be. I was bigger than you, Troy, Rayne, Ward, fuck, everybody else put together. They all lived vicariously through me and my dedication to the company, so pardon me if I find pretty much everything that has come out of your mouth a bunch of insincere bullshit.

Richard: Dude is RIPPING Sirrajin up right now.

Sirrajin stands with folded arms and watches Shakur further incriminate himself.

Nixon: You're just going to let him talk to you like that?

A complete no-sell. Sirrajin continues to listen as Shakur continues to talk.

Shakur: Yes, PRIME still needs me. It needs me so these people can still feel some genuine emotion when I get the crap beaten out of me. Otherwise, everything else has lost its monetary value and is only afloat because you've decided to prevent it from drowning. Your prevention is kind of funny. It almost seems as if you needed that extra bit of motivation just to come through the doors again. It fits perfectly within the timeline of your career - the best Killean Sirrajin always comes out whenever the issue gets personalized with insults, or right after he's injected himself with the the ole anabolic tonic.

Crowd: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

It might be an issue he's addressed time and again, but it still sends him off the handle whenever someone brings it up. Plus, it's not always easy to be the metaphorical bigger man when someone is willing to stoop lower than low. Sirrajin pushes open the locker room door and starts a beeline for the parking lot.

Nick: He's gone and done it now. I think we're going to get what we should have gotten on 250.

Richard: GET OUTTA THERE! MEATHEAD ON THE PROWL!

Shakur: Call Steve, and make sure that's also copyrighted. Kill, no matter how much you try to overshadow your flaws, they always shine brightest when you look in the mirror. You can have everybody else drinking the Kool-Aid, but I've never been one of those people to hide from my idiosyncrasies. I turn them into positives. I never needed an enhancement to make myself into the biggest goddamn leech this company has ever known, it was innate. It is raw, Hoyt given talent that has allowed me to be the man I am today. The man you loathe with a vengeance. The most hated man in wrestling. I did it all on. my. own.

Sirrajin turns corners with precision, a rejuvenated step tearing through the halls. Each step is harder and quicker than the previous until he can see the 'Exit' sign.

Shakur: While you on the other hand are always going to have those doubters. Sure, 99% of them won't tell you to your face, but I'll go ahead and speak on their behalf. You are a second-tier superstar in the annals of history. No matter how many times you deny your 'roid use, people will always believe it. Think about it. For a few years, you were the shit, but as your career developed, you were never able to recapture the glory you had. Me? I never went down in my career. When I got to the top, I always found a way to stay there until the bitter end. Shit, my presence on 250 was the most talked about bit ever since this resurrection. I'm just that goddamn impressive, whereas you are dragging yourself across the finish line.

Killean's hand grabs the bar on the door and shoves it open. He looks at the Enemigos who have met his gaze.

Sirrajin: Move. Now.

They part, enough of a distraction to catch Shakur's eyes.

Shakur: Oh, look who decided to show up. It's the white knight himself. Where's your horse at, Killer? Someone get a trumpet because we need to give you a proper introduction.

With a swift swat of the microphone, Sirrajin grabs Shakur with both arms and backs him into the adjacent SUV.

Sirrajin: I'm sick and FUCKING TIRED of you. Anything to get a rise out of me, huh?

Even though he's about three feet off the ground, Shakur is smug as ever.

Shakur: It worked didn't it? I mean you are out here trying to defend your name.

His hands move from around Shakur's collar to his throat.

Sirrajin: You don't talk now. I do. It's better for everybody this way. I don't give a fuck about what you feel is injustice. You've put people on the shelf permanently. You've ended professional lives. Ruined people all for kicks and then moved on like it was absolutely nothing. You are right though, it's painfully obvious you don't have morals but that isn't the reason you've been able to succeed for as long as you have. It was because you had all the stroke. Well now you have absolutely none. Zero. Zilch. And I have. it. ALL.

He keeps a strong grip on Shakur's throat. Shakur doesn't kick, even though his instincts are telling him he should fight out.

Sirrajin: It's taking every fiber in my being not to put all of my energy into choking you out. You damn sure deserve it and nobody would miss you. I wouldn't be surprised if I got that fucking parade and trumpet entrance.

Shakur's face is getting a bit of color.

Sirrajin: But I've got a better solution, one more fitting for both of us, and since I've got the ability to do it, I'm damn sure going to. At Colossus, my dance card is empty and so is yours. Well that's no more. You and I are going to have at it.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Sirrajin: It has been a long time coming. Too long. I'm going to right the wrong and put you out of your misery. There's going to be a referee. There will be rules and regulations, but to pull a page out of your playbook, I'm not going to adhere to any of them, because heh, what are they gonna do, disqualify the boss on the final Pay-Per-View of the company's history?

He drops Shakur, leaving him to collect his breath and thoughts.

Sirrajin: Now, as for tonight, you are going to go in there and compete. I don't care if you dislike it or not, you will as you are booked to do so. It doesn't make sense? Sure it does, because you need to be in adequate ring shape before you receive the beating of your life. If you fail to go in there, I'm gonna carry you over my shoulder to the ring. I'll apologize now if I'm a bit haphazard in my handling of you. I will then toss you in the ring and stand watch until the bell rings.

Shakur lets out a series of violent coughs and tries to create some space between Sirrajin and himself.

Sirrajin: The bell's ringing soon. If you don't get to the gorilla in orderly fashion, I'm coming back out here and next time... I won't be so nice.

He turns and walks away from his now Colossus opponent with a slight smirk of satisfaction.

An angry Shakur slowly walks toward the building. The familiar blip that has been stalking Shakur all evening emerges from the shadows and discreetly makes himself the third party heading toward the building.

A guitar riffs over the loudspeakers, the horns kick in and four words flash on the PRIMEView.

END.

OF.

THE.

ROAD.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!

Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" blasts throughout the arena, and the fans in attendance rise and roar as the familiar figure of Troy Douglas steps onto the stage. He's not in his wrestling gear, rather a slightly wrinkled grey button-down shirt untucked over a pair of well-worn jeans. He's got a stoic, reserved look on his face, and he walks slowly and casually to the ring without exchanging handshakes and high-fives with anyone in the front row.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring TRROOOOOOOY DOOOOUGGGLAAAAASSSSSS!!!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Nick: The crowd's giving him a nice ovation, but you know Troy Douglas can't be happy about what went down at ReVolution 250 against Tony Gamble and Roxy Phoenix.

Richard: What are you talking about? That match was fantastic! And by fantastic, I mean Roxy Phoenix emerged victorious. All bouncy and happy...and bouncy...

Nick: Are you off your meds? Kaiser Vashaun left him high and dry to get dumped on his head by Gamble, who then stole the win for himself and Roxy!

Richard: You're clearly remembering things differently. The way I see it is The Next in Line had better things to do than to allow himself to be in Captain Milquetoast's presence any longer than was necessary.

Nick: There really is no sense in reasoning with you. Ever.

Richard: My mom's been saying the same thing for years.

Nick: I bet she has.

Troy picks up a microphone from a sound technician at ringside, climbs up the steps and into the ring and pulls himself onto the top rope, sitting on the turnbuckle and facing the hard camera.

MEGA-TRON! MEGA-TRON!

Troy Douglas: Thanks for that, guys. Really. I've been doing this 13 years now, and that noise I hear when I come through the curtain -- I can't ever get sick of that. Not in a thousand lifetimes. And, to be honest, it makes what I've got to say tonight all that much harder.

Nick: What could that be?

Richard: He's finally going back to his home planet and ending the Decepticon invasion once and for all?

Troy Douglas: Now, I'll get to what I've got to say, but first, indulge me for a second and let me tell you a story.

STORY TIME! STORY TIME! STORY TIME!

Nick: This has turned into the strangest kindergarten class of all time.

Troy Douglas: 'Bout 25 years ago, there was this little 12-year-old kid in Greensboro, North Carolina who did well enough on his report card that he convinced his dad to get him tickets to his first live professional wrestling show. It was in this crummy old converted warehouse only a couple blocks from his house, but to this kid, it was like the Roman Coliseum.

That night, this kid fell in love with pro wrestling. And over the last 25 years, it led him through the wildest journey anyone could imagine. Through triumph and through tragedy, from one end of the globe to the other, through injury after injury and comeback after comeback.

And 25 years later, here I stand tonight in front of all you fine people ready to write the final chapter.

Tonight, I'm announcing my retirement from the sport of professional wrestling.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Richard: YESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!

PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO!

Troy Douglas: Trust me, there's no one that this decision weighs more on than me. For 25 years, I've loved everything about this sport, and for the past 13 I've been fortunate enough to be a part of it, traveling the world in this wild carnival we call pro wrestling. But every man has his time, and I've reached mine. I've talked about the end of the road for a long, long time, and I've finally found it.

I think anyone who knows anything about me by now has a bit of an idea about my injury history. I came into this sport as damaged goods, a year removed from a serious spinal injury, and in the last 13 years I've spent enough time under the knife to earn my own medical degree. My back, my knees, my neck, my shoulders, it's all been sprained, ripped, torn or ruptured at one point or another, and I don't particularly fancy living the rest of my life in a wheelchair.

But, I'm not retiring simply for my own edification and peace of mind. Thing is, about a year ago I got married, and a little less than two months ago my wife gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. I'll be 38 years old in June, and while that may not seem all that old, wrestling years are longer than most and I made a promise to myself when I got into this sport that when I started a family, I'd be there for them.

So, I guess that's it. That's the end of the road.

MEG-A-TRON! MEG-A-TRON! MEG-A-TRON!

Troy Douglas: Oh, uh ... except for one thing.

I said that I'm RETIRING. I ain't retired YET.

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Troy Douglas: I'm going home to my family, but I'm not going home tonight. I'm not going home until after Colossus, because the way I see it, I don't leave this sport until I put on one last show the likes of which the professional wrestling world has never seen. I don't leave until I have

ONE.

MORE.

MATCH.

ONE MORE MATCH! ONE MORE MATCH! ONE MORE MATCH!

Troy Douglas: Now, I didn't make my name here in PRIME, and if you go through the annals of this amazing company my grand contribution equals about one-thousandth of a percent of everything that's gone on here. But, since I first showed up here in 2008, I don't think there's been a company where I've ever been able to have more fun than right here in PRIME. And if this company's making one last stand, then I might as well make it with them.

And if I'm gonna have one last match at Colossus, I already know who I want across the ring from me. There's only one man I want to end my career against. See, five years ago I walked into Colossus with the Intense Title and had one of the greatest matches of my career ... and I left bloodied, beaten and unconscious.

In five years, I've never gotten the chance to return the favor. If I'm going out, if Colossus is going to be my last night strapping on the boots and hauling my busted, broken ass out to this ring, you can be damn sure I'm getting my receipt. Not just for that war from five years ago, but for ReV 250 when a certain someone decided he had better things to do than be a man and finish a damn match.

I was willing to shelf all that history for one night at the request of PRIME's new management, because that's what team players do. But one night is where I draw the line, and I'm prepared to bring my very best to the biggest stage on the biggest night this company's ever seen.

So Kaiser Vashaun,

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

At Colossus, I want you in the ring, one last time. And then?

Then it's the end of the road. For me and, more importantly, for you.

"You Know My Name" kicks in again as Troy Douglas flips the microphone to the mat, hops off the turnbuckle, and climbs out of the ring.

Richard: I can't believe this. Does the man have a death wish?

Nick: Death wish, no. A clamoring for retribution? Yes! Troy Douglas wants one more go at Kaiser Vashaun, and you best believe that this is exactly what the Next in Line was hoping for! Folks, we'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!

Vince Howard: The following is a Bring Your Own Rules tag team match and is for one fall!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: I don’t get it.

Nick: What’s not to get?

Richard: Bring Your Own Rules?

Nick: TOPICAL SEGUE!  Every two minutes, a buzzer will sound, and one of these four men will choose a new stipulation for the match.  Any stipulation goes!

Richard: What happens when Will’s writing this match and forgets the continuity of those stipulations and cancels out a previous stipulation?

Nick: Oh, Richard, you darling, darling sociopath.  There’s no way that will happen.

With all competitors already in the ring, Tyler Nelson and Devin Shakur do not appear to be eager bedfellows. If not in the know, one would assume they were, in fact opponents. Nelson gives Shakur a final once up-and-down before heading to his corner. Shakur’s eyes linger on the Greediest Player in the Game.

Nick: Devin Shakur, pro that he is, is in no hurry to turn his back on Tyler Nelson!

Richard: Only a fool turns his back on DA BOSS.

In the other corner, Tsonda offers a fairly indifferent fist pound to Wade Elliott, who doesn’t so much return it as he lets Tsonda pound his fist.

And like that...

DING DING DING!

…they’re off.

Elliott, trying his hardest to hide how destroyed his body is, hesitantly goes for a lock-up, but Shakur has no interest. He feigns going for the lock-up, but sidesteps and the last minute and issues a fierce kick to the back of Wade’s leg. It sends Elliott staggering forward, so Shakur takes advantage, bounces off the ropes, and comes flying off with a low dropkick to the back of both Wade’s knees. The Southern Sparkplug goes down, and the crowd issues their thoughts on Devin Shakur.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Has there ever been a more universally disliked PRIMEate than Shakur?

Richard: He is beloved to me. I know not of what you speak.

Nick: Richard, surely you can at least be objective enough to say that Shakur’s actions have been heinous at best, and homicidal at their worst?

Richard: I plead the seventh.

Nick: The seventh?

Richard: Is that not right?

Attacking from behind once again, Shakur goes high with a flying elbow that knocks against the back of Wade’s head as the Bad Dog tries to rise. Again, the former Intense Champion drops, this time only to one knee.

Nick: One of the hardest men to put down for the count in PRIME history right here.

With Wade kneeling, Shakur uncorks a vicious leg strike. The torque produced by his leg when it whips towards Elliott’s head is damn near visible.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

But Wade knows Shakur, just like Shakur knows Wade. Old dogs and new tricks and all that. Wade has caught Shakur’s foot just inches from his face. Though it can’t be called fear, there is genuine surprise in Shakur’s eyes.

Richard: Ack! Abort, abort!

It lasts only until Wade explodes up onto his feet, grabbing Shakur’s other leg and rising with the former Universal Champion over his right shoulder.

Nick: Setting up for the Rebel Yell!

Too early, though, and even Wade knows it. His grasp on Shakur slips, and the Man in the Black rolls off Elliott’s shoulders, landing on his side and immediately rolling to the outside, much to the chagrin of PRIMEates, one and all.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: He’s playing chess and you’re playing...I dunno, Snake on your Nokia phone or something.

Nick: Not checkers?

Devin Shakur scowls at Wade Elliott, as if to say "how dare you." It’s not surprising. Shakur has earned his arrogance through buckets of blood.

One man, though, owns a particularly special win over Devin Shakur. A man who has gone toe-to-toe with PRIME’s signature villain and come out on top. A man who used that win as a springboard to one of the greatest Universal Title reigns in history.

A man who, speaking of springboards, has just launched himself off the top rope with a springboard moonsault that clobbers Devin Shakur but honestly just looks like a big ol’ pain sandwich for both competitors.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Chandler Tsonda risking life and limb to get a chance to take it to Devin Shakur in what may be their last ever encounter!

Richard: I’ll never forget that Colossus V match for as long as I live, man.  

Nick: Nor will either of those men, both of whom look worse for the wear!

The referee is about to begin counting Shakur out, but then the PRIME*View crackles to life. The crowd cannot help but count down as the screen does.

3

2

1

Nick: That buzzer means...

RULE: ELLIOTT

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard: This is the shit of a bull.

Elliott, rubbing his shoulder, turns and says something to Gerald Barrett and bails from the ring. Tyler Nelson watches this curiously and then tries to ask the referee Barrett what is going on. GB got no time for that, and leans through the ropes to inform Vince Howard of the new stipulation.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is now-

Wade emerges from under the ring apron with a steel chair

Vince Howard: being contested under Intense rules!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Wade is in the ring with his steel chair.

Tyler Nelson is fleeing to the ringside area.

Wade is pursuing.

Nick: Not a single competitor left in the ring itself and this thing has been taken up a notch!

Richard: Who’s legal?

Nick: I guess they’re all legal, since Intense rules means this is also a tornado tag!

The thing about Tyler Nelson: he’s still got it. He leads Wade around one corner. Leads him past the still downed forms of Tsonda and Shakur. Leads him around another corner.

Richard: Look at that endurance! He’s like...I don’t watch any sports that you can’t gamble on. Who’s a famous distance runner?

But now he has the jump on Wade, who has never been fleet of foot. Because he has a little of a gap between he and Elliott, Nelson runs at the next set of steel steps, jumps at the top step, and then goes against his momentum and propels himself at the Bama Bruiser with a shoulder block straight against the steel chair!

Nick: Nelson just saved himself and has taken the wind out of Wade’s sails!

Richard: Shouldn’t have tried to play DA BOSS like that, homie. Now Nelson’s got the chair and-

WHAM!

Nick: He missed! He just barely missed!

A big back swing from Tyler Nelson with the chair has missed its mark, with Wade Elliott avoiding the shot with a sideways roll that won’t win any points for form, but does the job. However, it leaves Elliott on the ground, and Nelson wastes no time stomping away on Wade.

Richard: Order restored! Beating Elliott like a rented mule out here. Funny, I think Wade’s dad was actually a rented mule.

Nick: I have a sinking feeling that the punchline is-

Richard: He’s half-jackass!

Using guardrail to help himself up, Tsonda is woozily reaching two feet. Shakur has slid back into the ring, where he leans on the ropes and watches his partner indifferently. Nelson drops a couple more boots into the side of Wade Elliott, then congratulates himself by taking a bow.

Nick: At least he’s consistent. Consistently repulsive.

Richard: OH I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE!

Nelson pulls Wade up, but the Bad Dog responds with a punch to the gut. This doubles Nelson over. Wade lets out a weird scowl-grin, and favors his tender shoulder, certainly re-injuring it after hitting the chair, bringing up some awful memories of the hellacious shoulder dislocation against Hessian. But nevertheless, he picks up the steel chair Nelson just tried to use on him.

3

2

1

Richard: Can we get some justice in here?

RULE: SHAKUR

All eyes turn to the Man in Black. He looks at Wade Elliott, who has the chair raised overhead.

Devin Shakur: Chairs are banned.

He says this nonchalantly, settling back in and leaning against the turnbuckle.

Vince Howard: Chairs are now BANNED in this match!

A microphone catches Tyler Nelson, rising to full height with a radioactive grin, as he addresses his opponent, with two raised middle fingers.

Nick: Devin Shakur doesn’t look too interested in Tyler Nelson’s well-being, but his dislike for Wade Elliott is pretty well-documented.

Wade Elliott does not care for your rules.

Richard: WAIT NO WHAT THE WHAT?!

The Bad Dog unleashes a McGwire swing, uncorking the thing from his right hip. Nelson dives - literally, dives and Wade’s chairshot reverberates off the outer edge of the turnbuckle, stinging his hands.

Nick: The former Intense Champ just barely missed taking Nelson’s head off!

Nelson sort-of crab walks away from Wade, retreating while scooting backwards on his backside. Elliott shakes his hands, snarls, and offers Shakur a polite middle finger before pursuing Nelson. Da Boss is scampering away when he runs into a significant obstacle.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The obstacle is Chandler Tsonda, if you hadn’t guessed.

Nick: Tyler Nelson’s in a bad way, and it doesn’t look like Devin Shakur cares one lick about it!

Tsonda flashes the smile that only a Viet Viper could provide before giving Nelson a few quick snap kicks to the sides. Nelson reels back at the assault, but finds no escape as he backs into his previous problem.

Nick: Nowhere to hide!

The Son of a Bitch spins the retreating Nelson and quickly clocks him with a couple hard right hands. Da Boss turns back toward Tsonda after the blows, only to receive a sharp roundhouse kick, turning him back to The Bad Dog, who grips the Greediest Player in the Game by the back of the head and slamming it down into the edge of the mat.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Nelson stumbles back, holding his head, between the team of Elliott and Tsonda, who give each other a quick nod. They wait for enough space, then simultaneously take a couple steps forward and planting a foot. Tsonda goes high with a superkick, while Wade swings his boot into Nelson's chest. The double attack sends Da Boss flying back into the retaining wall with a loud, harsh THUD.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!"

Richard: C'mon, Shakur! You can't let DA BOSS~! get beat like that!

Shakur smirks as the arena bellows for the show put on by the Elliott/Tsonda duo, until they turn their attention to the Man in Black himself.

And he's suddenly not smiling.

Tsonda lifts his head to Wade as if to say "you?"

Wade waves his hand toward the ring and tilts his head in the same direction, as if to say "nah, you."

Chandler nods, and hops onto the apron before flipping over the ropes and into the ring. Shakur braces for the impending assault as Tsonda stalks.

Nick: The Viet Viper has his turn with the Man in Black!

They circle for a minute before locking up. Shakur plants a leg looking for a sweep, but Tsonda rolls at an angle over it, putting him behind the Commie, locking his arms from behind. Shakur repositions and heaves forward, rolling the Viper over his shoulder to his feet, putting him behind and able to shove him forward and away.

Richard: Shakur's havin' NONE of that!

Tsonda turns, but stops as the the screen comes to live.

3

2

1

RULE: TSONDA

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Tsonda mouths a few words to the ref, who relays the info to Vince.

Vince Howard: Falls. Count. Anywhere!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Nick: This match just got a lot more interesting!

The Viper agrees it seems, and he's quick to act, throwing himself against the ropes, rebounding back across and laying a textbook dropkick into Shakur, sending him to the ropes. Tsonda pops to his feet running forward, leaping into the air and landing his hip and thigh sideways against Shakur's upper chest region, toppling the two over and onto the floor.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: Tsonda taking this outside the ring!

The Tsuperstar is first to move from the mess of athlete on the floor. He lays a couple quick kicks to the downed Shakur before going for a pin.

One!

Two!!

Th—kick!

Richard: Not even close!

The Devil in Black is not pleased, Tsonda seriously damaging his calm. Devin uses the apron to stand, just in time to block strike from The Sultan of Style and return with a stiff punch to the gut. He continues the attack with a hard kick from the left and a quick elbow from the right, sending Tsonda off balance. Shakur stalks forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him into the ring post, sending the Viper to the floor.

Nick: Shakur on the offensive! Going for the pin!

One!

Two!!

T---broken up by...

...Nelson?

Richard: Wha...what's the Boss doing?

Nick: Looks like The Greediest Player in the Game is proving it!

Indeed, Nelson, back from his prone position on the wall, wants more of Tsonda before this is over. He mounts over him, bashing him with lefts and rights. Shakur puts his hands up as if to say "seriously, bro?" He shrugs, however, and adds a couple stomps to the mess.

The Bad Dog, who had been resting his broken body in his corner, is not impressed.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"

Nick: Wade coming in for the save!

The 'Bama Bruiser stomps around the corner to the three, wasting little time as he clocks Shakur with two straight shots, sending him reeling. The Southern Sparkplug them reaches down and grabs Nelson by the back of the neck, wrenching him off of the downed Tsuperstar. Wade wraps his big arm around Nelson's neck, and brings him to the floor with a nasty reverse DDT.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!"

The tired Bad Dog stands, catching his breath before going back to work. He brings Tsonda back to his feet and rolls him into the ring, then stalks to the Man in Black, shaking the last stars out of his vision from the previous punches. Elliott does the same, rolling Devin under the first rope, then climbs up onto the apron, reaching over to Tsonda's hand.

Nick: Wade looking for the tag!

The Viet Viper nods, obliging the Drifter with a slap to the hand.

Nick: Elliott in!

The crowd erupts as Wade steps through the ropes, again helping Tsonda to his feet. Wade looks at the Tsuperstar with raging eyes while pointing toward Nelson. It's not audible over the bellowing crowd, but it's easy to read his lips.

"GO WHIP HIS ASS!"

Chandler looks to Nelson, who has returned to his feet, shaking the cobwebs. He nods, then slides under the ropes, running up on Da Boss and laying down some very un-like Tsonda style punches.

3

2

1

RULE: NELSON

Richard: Now the tables will turn!

Obviously occupied with an attacking Viet Viper, Nelson, teeth grit and grappling him by the shoulder, spits out a few words in the refs direction, then returns to brawling with the Sultan of Style.

Vince Howard: This match is now NO DISQUALIFICATION!

"RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Nick: Oooooh, my!

The attention turns back to the ring, where Shakur and Elliott stare each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. Shakur squints at Wade, while The Bad Dog's thunder-glare holds fast.

Shakur takes a step left...

...and Wade charges.

The Man in Black can only brace for impact as the southern-fried freight train that is Elliott collides into his chest. Devin finds himself in the corner as Wade buries a couple fists into his head, following by standing tall, grabbing the ropes, and stomping his gut over and over.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Richard: Get off of him! C'mon, Devin!

Nick: Wade going ape on the Devil in Black!

The arena roars on as Wade relents, wrenching Shakur to a standing position and whipping him viciously across the ring, causing him to bounce off the buckles and stumble back toward the middle of the ring. Elliott charges once again, going for a massive clothesline.

Nick: A little Southern Hospitality from The Bad Dog!

Nobody home.

Shakur gains composure and ducks right, pivoting and hooking up around Wade's left shoulder.

The bad shoulder.

Elliott flips ass over tea-kettle, and as Shakur releases...

POP

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!"

Richard: Eugh! Eugh! Was that his shoulder?

Nick: Oh god, I think it was!

Richard: Mmmmph...oh Jesus...

The Son of a Bitch roars in pain as he rolls to a seated position, clutching his shoulder, eyes wide and teeth grit hard. Shakur breathes heavily, a little surprised at the ordeal. But if nothing else, Devin knows opportunity when he sees it, and rolls out of the ring.

Nick: Devin taking advantage of the situation!

The Devil in Black quickly snags the chair used previously in the match, tossing it under the ropes and following it. Meanwhile, Wade has clumsily stood to his feet, still holding his loose left shoulder. He turns in time to see Shakur stand with chair in hand. Devin walks forward, winding up for the baseball swing.

Richard: Gonna be lights out for Wade!

Nick: Shakur swinging for the fences.

Yess, The Devil in Black plants a foot and swings hard from the side, but Wade has the timing right. The Bad Dog steps into it, swinging his boot up in time to meet the chair, stomping it Shakur, sending it flying from his hands and causing The Man in Black to stumble away.

Nick: NOT THIS TIME!

Shakur seethes, turning a hateful glare back to The Bad Dog, who returns the favor with burning eyes, chest heaving. You couldn't pry Wade's death-glare from Shakur's with twenty-foot pry-bar.

Then Wade grips his own, dislocated arm, and wrenches it around in a couple directions until...

CLICK

Richard: JESUS CHRIST!

Nick: Did he just?

Richard: He did!

The arena bellows a weird "oooooh!" and "euuuuugh!" combination at the disgusting display. Wade breathes heavily, rolling his shoulder around now that it's back in place. He stands up to full height...

...and gives Shakur a middle finger with that left hand.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Nick: You can't stop him, Richard! You just can't kill The Bad Dog!

The Devil in Black scowls at The Blue Collar Brawler, and throws up a middle finger of his own. Simultaneously they stomp forward, then sprint. Wade goes for another Clothesline from Hell, but Shakur ducks. They both pivot around, and exchange a few rights and lefts. The Bad Dog gains the upper hand, hammering down a few big right hands, followed by a hard knee to the gut.

Nick: Elliott keeping the upper hand!

Wade leans down and slams his shoulder into Shakur, hoisting him up and draping him down his back and over the right shoulder, his forearms holding The Man in Black behind the knees. Elliott turns, takes a big step forward, and pendulum swings Shakur ferociously onto the steel chair.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Nick: REBEL YELL ON THE MAN IN BLACK!

Richard: Awwww, c'mon! Why doesn't this hillbilly just fucking DIE?!

Breathing fire from his nostrils, Wade drops down and covers the downed Shakur, and the ref comes to count.

ONE!



TWO!



THREE!!

Lynyrd Skynyrd. "Still Unbroken"

Vince Howard: Your winners! Wade Elliott and Chandler Tsonda!!!!!!!!!!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!"

Wade stands, and looms over Shakur, reaching down and holding up all five fingers on his right hand, mouthing the word "five," before stepping to the ropes and rolling out of the ring. Meanwhile, Tsonda and Nelson's brawl has worked its way through the crowd, and is nearing one of the arena exits, fans going ape shit as the two legends brawl away.

Nick: One more for the good guys! Wade Elliott and Chandler Tsonda victorious over two of the most notorious bosses in the business!

Richard: That's sickening enough, never mind Wade's shoulder. Hurph....

Skynyrd rocks the stadium as Wade gingerly climbs the ramp, favoring his shoulder.

As Shakur is recovering in the ring and the brawl between Tsonda and Nelson disappears out of sight, Killean comes through the curtain, microphone in hand. The Man in Black huffs his disapproval and makes his way to his feet.

Killean: Alright Dev, play time's over. You know the drill, time to get out of the ring and out of the building so you can prepare to have your ass handed to you at Colossus.

The Supreme Machine waves his hand and Shakur doesn't budge.

Killean: Either that or...

He climbs on the apron and enters the ring. Shakur flashes back to when Sirrajin had his big meat hooks wrapped around his neck. Oh how he wishes he could break him.

Killean: ... I climb in here and toss you out myself.

And that unleashes a war of words. Insults are flying back and forth and the crowd is just waiting for something physical to take place. As Killean gets a bit too close, The Man in Black slaps his pointing finger away which infuriates The PRIME Choice even more. Just as he is about to slap the taste out of Devin's mouth, the lights slowly dim to darkness.

Nick: OK, we have a problem here.

Richard: Did the city of Columbus not pay its electric bill? God, Ohio is useless.

The answer to Richard's stupid question comes in a hurry as a wash of light adorns the stage. The speakers come to life with a tune never before heard in PRIME.

"Lights Out" by Hollywood Undead.

Sirrajin and Shakur separate in the ring to observe a hooded figure appearing through a now swirling mess of multi-colored lights. This person makes their way down the ramp, wasting no time in heading for the ring with hands folded in front.

Richard: Ummmm OK, Shakur already did this before. What's with the copycat?

Nick: We saw a figure hanging around Shakur outside the building earlier on. Killean might want to back down, I think Shakur brought backup.

Richard: We don't know that...

The figure climbs the steps and gracefully steps between the top and middle ropes and comes to stand right in between the two superstars. The music dies down, but not out as it quietly is still playing. The sold out crowd is waiting for something to happen. The hooded figure leans it's head back, showing a black and white mask with indistinguishable marks all over it. It looks to its right at The Supreme Machine and then left at The Man in Black.

Richard: See? Devin is completely unsure who this is. If I were him I'd leave now.

The masked person turns straight again and a split second later...

Crowd: Oooooooooooo...

In a flash the right leg of the unknown person flies into the air and grazes the face of The Supreme Machine. Killean turns away just in time before he is laid out flat and he rolls out of the ring, grabbing at his jaw to make sure it's still attached.

Nick: Well there's your answer. Obviously Shakur decided to being some assistance with him and he almost kicked Sirrajin's teeth out only minutes before his match with Tchu.

Richard: That obviously isn't Dusk. That superkick was picture perfect.

Nick: Nice, keep going... you won't have a job in a few weeks anyway.

Shakur develops a smile and begins to laugh, clapping slowly as Killean looks on at what's going on in the ring. He shakes his head, staring daggers through his Colossus opponent. Shakur extends a hand. The masked figure takes it and shakes, boos raining down now.

Nick: Wait a second...

Shakur turns to look down at Killean, ready to gloat but his hand and arm don't come with him. The hood keeps a mighty fine grip and the smile is immediately gone from the face of the Man in Black. He turns to see what is going on but doesn't have the time to react as he is yanked forward quickly. With laser speed and precision, a high knee catches Shakur right in the temple, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Now the crowd pops, although not knowing what to think.

Richard: Oh yeah, look at the help Devin got. I'm sure he would have slept just fine tonight. He didn't need to to put to sleep. Good call, Madden.

Nick: This masked person just knocked Shakur completely unconscious. He hasn't moved a muscle and Sirrajin is looking on, still knowing that could have been him just a second earlier. The masked person leans down to grab the microphone Sirrajin left on the mat before his hurried exit. A gravelly voice greets the PRIME world...

The Hood: Isn't it sad, that PRIME itself has to close its doors... being pulled to it's demise on the heels of this outdated mess of its past?

This person moves to the corner of the ring to observe his actions upon both men. He leans nonchalantly against the turnbuckle.

The Hood: Killean Sirrajin... the shining star of PRIME. A man known as the most decorated champion in the history of this company. But now nothing more than a has-been coming to claim his last bit of fuckin' glory as his precious home comes to a long awaited yet outdated end. You couldn't just sit behind the scenes could you? Pushing your money and your power through your puppets Lisa and Blaine? No, you had to come out, tan your pale flesh under the brightness of the spotlight just one more time. Bet your wife and daughters would be just so proud of their attention-whore husband and father.

Nick: Jesus Christ...

Richard: Hey, quiet. I kinda like this dude.

The crowd doesn't agree with Rich as plenty of boos are heard. Everyone in the audience has given their attention to the masked individual.

The Hood: You, sir, had no real beef against this man. Sure there was money, but you and the rest of the greasy suits in their offices have plenty of it, along with everyone else who had a hand in the cookie jar. But you just had to come out here and cause trouble with this low life, lying on his back with his eyes rolled into his head. Looks like he's already got a mouse under his eye the poor thing. No, you had no beef with him... but I do. It's always talked about how this man ruined lives and shortened careers. I'm one of his victims. Yeah, operations, physiotherapy, trials and tribulations. I had it all, and more. He ruined me, and now the time has come for my opportunity to ruin him.

The Hood stares right down at Killean, who is no longer rubbing his chin but has his eyes set right on this unknown entity.

The Hood: Earlier tonight, I had a meeting with a certain PRIME executive. A two time Universal Champion, a two time Intense Champion... the accolades go on and on and what he told me made me a very happy person. I can't prevent Sirrajin and Shakur, but I can sure as hell stick my nose right in the middle of the match. You promised me any match I wanted on the card at Colossus so here it is... Killean Sirrajin versus Devin Shakur versus... me. I may have a score to settle with him, but I will also have a bit of fun cutting you down at the knees as well. And I promise you, when the smoke clears and Colossus is over and PRIME rides off into the sunset, no one will forget the name...

Killean is shaking his head no, clearly upset that he ended up screwing up his own match. The Hood walks right to the middle of the ring, stands over the still unconscious body of The Man in Black and uses his free hand to grab at the hood, pulling it down to reveal near shoulder length black and silver hair. A small pop goes off in the crowd before the mask is grasped. The camera focuses in on the big Spade logo now visible without the hood. He pulls it off.

Nick: No way!

The Hood: DONNELLY!

Cue up "Lights Out."

The self professed Halo's Hero lowers the mic, his gaze fixed on Killean the entire time as the crowd is whipped into a frenzy, ecstatic that the closure of PRIME at Colossus will include Nitz Donnelly. A pop is unavoidable, simply because of who was behind the mask, regardless of the message delivered and to whom.

Richard: I can't believe my eyes!

Nick: He doesn't look much like the same fun loving person, but I'm sure every bit as dangerous as he was when he was 5-Star Champion.

Richard: This is great! THE DONNELLY~!

Nick: OK I missed seeing Nitz around, but I didn't miss that. You hated the guy before.

Richard: You said it earlier, we're all out of a job soon, so I guess I'm just a big mark.

Nick: (mutters) More like a stain...

Richard: Huh?

Nick: We'll be back!

If you're a dude who got the shit kicked out of you tonight, then Lindsay Troy's locker room is the place to be. Not only did the Queen have the pleasure of Wade Elliott's company, since he could barely walk or move or anything thanks to Hessian, but now a mildly-concussed Tyler Rayne has taken up residence on the same couch that once accommodated the Southern Sparkplug.

To be fair, this is Tyler's locker room too - not wherever Roxy Phoenix tried to lure him. But Troy hadn't planned on tending to invalids by being the Icepack Fetcher, unless it was to throw a couple at Clyde's and James' heads after their tag match, just for the hell of it.

Tyler's sprawled out with a towel across his forehead and said ice-pack lying on top of that; he thinks this is unnecessary, but Lindsay had insisted, and rather than get into another argument tonight with a female he relented. Rayne's head rests on a throw pillow, which happens to be in Lindsay Troy's lap. The Queen has one hand tangled in his hair while the other holds her cell phone. Periodically, her thumb dances around the screen and the "click click click" of the keypad is heard.

Troy: By the way, Ty, in all the commotion tonight, I forgot to tell you how much I enjoyed your speech earlier.

Rayne: Hm?

Troy looks away from her phone and down at him. There's a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Troy: You know, where you proclaimed your 5 Star reign as the one that made everyone else forget who the Universal Champ was?

Rayne: Right. That. Pretty sure it was a rant no one will soon forget, love.

Troy: That's probably true. Considering I held the Universal Title at the same time as this reign of yours, I'm pretty positive I'm going to be remembering it for a long, long time.

Rayne: Oh.

Then it hits him.

Rayne: Oh shit.

Troy: Mmmhmm. I also appreciated the intimate details of how Dawkins' table got broken, amongst other things. I suppose saying you were on a roll would be an understatement?

Rayne: (sheepishly) I'm in so much trouble, aren't I?

Troy: Also an understatement. (Her phone beeps. She looks at the screen and smirks). You're lucky I find you amusing.

Rayne: And charming.

Troy: And arrogant.

Rayne: And attractive.

Troy: And a prick.

Rayne: And adventurous.

Troy: You should probably stop pressing your luck now. I think you've done enough for one night.

A knock on the door interrupts their banter and Angelica Brooks pops her head inside the room. She takes one look at Tyler and gives the Underground Pimp her most sympathetic pout.

Brooks: Poor thing. Think you're gonna live, Ty?

Troy: I think his pride is more wounded than his head.

Brooks: (laughing) Anyway, Lindz, think I can talk to you outside for a minute?

Troy: Yeah. Alright.

Troy lifts the pillow off her thigh, waits for Tyler to grab the cushion and reposition himself, and stands up. She follows Angelica outside and shuts the door.

Troy: OK Angie, what's up?

Brooks grins and holds a microphone up in front of her face. Troy laughs and rolls her eyes.

Troy: Really? You didn't have to be all sneaky about it.

Brooks: I figure it was better to be safe than sorry.

Troy: At least it's not Mills asking.

Brooks: Well...yes. There's that. (She turns to face the camera, all cheery and perky). I'm here with "The Queen of the Ring" Lindsay Troy, who was given an unexpected night off by Killean Sirrajin earlier.

Troy: Just because The Forsaken forgot about their obligations doesn't mean I took the night off, Ange. It sucks that those who had hoped to see Katt and I in action on the last ever ReVolution were denied the privilege, but sometimes things come up that can't be avoided.

Brooks: That's true. You have been busy. Earlier we saw a discussion between you and Killean regarding you guest-reffing his match tonight against Tchu, which I'll get to in a minute. But what's just as interesting is your interaction tonight with Wade Elliott. Have you two reconciled?

Troy thinks for a minute and shrugs her shoulders slightly.

Troy: All I'll say is we had a conversation after ReV 250 and I'm a little more open to the idea now than I may have been in the more recent past.

Brooks: Fair enough. Now, what about Killean's guest-referee offer?

"The offer was rejected. Ain't that right, Lindz?"

The voice comes in from just off screen, and though it's familiar enough that even any casual fan could immediately recognize it, the source steps into view of the camera, drawing a massive pop from the crowd. The Inhuman Being.

Tchu: Wouldn't wanna let anyone have any excuses about problems with impartiality.

A thin smile stretches across the Queen's lips.

Troy: Just looking out for a friend. Besides, as much as I appreciate Killean's desire for my inclusion, neither of you really need me out there to make this moment bigger than it already is.

Tchu: I dunno about that. Anyways, I heard you got the night off, courtesy of the boss. Pretty convenient how easy your road to Colossus looks compared to others'. It's almost as if someone who carries some weight around this place is hell-bent on seeing you beat me for a third time at CVIII.

Troy: I'm sure there's more than one person out there who wants to see that happen.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Troy: But I guess I have you to thank for my impromptu night off, since you sent Clyde running for the hills, chasing ghosts and whatever royalties Stouffer's promised him. Shame, though. I so was looking forward to helping hammer the nails into his coffin.

Ward smiles and nods his head as Brooks looks back and forth between the two, now merely a spectator. Suddenly, the Inhuman Being's smile fades.

Tchu: Lindz, I want you to know, after I beat Killean tonight... and I will beat him... I plan on going to Colossus and pinning you in the center of the ring. All the years of friendship, the nasty spell you and I went through... it'll make a great DVD, but when it comes to Colossus... it's just about me staking my claim as the greatest PRIME superstar of all-time. That means beating you.

Ward takes a deep breath, and just a hint of the smile returns.

Tchu: I hope you don't take it personally. And I sure as hell hope you aren't expecting Colossus to just be some friendly exhibition. You talked me into one last match, I might as well win it.

Troy: Oh, Matt...

She sighs and then takes a step to close the distance between them.

Troy: Any time we've been in the ring together, either standing side-by-side or across from each other, when has it ever been friendly?

Tchu: Fair point.

Troy: Don't think I don't know there's been a little part of our egos that's always wanted the label of PRIME's Quintessential Superstar. It's lurked there, just under the surface, beyond the friendship and beyond the personal and professional trials we've put ourselves through. You want to joke about how my road to Colossus has been a cakewalk, and that's fine - we all need a career to fall back on after we shut the lights off. Maybe yours is in comedy. Who really knows. What I do know, though, is when we breeze through Chi-city one last time, the glory won't be going to you.

Tchu: That's the Lindsay Troy I've missed. That's the Lindsay Troy I want to step into the ring with for my final match. That's the Lindsay Troy I want to beat at Colossus. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Troy: Good. Contrary to what you may think, this Lindsay Troy's always been here, and I won't have a problem getting you reacquainted.

Tchu: Then I guess all that's left is for me to get ready for this main event. I'd ask ya to wish me luck, but I don't want you getting soft with me.

Ward turns and walks away, shouting over his shoulder as he heads for the Gorilla position.

Tchu: Besides, wouldn't want to make the Canuck jealous.

Troy: (calling after him) Canadians aren't real people with feelings, how many times do I have to tell you?

Tchu: I bet they still bleed. 'Bout to find out.

The two ladies watch him disappear around a corner. Angie looks up at Troy, who is nodding ever so slightly.

Troy: Y'know something, Ange?

Brooks: What's that?

Troy: I'm really gonna miss this when it's all said and done.

On that note, the camera cuts elsewhere.

Cue up: "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)," by Green Day.

The familiar mellow guitar accompanies a black and white camera view. The images are shaky and lighthearted, moving through hallways and doorways, coming across various PRIME employees in the backstage, who greet the camera with smiles and waves.

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go."

We turn a corner to find Matt Ward and Killean Sirrajin leaning against opposing walls, mid laughter, followed by a hard pat on the back from the PRIME Cut to the Wrecking Ball.

"So make the best of this test, and don't ask why.
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time."

Shifting scene, the camera finds Wade Elliott loading up a plate at a backstage buffet table. He looks up, noticing the camera, and raises small glass in his hand with a quick grin.

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,
I hope you had the time of your life."

Hessian holds a few pieces of paper in front of him, eying the words closely. He turns his eyes to a few backstage assistants, questioning something in the paperwork before looking back to the text. Elsewhere, Tyler Nelson stands on the entrance ramp, pointing toward the edge of the stage and the PRIME*View, collaborating with stage techs.

"So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind.
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time."

Tyler Rayne and Lindsay Troy laugh and shy away from the camera while holding each other in their arms. Rayne goes in for the kiss, but the view is blocked by the palm of his hand.

"Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial.
For what it's worth it was worth all the while."

Jack Harmen, aka High Flyer, and Troy Douglas finish a round of rock paper scissors, and Douglas reels back with a humor-filled sigh, Harmen hunching over with a chuckle.

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,
I hope you had the time of your life."

The collage continues with the bridge of the song. Devin Shakur looks over the shoulder of a backstage assistant, who outlines various bullet-points on a small stack of paper, Shakur nodding.

Chandler Tsonda sits on his haunches behind the curtain. He counts down three, two, one with his fingers, and with a wink, pulls the curtain back and disappears toward the entrance.

Roxy Phoenix and Katterina Wylde sit on a backstage couch, Roxy covering her eyes and shaking her head, smiling wide, while Katt covers her mouth, holding back shocked laughter, obviously the tail end of some dirty joke.

James Farwell pats the big belly of Clyde Walkins, who holds his arms up as if to say "really?" but is quick to grab a couple of his own handfuls of that big old gut for the camera.

Wade Elliott stands next to Nova, who holds a cup out in front of The Bad Dog. Wade pours some of his flask into the cup, but Nova pulls back the fingers of his free hand a few times, signaling for more. Elliott pours in more, and Nova beckons again. Finally, Wade rolls his eyes with a chuckle, pins his flask to Nova's chest, and turns away. Nova, flask in hand, shrugs to the camera and raises it up to cheer.

To round out the bridge of the song, Tyler Rayne looks over his shoulder to notice the following camera. He holds up a can of his beloved Code Red, pointing to the label before taking a sip and continuing on down the hall.

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,
I hope you had the time of your life."

As the song slows, we follow the slow-motion stride of Killean Sirrajin down the ramp, then see the image of the Queen of the Ring standing on the second rope, arms high to her fans. A fabulous pyrotechnic explosion goes off as Hessian emerges from the smoke, enormous arms up in the air and video starts to fade with Tchu in the center of the ring, on his knees and clutching his third Universal Title tightly to his chest.

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right..."





"...I hope you had the time of your life."

Nationwide Arena is buzzing. An incredible night, an incredible decade has lead to this, and in America’s heartland, the ReVolution is about to come to an end.

Nick: Folks, this is it. Nine years. Over two-hundred-and-fifty episodes. More than a thousand battles. We are about to witness the final match in the history of ReV. And what a match to end ReVolution.

Richard: We’ve witnessed some incredible encounters, countless title changes…

Nick: it’s still kinda hard to believe this is the final episode of ReVolution that PRIME will ever air.

Richard: Don’t go getting all sentimental on me.

Nick: I’ll see if I can’t keep it together.

Richard: Thank Hoyt.

Nick: In the meantime, we are just moments away from a rematch of the main event from what is arguably the greatest show in PRIME history. At Colossus III, The Inhuman Being, Tchu, defeated his long-time rival-turned friend-turned rival, Killean Sirrajin to capture the Universal Championship. That contest was the PRIME Co-Match of the Year.

Richard: And despite their history that dates back to 2002 and some indy fed in San Diego, that’s the only time these two Hall of Famers have ever met one-on-one, man-to-man.

Nick: Until tonight. The Supreme Machine, the newly revealed co-owner of PRIME, wants to avenge that loss on PRIME’s biggest stage. He wants to even the score at one a piece. And so he accepted The Inhuman Being’s challenge. Tonight, for just the second time in PRIME’s history, Killean Sirrajin will go one-on-one with Tchu… inside the confines of a fifteen foot enclosed cell.

With those ominous words, Nationwide Arena is plunged into darkness, a lone spotlight at the top of the stage. Guitar riffs…

YYYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

"Ladies and gentlemen please, would you bring your attention to me.

Nick: You know what that means!

The answer comes as the PRIME*View flickers to life, two words flashing on the screen, one after the other.

Supreme

Machine

The curtain splits and the PRIME owner and Hall of Famer steps out onto the stage, taking his place in the spotlight.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: There he stand, the only Grand Slam Champion in PRIME history, a Hall of Famer…

Richard: And as it turns out, our boss. Awful.

Killean looks out to the crowd, hands on his hips, the lights brightly reflecting off his trademark red sunglasses. Playing to the crowd at the edge of the stage for just a moment, Sirrajin begins his march down the ramp for the last time on ReVolution.

"Welcome to the shoooooooow.
Please come insiiiiiiide!"

The PRIME Choice pulls himself up onto the apron and hops back and forth, feeding off the energy.

Nick: This man wrestled on the first Colossus, and in just a couple weeks, he’ll wrestle on the final Colossus in a match with so much honor at stake. But tonight, tonight is about bragging rights. Tonight is about evening up the score.

Killean steps between the ropes and hops onto the second turnbuckle, amping up the crowd.

"DO YA WANT IT?!" (BOOM!)

"DO YA NEED IT?!" (BOOM!)

"LET ME HEAR IT! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" (BOOM!)

Nick: This rematch is a full six years in the making!

Richard: That’s over half a decade that Killean has had to sit around and remember how his BFF dropped him on his head and took his Universal title.

Killean jumps down from the second rope as the music dies. The spotlight disappears, and the main lights remain off, casting the arena in pitch black.

Nick: Get ready for this place to come absolutely unglued.

"I Fucking Hate You" by Godsmack

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

As blue lights begin to blink on and off, Nationwide Arena loses its collective mind, blowing the roof off the building in a roar that can likely be heard from Cincinnati to Cleveland. And, when the hometown boy emerges at the top of the stage, that volume, somehow…some way… doubles.

RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: What an ovation for Columbus’ own!

Tchu begins his march towards the squared circle, his stare darting back and forth between his hall of fame opponent, and the hellacious steel structure hovering in the air above the ring.

Nick: The only three-time Universal Champion in PRIME’s history. A former Dual Halo and Jewel in the Crown winner. Tonight, he has the chance for ultimate bragging rights. To go up two-nothing on a man most wrestlers can’t claim to have ever pinned.

Tchu climbs the ring stairs and steps onto the apron, locking eyes with The Supreme Machine. As he steps between the ropes, the crowd continues with a roar that shakes the ring beneath his feet.

Over to the corner, The Inhuman Being climbs the second turnbuckle and forms a ‘T’ with his arms. As the chorus of the song hits he throws his arms apart, releasing a guttural roar.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: What a welcome for Matt Ward in his return to Columbus.

Ward hops down from the turnbuckle as the music fades and the arena lights return to normal. The two PRIME Icons stand in opposite corners, the federation’s long-time ring announcer between them.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your main event of the evening. It is scheduled for oooonnnneeee fffaaaaalllllllll, and it will contested inside the confines of a steel cell!

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Vince Howard: Introducing first… weighing in at 278lbs, from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… he is a PRIME Hall of Famer, the only Grand Slam Champion in PRIME’s history… The Supreme Maaaaccchhhiiinnnneeee… Killean Siiiiirrrrraaaaajjjjjjiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!

YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: Not a bad reaction for a Canadian. But I think I heard some boos in there.

Nick: No doubt about it, Killean is arguably the most beloved superstar in PRIME’s decade of excellence, but tonight, here in Buckeye country, he’s not going to find any home-field advantage.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Vince Howard: Weighing in at 243lbs, he is a PRIME Hall of Famer, PRIME’s only three-time Universal Champion, Columbus, Ohio’s own…

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Vince Howard:…The Inhuuummmaaaannnn Beeeeiiinnnnngggg… Tcccchhhhuuuuuuuuuuu!

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: What an ovation. I can hardly hear myself talking!

As Howard exits the ring, the gigantic cell above begins to descend. In the middle of the squared circle, a decade of history, and two of the biggest icons in PRIME’s history stare each other down, waiting for the colossal cage to surround the ringside area.

Nick: Make no mistake about it, while there are no titles on the line, no #1 contenderships up for grabs, this final ReVolution match has so much at stake. Born and raised just over an hour away, and currently making his home here in Columbus, this is a special opportunity for Matt Ward to say goodbye, on top, to the hometown crowd. And for Killean, this is a rematch that’s been a long-time coming. Revenge six years in the making. Evening the score with his old ally certainly would taste awfully sweet heading into Colossus.

Richard: I don’t think you really have to justify the fact that sometimes there’s nothing bigger than bragging rights between buddies. The winner of this match will look the other in the eye and say "I’m the best." Doesn’t mean either of these fools will be right, but they’ll say it anyway.

The steel cell finally comes to a rest, engulfing the entire ringside area. The crowd roars as Bernie Roberts calls for the bell, and the final match in the long reign of ReVolution begins.

"DING DING DING!"

Nick: Here we go. The Supreme Machine. The Inhuman Being. The steel cell. One last time!

Ward and Sirrajin step towards each other, coming face-to-face, just inches apart. Killean is the first to say something, though his exact words can’t be picked-up. Tchu gives a small chuckle, then gives his old-friend a pat on the ribs.

Richard: Somebody tell these two love birds to shut up and fight.

Ward takes a step back before immediately lunging forward and locking up The Supreme Machine. Sirrajin uses the advantage of his additional 40lbs and begins to push Tchu back toward the corner. Once there, Roberts calls for a clean break and the noble Canadian obliges.

Nick: Honor amongst friends.

Richard: How touching.

Tchu steps out of the corner and immediately the two superstars lock up again. And for the second straight time, Killean’s strength advantage is obvious as he pushes Ward into the ropes, then sends him bounding across the ring. Tchu hits the opposite ropes and bounces back, ducking under a swinging clothesline. Taking off and once again bouncing off the cables, The Inhuman Being flies through the air and crashes into Sirrajin, dropping him with a Lou Thesz Press. A flurry of fists follow, smashing against Killean’s skull, the crowd roaring in approval.

Nick: The Inhuman Being strikes first, hammering away with some serious speed, and force, behind those punches.

After a dozen or so punches, Ward hops off giving just enough room to allow his old friend to climb to his feet, before charging in with a shoulder block that sends Killean crashing right back down. As soon as the PRIME Choice is vertical again, he’s met with a boot to the gut, then finds himself being whipped towards the ropes. Killean manages to catch himself and stop his momentum, but it doesn’t matter; Tchu is ready and rushes forward with a clothesline that sends the Grand Slam Champion spilling over the top rope and crashing outside the ring.

Nick: I think Killean has been caught off guard a bit here by this opening sequence. You can’t overstate how difficult it can be after a lengthy absence to step in there and get re-acclimated with the speed of everything.

Richard: Ring-rust comes with the territory. Maybe he should have declined Ward’s offer if it was going to be a problem. Besides, it doesn’t seem to be affecting the Inhuman Being.

Nick: Who wrestled in a big match on ReV 250. Even that one fight can be enough to make a difference. Killean just needs to weather this storm and get his bearings, shake off that rust.

Outside the ring, Sirrajin appears to be trying to do just that, shaking his head as if to rid of the cobwebs and get himself focused. He gets no real opportunity.

Nick: My God!

The Inhuman Being grabs hold of the top rope and uses it as leverage to hoist himself up and over, smashing into Killean with a cross body that sends both men into the steel caging of the cell.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: It’s a rare sight to see PRIME’s Wrecking Ball take to the air, but perhaps he wants to send ReVolution out in style.

Richard: Or perhaps he wants to make sure he doesn’t lose to a Canadian. Don’t underestimate that as a motivating factor.

Ward, perfectly content with the utter lack of rules in the match, drags Killean to his feet with two blatant fistfuls of hair, and in a fashion that makes it hard to believe the two consider themselves friends, he slams Sirrajin’s head into the cage.

"Welcome back, Killer."

Ward’s words are caught by the boom mic as he again grabs Sirrajin’s head and bounces it off of the steel.

Nick: That caging might as well be taking a cheese grater to a guy's forehead.

Richard: Might be one under the ring.

Tchu grabs Killean by an arm and sends him barreling towards the steel stairs. With incredible force, Sirrajin collides knees first into the ring steps and goes flipping through the air.

Nick: Killean just ate that full on the knees.

Richard: As crazy as it sounds, most guys try to drop down and take that collision to the torso. Shoulder first is a lot less likely to do serious damage. But they were too close to the steps, and Killean had no chance to do anything other than hit them in full sprint. He may be on two bum wheels after that.

The crowd buzzes. Tchu takes off with a quick burst and springs off those same steel steps and hits a flying clothesline.

Nick: The Inhuman Being has come outta the gates on fire, feeding on the energy of the crowd and I’m not sure Killean knows what hit him.

A snap suplex on the mats outside the ring make a sickening thud.

Richard: Don’t we all wish we could do this to our bosses.

Nick: That’s about as good as just slamming a guy down on concrete. There’s not much to those mats around the squared circle.

Tchu drags Killean to his feet and rolls him back into the ring, following right behind.

Richard: Killean might want to kick things in gear, otherwise we’re going to have a rather short, anti-climatic main event for our last ever episode of ReVolution.

Apparently, The Supreme Machine hears Richard loud and clear. As Tchu approaches him, he explodes from the canvas, nearly lifting the Inhuman Being out of his boots with a European uppercut.

Nick: What a shot!

With a moment to capitalize, Killean fires off with two quick right hooks, then grabs a wrist and delivers a short-arm clothesline.

Nick: That European uppercut looks like it may have completely turned the momentum of this match.

Richard: That was the kinda stiff shot that leaves a guy needing dental work.

Standing over his fallen opponent, The PRIME Choice drops and elbow, springs back up and drops a second. Then, peeling Ward off the mat, he hoists the former three-time Universal Champion up across his shoulder.

Nick: Running powerslam just shook the ring!

Killean plants Tchu with tremendous force. Picking Ward right back up, The PRIME Choice tucks his foe away, then flips him into the air and drives him down with a powerbomb.

Nick: Normally, I’d expect a pin attempt here, but I think Killean knows it’s going to take more than that to keep the Inhuman Being down.

And "more than that" is exactly what Killean is aiming for. Sliding out of the ring, he lifts the apron and starts digging until he locates the sort of things that should be enough to put away Ward. Or a horde of zombies for that matter.

A lead pipe.

A sledgehammer.

A large wrench.

Then a steel chair. And another.

Richard: Why is there a hardware store under the ring?

Nick: Better question, if Killean considers Tchu a personal friend, what the hell does he intend to do with all of that?!

Put it to good use. Sirrajin slides one of the chairs into the ring, then the sledgehammer. He reaches down to grab the other chair, but it never makes it to join its partner. A perfectly timed baseball slide from Tchu catches the PRIME Choice square on the jaw and sends him ricocheting off of the steel cage wall of the cell.

The Inhuman Being wastes no time, his momentum having already carried him halfway out of the ring. A very short, but powerful Irish whip sends Killean’s ribs smashing against the ring apron. A second sends him face-first right back into the steel. The caging seems to tear a little from the force. For the third time in the last few seconds, Ward grabs Killean by the wrist and sends him barreling… the steel steps his intended target. This time, Sirrajin is able to at least drop a shoulder to protect his wheels. The force of the blow dislodges the top half of the steps.

Nick: Tchu is just sending Killean crashing into anything and everything he can find here in Nationwide Arena.

Richard: For a minute, I thought Killean was shaking off that rust, but just like that, the speed of everything seems to be catching him off-guard again. Ward is using him as a human pinball.

Nick: Colossus VI was Killean’s last PRIME match. That was in August of 2009. We’re talking three years away from this sort of competition. And to jump right back into things inside a steel cell against a three-time Universal Champion…

That three-time Uni champ seems to have no desire to let his ol’ pal ease back into things. Grabbing hold of the top portion of the ring steps, Tchu lifts them over head and waits for Killean to stagger to his feet. Once both men are vertical, Ward lets fly, tossing the steps through the air, right into the skull of The Supreme Machine.

Nick: My God! What strength! Ward just hurled those steels steps at Killean like they were a football. Like they weighed nothing!

Richard: Killean can assure you they weigh a lot more than "nothing."

The gash on Killean’s head shows the full force of the blow, and the blood begins to trickle as Sirrajin gasps for air, lying flat on his back.

Richard: This is about as rude a welcoming as a guy could get.

Ward, the crowd’s roar seeming to fuel him, reaches down and grabs the bottom half of the ring steps, ripping them off the ground and sliding them under the bottom rope and into the ring.

Nick: The ring is starting to look like a mine field. If you don’t watch where you step, you’re gonna end up in a world of hurt.

Much like the steps, Tchu lifts Killean off of the mats and slides him back into the ring, following behind. As Sirrajin crawls to his feet, Ward is there to greet him with a European uppercut of his own.

Nick: Bit of payback for that tooth-rattling shot from earlier.

With The PRIME Choice staggering, Tchu picks Killean up across his shoulders and plants him with a Samoan drop. Then, spotting the steel chair Sirrajin had shoved into the ring a few minutes earlier, Ward grabs hold of the weapon and takes aim. Killean ducks under a home-run swing and steps past Tchu, but as he spins around, PRIME’s Wrecking Ball catches him with an effective shot to the ribs, ramming the edge of the steel chair into Sirrajin’s stomach.

Sirrajin is left doubled-over, clutching his guts. Tchu takes the opportunity to deliver a gut-wrench powerbomb.

Nick: What an impressive display Matt Ward is putting on here in front of the hometown fans.

Now, Tchu returns to the steel chair, looking to connect with the same home-run swing that had missed just moments before. He sizes Killean up, letting the PRIME Choice climb to his feet, then bring the chair around with disturbing force, crushing it against his opponent’s skull.

Nick: Did you hear that crack?!

The crowd did, even in the nose bleeds, as they roar in approval. Ward drops the chair and makes the cover, looking to pick up the victory just as he had at Colossus III.

ONE…




TWO…




T…

Sirrajin rips his shoulder off the canvas

Richard: You know the last main event in ReVolution history isn’t going to come to an end that easily.

Nick: I’m not sure Killean would say anything about this has been easy.

With a fistful of Killean’s mane, Tchu drags the former two-time Uni Champion up and whips him into the corner turnbuckles, then rushes in behind for a big splash. But no one is home.

The Supreme Machine moves at the last second and Tchu collides chest-first into the turnbuckle. As Ward staggers back, Killean locks him up and bridges back, sending Tchu flying though the air with a release german suplex.

Nick: Exactly what Killean needed!

Richard: Ward just folded up like an accordion, feet flipping over his head.

Sirrajin wastes no time shoving Tchu onto his back and hooking a leg. The official goes to work, making the count.

ONE…







TWO…









THRE….

YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Kick-out!

Richard: Sometimes you don’t stop to think about what these guys go through. A simple German suplex like that could snap a guys neck, and before a ref can count to three, they keep up the fight.

Nick: Ward may have kicked out, but I’m not sure he’s gonna be "keeping up the fight." He’s clutching at the back of his head like he’s in bad shape.

The Supreme Machine forgets all thought of compassion for his old friend, showing the merciless nature it takes to be a Hall of Famer in such a violent world, laying the boots to the shoulder and back of The Inhuman Being.

Stomp after stomp find their mark, doing nothing to help the state of Ward’s spine. Finally, Killean reaches down and yanks Tchu off of the canvas, then tosses him clear across the ring with a an overhead belly to belly suplex.

Ward lands hard on his shoulder and skids across the ring, rolling under the bottom rope. Sirrajin gives chase, grabbing Tchu by the arm and whipping him face-first into the cage. Ward bounces off the steel mesh and catches a forearm to the upper back.

Nick: A hammering blow to Ward’s spine knocks the three-time Universal Champion clean off his feet.

Richard: It’s incredible how quickly momentum can change in a match. Wasn’t Ward dominating this thing? I guess The Supreme Machine has worked off that rust.

With a fistful of hair, Killean rolls Ward back into the ring, then follows suit. The PRIME Choice swings with a big right hook, but Ward ducks the blow and slips behind Sirrajin’s back, locking in a sleeper hold.

Nick: The Downfall… wait!

The move never comes, as Killean twists and dips a shoulder, hoisting Tchu up in a fireman’s carry. The PRIME Choice hurls Ward off his shoulders, but the Inhuman Being somehow manages to land on his feet, right in front of Grand Slam Champion.

Tchu attempts to fire off a right, but Killean catches his wrist and pulls him in for what appears to be a short-arm clothesline. But its not.

Richard: DOWNFALL!

Killean yanks Tchu forward, wrapping his right arm around Ward’s throat and using the momentum to spin behind the Inhuman Being’s back, briefly locking in a sleeper hold, then throwing his opponent to the mat.

Nick: Killean just used Ward’s own move against him!

Richard: The Columbus crowd is freaking out right now! Taken down by his own trademark move in front of the hometown crowd.

Sirrajin hooks the leg and makes the pin.

ONE…










Over a decade of history.







TWO…







CIII revenge, six years in the making.








THREEEEEEEEE

Nick: NO!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Richard: He kicked out of his own move!

Nick: Killean can’t believe it.

But the proof is right there in the center of the ring, Ward’s left shoulder inches above the canvas, arm stretched into the air. Sirrajin puts his hands on his hips and lets out a deep breath, perhaps a combination of frustration and exhaustion setting in.

Richard: At this point, Ward’s spine has to be like busted up eggshells.

Nick: You can’t imagine that either of these guys plan on anything less than everything they have here tonight in the final main event of the final episode of ReV.

Sirrajin lifts his old friend off the mat and backs him into the corner and drives his shoulder into The Inhuman Being’s ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Each coming at an increasingly rapid pace.

Nick: Just wearing him out.

Richard: More like snapping him in half.

But The Supreme Machine goes to the well one time too many and, on what must be the tenth shoulder ram, he catches a knee right to the jaw. Killean staggers back and Ward takes advantage of the opening. A boot to the gut leaves Sirrajin clutching at his gut and Tchu tucks him away for a vertical suplex.

Nick: Reversed it!

In mid air, Killean twists and slides over Tchu’s shoulder. With position behind the three-time Uni Champ, Sirrajin locks in a full nelson and drives forward, smashing Ward’s face into the mat.

Richard: Full-Nelson Face Plant!

Without hesitation, Killean straddles his fallen opponent and sits, locking in a dragon sleeper as he applies pressure to the back, bending Tchu in a way the human body was never meant to bend.

Nick: The LC! The Last Call… he’s got it locked in, and this entire crowd just jumped to its feet!

Richard: There’s no getting out of this thing. Ward is in the middle of the ring.

Nick: Given the rules of the match, I’m not sure Killean would have to break the hold even if Ward could somehow make it to the ropes. This is a Steel Cell, anything goes.

Richard: Then Ward is shit outta luck.

In the middle of the ring, it would seem so. Killean wrenches back with everything he has, and given the prior abuse to Ward’s spine, the effect is immense. Ward’s eyes are pure anguish, miles from a rope break that wouldn’t even matter, 280lbs sitting on the small of his back, preventing any movement.

Richard: Tap. Tap and you might actually be able to walk into CVIII.

Nick: I think I would have to agree, but there’s nothing but pride in that ring.

Richard: Pride that leaves you crippled won’t take you very far.

Bernie Roberts does his job, hovering on the spot, repeatedly asking Tchu if he wants to give up. Soon, it sounds like the inquiries turn more to please, but Ward refuses to tap. With his free arm, Ward reaches out and starts feeling around the canvas. After several blind stabs, his finger tips finally find what he’s looking for.

Wrapping around the handle, Ward grasps a sledgehammer, sliding his hand up near the business end of the weapon. The crowd roars as they see what’s coming.

Killean isn’t so fortunate.

‘CRACK’

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ward swings widely, driving the sledgehammer backwards over the top of his own head. It finds its mark, hitting Sirrajin right under the chin, and instantly, The Supreme Machine releases the hold and slumps to the canvas.

Nick: He broke the hold! The only possible hope he had… Killean was undone by the very sledgehammer he tossed into the ring with a load of other weapons.

Richard: Unbelievable. There’s no other way he could have broken that hold. He was going to have to tap or pass out. Either way, he was sure as hell leaving Columbus a loser.

Nick: And just like that… it’s anyone’s match again.

Both men slowly begin to crawl to their feet, using the aide of the ropes on opposite sides of the ring. Once vertical, Ward takes off in a full sprint, charging right for the still fuzzy-headed Supreme Machine.

At the last second, Killean steps to the side, reaching out and putting a hand on the back of Tchu’s head, he aids the reckless momentum, sending The Inhuman Being firing out of the ring like a bullet. Ward’s momentum carries him face-first into the cell. The force, like a battering ram, tears the caging from the frame, busting the panel loose from the structure.

Nick: GOOD LORD! The cage just gave way! Tchu is lying half inside the cell structure and half outside...

Richard: Was like a human dart. Straight through the middle and top rope!

Nick: Look at the gash on Tchu’s shoulder, right over and down the back where that steel cage tore.

Richard: This is getting to the point where both of these guys better think about dialing it back and being ready for Colossus.

Nick: Not in their DNA. CVIII is the last thing on their minds right now.

Killean takes a moment in the ring, leaning on the ropes, to catch his breath, trying to find that second wind. After a moment, he drops to the mat and rolls under the bottom rope, the most energy efficient way of exiting the ring. As he approaches Ward, The Inhuman Being starts to climb to his feet, now just outside the steel cell structure.

Nick: These two machines have pretty much destroyed the ringside area, and now they’ve started on the cell itself.

Killean ducks under the busted/torn panel and follows Tchu outside the steel structure. A heavy right fist sends Ward staggering up the ramp. A second and third punch take the two men two-thirds of the way towards the stage. The fourth shot drops Tchu like deadweight and the Inhuman Being hits the ramp and rolls off the side.

The PRIME Choice hops off the ramp himself and drags his opponent to his feet. An Irish whip sends Ward smacking his back against the barricade. Killean charges in, but Ward moves, and now it’s Killean who’s body collides with the only line between the superstars and nearly 20,000 screaming fans.

And Ward sends his foe across the line.

A clothesline sends Killean spinning up and over the barricade, landing amongst the sea of Columbus natives.

Richard: Not a safe place for a Canadian to be.

Nick: Might not be a safe place for anyone to be.

Anyone but the lucky guy with the home-field advantage. With the fans practically begging him to cross the line himself, Tchu steps over the barrier and the fans roar.

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Immediately, the two men begin to exchange punches, slowly working their way through the crowd, security doing its best to get over and clear a pathway. The fans reach out and pat Tchu on the shoulder and back, encouraging him to take the fight to The Supreme Machine. A few do the same for Killean (traitors).

Nick: These two are fighting their way through this sea of fans, just wailing away with punch after punch that would probably knock any normal fella straight on his ass.

Richard: There is no one normal on the entirety of the PRIME roster.

The two Hall of Famers make their way up a flight of stairs to a second level, then begin fighting across back towards the ringside area. One fan is kind enough to hand Ward is half-full beer and the Inhuman Being doesn’t hesitate to smack his old buddy in the head with the cup, sending the tasty adult beverage splashing everywhere.

Richard: What a waste of a perfectly good beer. That’s probably eight bucks that idiot just threw away.

The Supreme Machine wipes the beer from his eyes and staggers back, right into a guy on crutches. And in the world of professional wrestling, crutches aren’t used to keep people from falling on their asses, they're used for knocking people on them.

And that’s exactly what Sirrajin does.

Nick: What a shot!

Richard: Trading a cup of beer for a crutch. I’m thinking Killean had the much better choice of weapons.

Tchu staggers thru the crowd and out into one of the rows of stairs. Killean is kind enough to hand the bent and useless crutch back to its owner before going after the Inhuman Being.

Nick: These two guys don’t care where they fight, they’re just swinging punches…

Richard: and crutches.

Nick: …and they’ve damn near fought halfway around Nationwide Arena. At this rate they’re gonna end up over at The Horseshoe.

The Supreme Machine slams an elbow into the top of Ward’s head, sending the Inhuman Being stumbling down a couple of steps. As Sirrajin begins to follow, taking the first step, Tchu dips a shoulder into Killean’s gut and wraps both legs, lifting him overhead with something resembling a mix between a tackle and a back body drop. Whatever the exact designation, it’s effective.

Nick: Killean Sirrajin just crashed back first on those concrete steps!

And the downhill momentum sends him spilling and rolling down the flight of stairs. Along the way, his head smashes against a seat or two and against the leg of a fan, till finally he crashes onto the floor, ten or so feet from the ringside barricade.

Nick: My God! Killean just pinballed his way down those steps!

Richard: That was the nastiest punishment you will ever see from a single back body drop.

Nick: Our highly decorated owner might be lucky his head is still attached to his shoulders. I dunno how many times it smacked against concrete steps and chairs and… you’re right, Richard. That’s the damnedest back body drop I’ve ever seen.

PRIME’s Wrecking Ball makes his way down the steps (the way you’re supposed to) the fans filling in behind him, some of them marching down the stairs in unison.

Nick: Security is gonna have their hands full. The crowd is following Tchu down the steps. This is the last match in the history of ReVolution, and you better believe they want to be as close to the action as possible.

Ward drags Killean halfway off the ground only to throw him against the barricade, leaving him propped up in a seated position against the barrier. A stiff boot sandwiches Sirrajin’s head between shoe and barricade. A second boot follows. Then a third.

Nick: Relentless assault by The Inhuman Being.

And just like that, contradicting Nick’s words, Ward stops laying the boots to PRIME’s new owner and starts to walk away, asking the crowd to move out of the way, clearing him room.

Richard: I don’t think this is mercy…

Nick: Is it ever in this business?

Turning back to face Killean, Ward gives charge, likely intending to smash a knee right into Sirrajin’s teeth. "Likely," because he never gets the chance to finish his intentions. At the last possible second, Killean dives out of harm’s way. Tchu is left to react in an instant, and he does. Thinking quick, The Inhuman Being jump and leaps on top of the barricade. His momentum prevents any hope of balancing himself, and so again he jumps, flying into the side of the cell and catching himself on the steel caging.

Nick: What agility!

Richard: And from a guy who rarely shows any of it. There’s a lot that the Inhuman Being has done well to earn his Hall of Fame spot, mastering speed and agility hasn’t been one of them.

Nick: Well it worked there.

And then, in an inexplicable move that causes the Nationwide Arena crowd to absolutely lose its mind, Ward begins to climb, scaling the hellacious steel structure.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: What…

Richard: Where the hell is he going?!

Up. One hand after the other, digging his toes into the chain-link, Ward climbs toward the top of the cell. With each inch, the buzz in Nationwide Arena grows louder and louder.

Nick: Matt Ward is headed straight for the top of the steel cell and this crowd is going nuts.

Richard: I’m not sure Killean has even seen what is going on. He’s leaning against the barricade with his back to the ring.

As Ward reaches the top of the cell, he pulls himself up and over, then climbs to his feet, turning back toward sea of fans he and The Supreme Machine have just waged war through. On the ground, Killean pulls himself up and slowly turns to the ring. When he does, clued in by the roar from the crowd, his eyes instinctively go towards the top of the cell. And there, he locks his gaze, some twenty feet in the air, on the cold stare of The Inhuman Being.

And he smiles.

YYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Is he going…?

The PRIME Choice nods his head in approval before hopping the barricade and beginning a climb of his own.

Nick: He is!

Richard: What an idiot. Stay down here and let Ward try an impress his fellow Buckeyes by acting like a damned moron.

Nick: Killean has no intentions on catching a rest. This is the final match in over 250 episodes of ReVolution and if it takes battling all over the arena, he’s gonna do whatever it takes to walk outta here victorious.

Richard: If they’re not careful, neither of these fools is gonna be able to walk out of here.

KILL-E-AN! KILL-E-AN! KILL-E-AN! KILL-E-AN!

Richard: Are they rooting for both guys here tonight? Someone tell the city of Columbus they can’t both win.

Nick: Ultimate respect for two of the all-time fan favorites in PRIME’s history.

Fueled by the chants, Killean’s fingers latch onto the caging, pulling his near-300lbs up the wall of the cell. Atop the structure, Ward takes a step back and waits patiently, cracking his neck to the left, then the right. Sirrajin reaches the top and pulls himself over, then slowly rises, coming face to face with the man he was brought into the business to destroy.

Nick: I can hardly hear myself this place has gotten so loud! This crowd is on fire as two of the biggest stars in this industry stand over fifteen feet in the air, up in the rafters, facing each other down!

Richard: Someone is going to get broken in half.

With the crowd absolutely salivating, Killean takes an aggressive step toward Ward and swings with a massive right hook. It connects and is immediately returned by one of Ward’s own. Killean fires back. Tchu does the same.

Killean.

Tchu.

Killean.

Tchu.

Killean.

Tchu.

Tchu. Tchu. Tchu.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ward gains the upper hand, sending Killean staggering dangerously close to the edge of the cell.

Richard: That idiot is gonna end up falling off the top of the cage.

Nick: I pray nobody takes that fall. I have no desire to see anyone broken in half here tonight!

Sirrajin steadies himself and fires back with a wild swinging right. Ward ducks underneath and waits for Killean to spin back around.

Nick: Spinebuster!

The Inhuman Being lifts and plants Sirrajin on the roof of the cell, the caging sagging immensely under their weight.

Nick: The entire cell structure just shook!

Richard: These guys are nuts.

Ward reaches down and pulls Killean to his feet by two fistfuls of hair. Out of nowhere, The Supreme Machine bursts to life, slamming a fist into Tchu’s jaw. With one explosive step, Sirrajin clotheslines Tchu, knocking him to down on the caged roof. The Inhuman Being is quickly back to his feet and dropped with another clothesline. Again, Ward rolls to his feet, and this time, his fate is far worse than anything he could have imagined.

Killean wraps his arms around Tchu’s torso and arches back, tossing the three-time Universal Champion across the roof of the cell with an overhead belly to belly suplex. Ward crashes into the center panel of the cage’s ceiling and immediately the mesh begins to tear and give away from underneath.

Nick: Oh God…

As the panel rips away, Ward reaches out and grabs the framing of one of the other roof sections. For a moment, everyone in the crowd releases their breath, relaxing just a bit. But their fears are put to rest prematurely. Tchu’s fingers quickly lose their grip and he slips, crashing to the canvas twelve feet below

THUD!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Oh… oh…MY GOD! The roof gave way… a… and Matt Ward’s body may be busted in pieces in the middle of that ring! MY GOD!

Richard: I knew it… He just fell probably close to fifteen feet and landed with a disgusting thud in the middle of the ring.

The crowd, which has been non-stop the entire match, falls silent for possibly the first time all night.

Nick: We need to get some EMTs down here. The hell with any winner or loser. The hell with the final ReV match. These men need to be able to be able to go home and play with their children! Enough! Before one of these men can never walk again!

Killean steps over to the edge of the busted roof panel and looks down in disbelief. He wipes the blood from his eyes, then pushes his hair back, struggling for each breath.

Richard: This had bad news written all over it the moment Ward started climbing the side of the cell.

Nick: For God’s sakes, this is no way to close out ReVolution.

Killean looks out at the crowd, then looks back down at his fallen friend lying a dozen feet below. Slowly, Sirrajin lowers himself, taking a seat on the framing of the busted panel. His legs dangle thru the hole in the roof of the cell and again, he looks out at the crowd, a buzz starting to build its way through Nationwide Arena.

Nick: What is he doing?

Richard: I … I mean… I guess he has to climb down somehow. Maybe he’s going to lower…

But he doesn’t.

Before Richard can finish his thought, Killean pushes himself off the edge of the panel and begins a twelve foot plummet towards the fallen Hall of Famer. Halfway through his decent, Killean twists his weight, smashing down with his arm across the throat and chest of The Inhuman Being. The end result is the most ungodly elbow drop of all-time.

The crowd erupts in a roar that is equal parts horror, excitement, and disbelief.

Richard: What the HELL?!

Nick: AN ELBOW DROP FROM THE ROOF OF THE CELL!

Richard: He may have killed them both!

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

Nick: Nearly 300lbs… from nearly fifteen feet in the air! I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life! GOOD HEAVENS this isn’t the way this match was supposed to go!

Somehow, Killean manages to reach over and hook a leg, making a legitimate cover out of the carnage. Bernie Roberts snaps out of his state of shock and slides into position, making the count.

ONE…










TWO….












THREE…..

Nick:….NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The crowd roars, nearly 40,000 arms shooting into the air at once as Tchu somehow nudges his left shoulder off the canvas.

Richard: There’s no way in Hell…

Nick: He kicked out!

Richard: NO WAY IN HELL!

Nick: I can’t believe it!

Neither can Killean. He looks up at Bernie Roberts and can be seen asking "that wasn’t three?" Roberts holds up two fingers and the Supreme Machine looks at the carcass on the mat in shock.

Richard: Forget kicking-out… Ward should be dead. For that matter, both of these guys should be. Killean threw himself fifteen feet to the ground. And for what?! To hear the crowd cheer? To please the fans?

Nick: I think that’s exactly why. Plus, I think he figured there was no way, so long as he survived himself, that it wouldn’t get him the victory. But…

…it didn’t.

IN-HU-MAN! IN-HU-MAN! IN-HU-MAN! IN-HU-MAN! IN-HU-MAN!

The crowd begins the chant that has become synonymous with the freakish endurance that helped the Inhuman Being earn his nickname. Killean rises to his feet with the sounds of the fans’ chant. He surveys the landscape of the ring, seemingly searching for an answer of what it will take to keep the Inhuman Being down. Finally, his eyes settle on the corner turnbuckle.

Sirrajin grabs Tchu by the arm and picks him up, then shoves him into the pads. Ward slumps into the corner before Killean dips a shoulder and lifts him, sitting him on the top turnbuckle.

Richard: What is he doing here?

The Supreme Machine places a foot on the rope and begins to climb. When he reaches the next rope, he tucks Ward’s head between his legs and hooks under both arms.

Nick: He’s going for a top-rop Tigerbomb!

Richard: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Nick: This is the move Killean’s mentor, Sephiroth, used to put Tchu away back in a classic bout they had in the N40! We’re talking a decade of history… to close out the history of ReVolution!

But before Killean can lift and flip his opponent, The Inhuman Being shows incredible strength from his broken body, beginning to stand. The change in position lifts Killean’s feet off the rope and causes him to start to slide over Tchu’s shoulder, breaking his grip around Ward’s arms.

Tchu quickly reaches back and wraps an arm around Killean’s head, then latches onto a leg with the other. With Sirrajin upside down across his back, Ward leaps off the ropes and spikes Killean’s head into the canvas with a piledriver.

Nick: Super-belly-to-back-piledriver!

Richard: Dead! That’s a broken neck waiting to happen!

Nick: This crowd is going insane. Just a couple of minutes ago, Ward’s career was all but over, let alone the match, and now…

Now, The Inhuman Being rolls over and hooks one of Killean’s legs, making the cover. Bernie Roberts is right on the spot.

ONE…








TWO…













THREEEEEEEEENNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Kickout! KICKOUT!

Richard: Are you kidding me?!

Nick: He kicked out! Ward is shocked. This crowd is shocked…

Richard: How?!

Tchu wants to pound his fist on the mat in frustration, but he simply doesn’t have the strength. Instead, he closes his eyes and winces in pain, his entire body hurting as the adrenaline seems to fade away.

Nick: One of these men is literally going to have to break the other to win this match.

Richard: Think about Colossus.

Nick: Not at the expense of this moment right now.

Ward begins to pull himself up by the ropes. Killean, somehow, begins to stir and does the same, the two men rising to their feet in unison, only inches apart. Tchu fires off a right hook, but Sirrajin blocks the shot and delivers a boot to the gut. As Tchu doubles over, The Supreme Machine hooks him for a suplex. Ward goes up and over, but twists in mid-air and slides across Killean’s shoulder, landing on his feet… right on top of the bottom half of the steel steps he had slid into the ring fifteen minutes earlier.

And in one lightning fast motion, Ward locks in the infamous sleeper hold and, in violent form, drives the back of Killean’s skull into the ring steps.

Nick: DOWNFALL! The Downfall!

Richard: The back of Killean’s head just crushed into the edge of those steel steps with about as disgusting a sound as I’ve ever heard!

Ward pushes Killean in shoulder, sliding him off the step and onto the canvas, then drapes an arm across Killean’s chest, reaching down to hook a leg as best he can.

ONE…

















TWO…












Richard: It’s over.















THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Nick: It…

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"DING DING DING!"

Nick: It’s over!

"I Fucking Hate You" begins to rip thru Nationwide Arena, but it’s barely detectable over the inhuman roar from the hometown crowd.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… you’re winner of the match… TTTTCCCCCCHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

There’s no celebration in the ring, both men lying on the canvas, chests heaving with labored breaths. Slowly, the cell begins to rise, heading for its original place in the rafters

Nick: What a match… there could not be a more incredible encounter to say goodbye to ReVolution. These two men gave everything they had, left nothing in the tank… to the point you have to wonder about their status for Colossus. But this was about pride. This was about tonight, saying goodbye to the ReVolution that started it all.

Richard: I may not have a warm place in my heart for either guy, but you have to give them the ultimate respect for what they just gave this crowd.

A couple additional officials, Lisa Tyler, Blaine Blair, and several EMTs begin to make their way down to the ring.

Nick: Lord knows, both these men may be broken in half.

The EMTs begin to check on both men, and the camera seems to catch Ward saying "I’m OK." They begin to help the Inhuman Being to his feet, aiding the Hall of Famer in cautious fashion. Once Ward is standing, the crowd cheers, and Tchu raises an arm in acknowledgement.

The other EMTs continue to attend to Killean, starting to help the Supreme Machine up. Stepping away from the two EMTs at his side, Ward pushes through those attending to his friend and he reaches down, extending a hand to Killean. Sirrajin grasps the offer.

Nick: The way it should be.

With a little help from PRIME’s Wrecking Ball, but mostly (and incredibly) under his own power, Killean climbs to his feet.

YYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

As the crowd voices their approval, the two friends share an exhausted guy hug (can’t get too emotional) in the center of the ring, the weapon of their destruction now hanging high above their heads.

Nick: Absolutely incredible. It’s hard for me to say this, but it’s time to close out ReVolution for the last time. Ladies and gentlemen, please join us on PPV for Colossus, and help us say goodbye to PRIME in the biggest, baddest way possible. For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart… goodnight, folks.

The PRIME copyright and logo appear in the bottom corner of the screen, the final image before the screen fades to black that of Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair applauding as EMTs help two broken bodies exit the ring.