Footsteps approach from the other side of the door, causing Killean and Charity to move slightly out of the way. It's a good thing too, as not a moment goes by before the door swings open and Lindsay Troy appears, rummaging through her purse and unaware of the two Canadians standing off to the side.

Killean Sirrajin: Business… or Pleasure?

Troy stops her search and looks over at Killean and Charity.


Lindsay Troy: Unless you're my fiancé, you already know the answer to that.

Killean smirks but the Raven Haired Beauty finds the comment to be a tad snobby. But Killean doesn’t let her get a shot in as he blocks an attempt at a retaliation.

Killean Sirrajin: It’s ok babe. I’ll catch up with you.

A small kiss on the cheek later and Charity is through the double doors, leaving Troy and the Universal Champion behind.

Killean Sirrajin: You know, I can’t help but wonder, did you get an invitation to a certain party that was off the hook last week? I mean forgive me, but it didn’t get lost in the mail, cause I was the mailman. I dropped the invites off at the certain dressing rooms near the beginning of 94 two weeks back.

Sirrajin adjusts the Universal title that is neatly hanging from his shoulder and straightens his sunglasses.

Killean Sirrajin: This party had a very small VIP list and surprisingly, even Karina showed up. But one certain individual did not. Perhaps you just plum forgot?

Lindsay Troy: Ahh yeah, that.


She goes back to rummaging through her purse and with an "Ah ha!" pulls out a set of car keys. Motioning for Killean to follow her, Troy starts walking toward her rental.


Lindsay Troy: Well, honestly, I was a bit confused by the invite. I figured that it was a joke, since I didn't think you'd want to be seen hanging around with "indy talent" who "can't hack it a PRIME ring." And...


Lindsay whirls around to face the Supreme Machine.


Lindsay Troy: ...you didn't invite Joey, which was rather impolite.

Killean had a look of confusion on his face. But inside, he was laughing. Yeah, this was a party for special guests and while he thought Melton was "special", something about having Joey Melton at the party would have made him want to fight.

Killean Sirrajin: I errrrrrrrrr… surely I put his name on the invite. Oh, I know what it was… when I typed up the invite on the computer, the spelling and grammar check must have removed a few unimportant items…

Killean backs up and puts his hands up in front of him, palms first.

Killean Sirrajin: Naw. Seriously, I know you guys are a package deal and I apologize.

Meanwhile, he can hear his mind laughing all the while during that explanation.

Lindsay Troy: Mmhmm...so why'd you send one anyway? (She looks at him, quizzically) We're not friends...hell, we're not even acquaintances. Tonight brings the grand total of the number of times I've talked to you up to two and the first time didn't exactly end on a high note.

Killean Sirrajin: Look, I know the one time in Nelson’s office turned a little anal. But when Ty is involved, sometimes things can get way out of hand. Truthfully, I just wanted to see if the attitude in the office was a one shot deal or you in fact had a glowing witch’s wand up your ass. The first time really wasn’t on the best of terms. As you can see, I can be rather easy to get along with.

Yeah, and if ya fuck up and piss him off you’ll find your torso across the ring from your head. Really, the choice is yours.

Lindsay Troy: Your choice of affiliation leaves a bit to be desired. If you were determined to find out the kind of person I am, you didn't need the excuse of a party invite to get the answer. I'm not that hard to find on show night and I'm pretty laid-back unless you're a jerkoff, a Russian or have ulterior motives.


And if you do have ulterior motives, she makes it a point to have you personally fitted for an oxygen tank and a feeding tube.

Killean Sirrajin: I chose the party because that was my stomping grounds. I bankrolled it and I controlled it. Nelson had no control over it and I felt it would have been more comfortable overall. I was there during your first showdown with him in the office. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have some good food and a drink after a hard fought match. Am I right?

Troy eyed him warily, her lips pursed and her body tense. Behind the red-tinted sunglasses, Sirrajin's gaze met her own and while Lindsay still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, she nodded and disengaged her rental car's alarm.


Lindsay Troy: You may be right.


Opening the front passenger door, she reached into a cup holder and pulled out her cell phone.


Lindsay Troy: But then again, I may be crazy.


The door shut and the alarm re-engaged. Sirrajin relaxed his posture, sensing that he could possibly have been right about her.

Killean Sirrajin: Well either way, I am glad we had this little talk to clear the air. Perhaps in the near future we will meet in the ring and respectfully have a good old fashioned wrestling match.

Regardless of Killean’s alignment and history that comes with being in the sports entertainment business, he has always been one of the guys who respects a wrestling match. Given his recent tactics in the ring though, some people may find that hard to believe.

Lindsay Troy: Yeah, like Nelson might ever let that happen. Can't hurt to dream though. (She smirked.) I should be getting back, I need to warm up.

Killean nods.

Killean Sirrajin: Yeah, and I have a beer to drink. Pre-match tradition. We’ll talk again soon.

Lindsay Troy: Maybe.

A Wink.

Lindsay Troy: If you're lucky.


She walks past him and heads for the door, leaving Killean standing alone in the parking lot. With her back turned, the frown he was fighting back throughout the conversation finally surfaced and he had a simple look of disgust on his face. If only she knew.

Killean Sirrajin: (mumbling) Damn bitch has an attitude that just won’t fly here... (watching her leave) but I wouldn’t mind wrestling THAT.

If the giant gold star on the luxury suite door didn’t give it away, the voices inside certainly did. And they gave away another precious tidbit of knowledge as well: Things were not all kosher in the A-List camp.

Chandler Tsonda: I think you need to lay off me.

Tsonda, propped against the mini-bar, which doubled as a changing area. Not really into the cleanliness of the locker rooms at the Mellon Arena - nor with having to actively mingle with their fellow PRIMEates - the List had set up shop in the box that they purchased for every show. Still in his street clothes, Chandler was tapping away on his ‘Kick while he dropped the previous statement.

Danny Ferguson: You think I need to do what?

The Pittsburgh locals that were fawning over the two men sensed the tension (took them long enough) and backed away. One of them looked over at the couch, where The Illustrious Face Eater was sitting Indian style, rocking back and forth. He does pause, momentarily, to flash her the finger-V-with-tongue-action sign, a sight sure to nauseate even the strongest of female stomachs.

Chandler stops typing for a moment and looks up.

Chandler Tsonda: You heard me.

Danny Ferguson: No, I’m sorry. My mind was wandering - I was daydreaming about Bermuda, which is where I’d be kicking back right now, actually ENJOYING my break from movie shoots, if you hadn’t booked me in a match this week without asking.

Chandler Tsonda: I didn’t know I needed a signed permission form. I had my people book the date with your manager.

Danny Ferguson: No, you had them book it with my WRESTLING manager, not my real one. Reggie doesn’t know my schedule.

They look over at Reggie, who’s boasting a plate full of the hot wings that were catered to the box. An ungodly amount of sauce is slathered on his chin and cheek as he tries to hit on the girls that were previously hanging on Danny’s junk.

Reggie Delray: Either you ladies familiar wit the term ‘Kentucky Moonpie’?

And attention goes back to the Listers.

Chandler Tsonda: I thought you would be begging for this match after the way Noble embarassed you two weeks ago.

Danny Ferguson: Embarassed me? I was in street clothes! He schoolboy’d me! Any moron knows that you can’t kick out of a rollup in wrinkle-free silk trousers unless you intend to wrinkle said wrinkle-free silk trousers, thus eliminating the purpose of calling them wrinkle-free silk trousers in the first place!

The Illustrious Face Eater: Yeah, Tson-dummy, you’re the one who couldn’t put the Abe Vigoda of the Squared Circle away last week!

Chandler Tsonda: Excuse me, not all of us have the luxury of handicapped matches that win us tag team title belts. For all this complaining about what I haven’t done lately, let’s look at two weeks ago when I pinned the guy who it took BOTH of you to beat.

Danny Ferguson: Please, you know Ellie won that for you. And besides, teaming with this dipshit (he jerks his thumb toward Facey) is like wrestling with a chain on your ankle.

Facey bursts up from the couch, fists clenched, his size-too-large tag title hanging loosely from his hips.

The Illustrious Face Eater: What’d you say about me, BITCHASSFUCKER?!

Danny Ferguson: I called you a liability, dickhead. Every time I try to get us on the same page, you’re trying to think of new ways to steal Nova’s pot!

The Illustrious Face Eater: That man is breaking all sorts of universal ganja laws! Who has the right to deny another man a decent high? Is he too good for me cause my shit ain’t from some Brazilian rainforst utopia? Besides, why aren’t YOU helping ME with THAT, huh? And where were YOU guys when I lost MY Internet Title?!?

Chandler Tsonda: That was a real belt? I thought you bought it at Target.

The Illustrious Face Eater: (sarcastically) ELL OH ELLZ, CHANDLER! U R SO FUNY! Dubya dubya dubya dot gofuckyourself dot com. Backslash eatshitanddie.

Chandler pushes off the minibar just slightly to show that he didn’t appreciate the comment. Facey reponds by puffing out his chest and raising his dukes, but in the process, he knocks over the cocktail table in the middle of the room...the one that was keeping their jointly-held 5-Star title belt aloft. The gold hits the ground, and instantly all three men drop down to grab it.

With each man holding a piece of the belt, it slowly comes up. Finally, Chandler yanks it away from the other two.

Chandler Tsonda: Excuse me if I thought we worked off the same agenda. We picked up the tag belts, sure, but then what? We’re not in the World Title picture, we’re not main eventing every night like we said we would, and you two have been off screwing around with Jeff Spicoli and the Not-Dead-Yet-But-Almost guy.

Danny Ferguson: Right, and you don’t see either of us getting on your shit to help out there, do you?

Chandler Tsonda: Actually, there was that time LESS THAN TWO MONTHS AGO when I had to defend our belt against Lame-duck because you wanted him out of the picture. So what did I do? I beat him, and then you brought him BACK into the picture.

The Illustrious Face Eater: What the fuck’s with that, dude?

Danny Ferguson: I don’t need to hear it from either of you.

Chandler Tsonda: Of course you don’t. And I don’t need to hear shit about one measly handicap match against King Tut’s old sparring partner. Of course - neither of you have been there for me in the past, so why would I expect you to be there now.

The Illustrious Face Eater: Yeah! And neither of you were there to save me from the secret society that was trying to kill me!

They both pause, mid-response, and look at Facey. Tensions lighten just a little, thanks to all the stupid.

Chandler Tsonda: (blinking, slightly confused) You’re not dead, are you?

The Illustrious Face Eater: NOT YET!

Facey jumps back onto the couch and curls into the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. Danny hesitates, watching his co-champion for a second, then pats him awkwardly on the back.

Danny Ferguson: (to Chandler) Do you see? You see what you’ve done to us?

Taken aback by the accusation, Chandler stammers a response.

Chandler Tsonda: I...I’m sorry. I just wanted to...

Danny Ferguson: Well, you just wanted to, and now you did. Look, we’ve already got the match. We’re already here. The least you could do is show us a little support in return.

Chandler Tsonda: What do you want me to do?

Danny Ferguson: Well if I told you, then it wouldn’t mean anything, now would it?...Tell you what...there’s a certain "mutual acquaintance" of ours who signed a PRIME contract last week. It would help me out if he couldn’t fulfill the terms of that contract.

Chandler cocks his head to the side, taking a few seconds to get it. Finally, it dawns on him.

Chandler Tsonda: You mean Eb-

Danny Ferguson: (tapping his finger on the side of his nose) Yes. That’s what I mean.

Chandler Tsonda: You want me to-

Danny Ferguson: Exactly. And then when you’re done, come back and we’ll have a little workshop on ‘subtlety."

Chandler Tsonda: Done and done. I’m on it.

He pockets his Sidekick for once and speeds out the door, reinvigorated by his mission. After the door shuts, Danny realizes that he’s been "comforting" Facey with his shoulder pats for the entire time. He quickly shies away and wipes his hand with a cocktail napkin.

Suddenly, the door opens again, and Chandler’s head pops in.

Chandler Tsonda: Just to be clear, you want me to rough up Kevin Sandusky, right?

Danny buries his face in his hands.

Danny Ferguson: Yes.

Chandler Tsonda: I’m on it.

The door shuts once again, leaving only the sound of Facey’s sniffling and Reggie’s haphazard eating to fill the room.

The Illustrious Face Eater: (choking and tearful) Danny?

Danny Ferguson: Yes, Facey?

The Illustrious Face Eater: Will we ever be a team again?

Danny Ferguson: Sure. But first you have to disavow yourself of the notion that we were ever a team to begin with.

He sits back down on the stool and looks out at the arena crowd, pondering. One of the girls - a previous victim of Reggie’s "flirting," approaches him again.

Girl: Does your manager guy really have three testicles?

Still looking out the glass partition, Danny lets out a long sigh.

Danny Ferguson: Yeah...ever since he lost the one.

Her face contorts into the strongest disgusted grimace you could possibly imagine, and on Danny’s unmoving face...we cut away.

As ‘The Imperial March’ from Star Wars begins to blare over the arena PA system, the crowd begins to look at each other in befuddlement. Soon the arena goes black, save for some dim lights at the top of the stage. Smoke machines begin to blow a fog into the entrance to the arena under the PRIME-a-Tron.

Nick: What the hell’s going on here? I don’t have anything on the schedule.

Richard: It’s obvious, you moron! Darth Vader is here to kill you.

Nick: Shut up!

Strobe lights begin to pulse through the man-made fog as the crowd continues to buzz in anticipation. A figure begins to walk through the fog from the back, the strobe backlighting making it difficult to ascertain just who it is. Soon the person is out on the stage, and the arena lights come on, bringing an extremely negative reaction from the crowd.

Nick: For God’s sake, it’s Tyler Nelson!

Richard: What an entrance! The dark lord of professional wrestling is in the house! He’s not your father, Nick…he’s your DADDY!!

The CEO, dressed in a hand-tailored black suit, smugly looks out on the disapproving crowd. As the classic theme of evil continues to play, he waltzes down the ramp toward the ring. A crooked smirk forms across his lips as he takes in the berating of the capacity crowd, the vast majority of which loathe him. Nelson plods up the steps and climbs through the ropes, demanding a mic from Vince Howard. The ring announcer complies and the CEO makes his way to the center of the ring.

Tyler: Finally, an employee that does what he’s told. That seems to be a rare commodity around here lately.

The snide remark only draws more ire from the fans, not particularly caring for the CEO’s attempts to rule PRIME with an iron fist. The CEO quickly moves on with his agenda.

Tyler: How’d you like that new entrance music? I thought my boys over at FOX would absolutely LOVE it! I think it kind of fits, don’t you? The whole ‘badass motherfBLEEPer’ vibe is all me, isn’t it?

The King of the Nicaraguan Death Match smirks and poses for the crowd as if seeking their approval. They respond with a ‘WE WANT IVAN!’ chant, which brings an angry frown to Nelson’s face. He glares out at the crowd as he continues.

Tyler: You want Ivan? YOU WANT IVAN?!

The volume of the chant increases, forcing Nelson to pause until it ebbs somewhat.

Nick: The crowd is calling for Ivan Stanislav, and we all KNOW that’s the last thing Tyler Nelson wants!

Richard: Did anyone tell you that you could speak?

The CEO does his best to calm down, forcing a smile onto his face.

Tyler: You want Ivan? Well, you’re in luck. It just so happens that the Russian Bear will be in action here tonight!

The crowd roars its approval at the announcement.

Tyler: That’s right. Ivan Stanislav will see his first official PRIME action inside this very ring tonight. The network has been bugging me all week about it, so tonight they get what they want…something about wanting to reach out to the illiterate senior citizen demographic.

Nelson shrugs mockingly. As the crowd continues to cheer, an ‘IVAN SCARES YOU!’ chant begins to swell. Nelson swivels his head around, noticeably annoyed.

Tyler: You idiots think I’m scared of that washed-up Commie? PUH-LEASE! There’s nothing I’d like to do more than wipe the canvas with his wrinkled up face and send him back to Siberia carrying his ass in his hands! But for him to come to PRIME and think he just gets to call his shot? I don’t think so. He’s going to have to do more than smash some office furniture if he thinks he’s going to force my hand. He’s been out of the game for way too long. He’s rusty. He’s out of shape. And quite frankly, I’m not sure if even I could carry him through a match in his condition.

Nick: His condition? Ivan Stanislav walked into PRIME after a four year layoff and beat Chet Worth, the Dual Halo champion!

Richard: We all know that was a fluke, Nick. The sun shines on a dog’s ass every now and then. Stanislav has a better chance of getting a senior citizens discount at Denny’s than beating Tyler Nelson in the ring.

Tyler: But I’m a fair man. I’ll give Ivan his chance to try and, as he so eloquently puts it, ‘finish me’. If Ivan Stanislav wins his match here tonight, then it will be Tyler Nelson versus Ivan Stanislav at Revolution 100!

Nick: WHOA!! What a match that would be for the centennial edition of Revolution!

Richard: We might have to move that show to pay-per-view if that happens. People will pay money to see Tyler Nelson punk out Ivan Stanislav.

The crowd is in a frenzy at the thought of the Russian Bear getting his hands on Tyler Nelson at Revolution 100. The CEO smiles devilishly.

Tyler: All he has to do is win his match tonight…..against Mr. Anti-PRIME himself, TCHU!!

The crowd gasps, with a mixture of boos and cheers following. Many boo at the fact that Nelson is making Ivan go through Tchu in order to get to him, and the cheers are for the outstanding match-up that they are going to be privileged to see.

Nick: What the?! Ivan Stanislav is going to have to get through Tchu in order to face Nelson at 100? The CEO is stacking the deck against the Russian Bear once again!

Richard: It’s brilliant! If Ivan wins, that means he has to destroy that thorn in Nelson’s side to do it. And if Tchu wins, then Ivan doesn’t get his shot at Nelson. Once again, I must bow to Mr. Nelson’s tactical genius.

Nelson smiles into the camera, flashing his trademark greedy grin.

Tyler: So, good luck tonight Ivan. If for some reason you happen to make it through Tchu tonight, I’ll be happy to send you to the retirement community where you belong. Just in case, you better brush up on your shuffleboard game. I hear the geriatrics are sharks.

The CEO chuckles to himself as he tosses the mic to the mat. ‘The Imperial March’ cranks up again as Nelson takes leave of the ring.

Nick: Well people it’s time to see PRIME’s newest tag team in action. Generation Gap didn’t get off to the best start last week when their sibling rivalry led to the botching of their official debut but hopefully this week will find them in a better spot.

Richard: Oh great… now we have to sit through a match with these two?

A mechanical whine feels the arena as the Generation Gap Edit of "My Generation" by The Who & Bile erupts over the speakers. As the back and forth rivalry of the two stylistically opposite version of "My Generation" continues to clash out over the speakers we see Travis and Jake Reed emerge from the back. The Reed brothers look ready for action as they head towards the ring for their first match here in PRIME. A few fans reach out to the virtual unknowns with the semi-famous last name and Jake and Travis are more than happy to slap the fans five. The brothers climb onto the apron and enter the ring, Travis calmly stepping through the ropes and Jake leaping up over the top rope. Jake and Travis look at one another and then gaze across at Los Primerios, who made their entrance moments ago with little fanfare.

Nick: Here we go!

Richard: I’m feeling a ‘Worst Match of the Year’ candidate coming up here.

Jake and Blue start off the action for their teams and things get right underway. The two men hit a quick lockup in the center of the ring and Blue takes Jake over with an arm drag. Blue springs up and looks to rub the arm drag in Jake’s face but ‘New School’ is already on his feet, having rolled through the arm drag, and levels Blue with a leg lariat. Blue goes down but he’s persistent and pops right back up only to be leveled with a running clothesline. Blue rolls up to one knee to try and get up again but he’s assaulted with a modified Shining Wizard.

Nick: Fast start by the younger of the two Reeds.

Jake looks over to his brother as if to say ‘top that’ and then tags himself out of the match. Travis nods to his brother, feeling more than up to that challenge. Blue now finds himself on the losing end of this game of sibling one-upmanship as Travis nails him with a running clothesline that flips Blue end over end. Travis is far from finished though as he quickly nails Blue with an elbow drop then sends him into the ropes where he jams a running knee right into Blue’s gut. Travis now looks to Jake and tags his brother in, encouraging him to take a turn. Jake accepts, leaps into the ring and starts towards Blue. As Jake reaches down Blue lurches up to his knees and quickly crawls over to his corner, he’s had enough of this little game. Blue makes the tag and scurries to the safety of the apron as Yellow steps in to take his turn.

Nick: These two brothers seem as obsessed with upstaging one another as they are upstaging their opponents.

Richard: These two aren’t impressing anyone against a team like so I hope they at least manage to impress one another.

Yellow comes in with a full head of steam and drops Jake with a running shoulder block. Yellow hits the side ropes and, as Jake pops back to his feet, throws a clothesline. Jake ducks the clothesline leaving Yellow to stagger to a stop. Jake leaps right up and posts both his knees between Yellow’s shoulder blades as he reaches around and grabs Yellow’s chin with both hands before falling back and spiking Yellow back first on his knees with a modified backbreaker. Jake makes a quick cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Blue comes in and breaks up the fall just before the three which automatically brings Travis into the fray as well. Blue takes a swing at Travis but Reed ducks it and slips behind Blue lifting him up and dropping him with an atomic drop. Blue staggers forward out of the atomic drop right into the waiting arms of Jake Reed who lifts him and plants him with an inverted atomic drop. Blue falls back to the mat and Travis is right there to deliver a big jumping leg drop the moment Travis is clear Jake flies in with a front flip leg drop and goes for a cover!

Nick: I don’t believe that’s the legal man.

Richard: Has that ever stopped our referees in the past?

Before we even get a chance to see if the referee is paying attention Jake is drug off of Blue by Travis who yanks his brother to his feet. Jake goes chest-to-chest with his brother asking him what he thinks he’s doing. Travis just shoves his brother back and then turns him towards the legal man; Yellow. It’s right about now that Jake realizes not only that Yellow is legal but that he’s just a foot away and swinging a double clothesline at the brothers. Jake shoves his brother’s head down and then barely ducks the clothesline himself leaving Yellow to rebound off the far ropes. Yellow bounds back right into a tandem back body drop from Generation Gap. Travis gives a signal to Jake as the two men start to set something up.

Nick: Close call by both brothers there but they have things well in hand now.

Generation Gap pulls Yellow up and double Irish whips him into the far ropes, oddly however Jake actually runs right beside Yellow. Yellow hits the ropes as Jake drops down and actually slides under the rope, popping right back up on the apron. Travis then catches Yellow on the rebound and lifts him as Jake springboards off the top rope. Travis turns 180 degrees with Yellow in his arms as Jake flies in and flips over both men. On the way over the top Jake grabs Yellow’s head as Travis powers Yellow down with a spinebuster!

Richard: Whoa!

Nick: That was a combination springboard flipping neckbreaker and an old fashioned spinebuster! They call that the Blue Ridge Bomb!

Jake scurries onto Yellow and makes the pin as Travis unloads with a clinched right fist on Blue who was on one knee.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nick: Generation Gap take the victory in their PRIME debut!

Richard: Good thing too as they would have been fired if they lost to Los Primerios in their first match.

Your Winner = Generation Gap

As Los Primerios roll from the ring Jake and Travis congratulate one another before Jake calls for a microphone. The fans are giving the duo a small positive reaction but in truth they aren’t ready to commit to them in full quite yet.

Jake Reed: I know a lot of you fans don’t know what to think of us, we’re just a couple of new faces amongst a mob of familiar ones. Some of you might remember our father but most of you won’t, which is fine. We aren’t here in PRIME to ride the coattails of the legend of our father, we’re here to make our own legends and it started tonight!

Richard: I know they got my vote for PRIME hall of fame after beating such a prestigious team as Los Primerios!

Jake Reed: We’re simple men and maybe we aren’t going to ‘entertain’ you in the same fashion many of these PRIME superstar will but I can promise you one thing. I can promise you that we are going to come out here every night and we’re going to bust our asses in the ring! We’re going to do it because we were raised to do it and we’re going to do it because we don’t know how to do anything else. You might not like our lack of flash outside the ring, but by god we will make you respect our work in this ring so long as you give us the chance!

Jake tosses down the mic and a fair portion of the fans come to their feet to cheer for the new duo. Travis and Jake step through the ropes and head to the back, slapping a few fans hands along the way.

Nick: Honest words from Jake Reed, a type of honesty you don’t often see around the wrestling business. I’ll be interested to see what becomes of these two in the weeks and months ahead.

Richard: I’m just thankful we’re done with the curtain jerkers… on with the real show!

"Looks like we're both part of the newest PRIME 'magic moment' photo, huh?"

The man speaking is none other than the Inhuman Being himself, Tchu. Their target? The one and only K-Wolf, Karina Wolfenden. The photo? That would be the snap-shot of Tchu standing between - uniting - Wolfenden and Ignatius Liseiux as the trio of vastly differing fan favourites emerged victorious in battle against a who's who of current PRIME champions.

Holding up a copy of the most recent weekly wrestling magazine, Tchu shows off a double-page spread where they turned the moment of exhausted jubilation into a pull-out poster. Despite his Inhuman moniker, there's a certain amount of pride exuding from Matt Ward. Karina Wolfenden, on the other hand, looks as if the image has been poking her in the eye for 7 long days.

Karina Wolfenden: I look like I'd just escaped from a crazed hair-stylist obsessed with giving me a perm, the timing makes it look like I'm doing some weird Ashlee Simpson Riverdance thing, and the pain from my wrist gives me an expression like one side of my face decided to clock-out early.

He wasn't exactly expecting sunshine and rainbows.

Tchu: How is the wrist, by the way?

In response to his caring enquiry, the K-Wolf lifts her right arm, showing heavy bandaging encasing her wrist and hand.

Karina Wolfenden: Benched for two weeks.

The prognosis is met with a warm reaction from Tchu, who rolls the magazine up, then tucks it into his back pocket.

Tchu: So you'll be fit for ReV 100?

She shrugs.

Karina Wolfenden: Assuming nobody else tries to wrench off another part of my anatomy before then. Why?

Eyes narrow in curiosity as her head cocks to the side... made all the worse by the fact that Tchu isn't doing a whole lot to hide his relief.

Tchu: I need you.

Karina Wolfenden: Um, I might regret this, but is there a long version?

Taking a deep breath, the Inhuman Being prepares to reel it all off, while Kari pauses him for a brief second so she can take a seat, making herself comfy for the long haul.

Tchu: Now, I know that two weeks ago, I lost to Ignatius Liseiux, making him #1 contender for the Universal Title. And, I know that Nelson is going to do everything short of having me shot to stop me getting in the ring, one-on-one with Killean. Scratch that… the asshole did put a SWAT team around the arena two weeks ago with specific instructions to shoot me on sight. Point is… one way or another its going to happen. Killean and I are gonna collide. And when we do... I don't think it's any insult to my career here or anywhere else if I say it will be the biggest match of my life. So, I need to be ready. I can't sit back and rest up for this one. I want to be sharp going into the match. And the only way to do that, is to step in the ring with the best PRIME has to offer. Tonight, I'm dancing with the Russian Bear.... but, at Revolution 100, I want to step into the squared circle with one of the finest in the business today, bar none. I want to rewind back to King of Kings, where I made my mark on this place, and go another round with the K-Wolf.

Hopping up onto the back of the chair, Kari doesn't really need long to ponder the challenge of sorts.

Karina Wolfenden: You forgot to mention also giving me a chance to get a fall back against you... being down 2-0 isn't a scoreline I'm too happy with.

With a guarded nod, Tchu neither concedes the point nor out-right rejects it. Ego and embarrassment seem lost to a steady state.

Karina Wolfenden: But you're not exactly in the running for employee of the month or anything, so is the boss going to let this match slide over booking you in a 17-on-1 handyiap deathmatch or whatever?

Having gotten to know Nelson a little too well during their constant butting of heads, Tchu seems to have already posed himself the same dilemma.

Tchu: Oh, I'm pretty sure the prospect of me getting my ass kicked by an… eccentric woman like yourself on the biggest ReV of all time is a nice little sweetener for someone like Ty.

"Damnable Nelson…" came the voice of Alexei Ruslan.

Followed by a loud ker-thunk.

"Gah! Damnable low doorways!" came the reply from Ivan Stanislav.

The two men had just made their entrance into the arena, and already they were complaining.

Stanislav rubbed his head as a chunk of the doorway came off, compliments of Stanislav’s iron skull. After righting himself to his impressive height, the Russians walked at a fast pace down the hallway, ignoring workers, technicians, and other wrestlers as they moved.

"We have work to do, Ivan Sergeiovich."

"Da, a lot of work…" said Stanislav, "we have to find Tchu, before we create diplomatic suicide!"

Stanislav walked to a nearby doorway and kicked it in, eliciting a scream from PRIME interviewer, Lisa Tyler, as she got ready.

"Dyah! Sorry…" Stanislav grumbled as the two moved down the hallway once again. Ruslan looked to another door and threw it open.

"Comrade Tchu? Are you there?" He hissed as he peered into the dark room. "Damn."

The two walked quicker, with Stanislav’s heavy footsteps growing louder and adding to their immediacy.

"This is Nelson’s doing," Ivan growled, "he is trying to polarize the two of us. Ivan will not allow that."

Ruslan nodded and fixed his tie, "Da, and neither will I. Even if you have to bash Tchu into the mat first."

Stanislav stopped suddenly as they rounded another corner and looked at Ruslan, "Pound him into the mat, eh?" He winked.

"Of course," Ruslan grinned, "you are the Russian Bear, after all. Friend or not, if he is pitted against you, you have to put him in his place, yes?"

Ivan slowly nodded his head and fixed his suspender, "Indeed, you are correct, comrade. But what if our talk with Tchu causes Ivan to have to promise not to injure him?"

It was Ruslan’s turn to smile.

"Then, you leave that to me. I won’t promise anything."

The two grinned at once and turned, marching down the hallway.

"We had better find him fast…"

"Yes Ivan, the sooner the better…"

In the peace of his small, new locker room, Kevin Sandusky is, as they say, just chillin’. The artist formerly known as Ebola III is listening to his iPod, getting ready for his upcoming match, his debut in PRIME no less. The room is sparse and he’s sitting on one of those folding chairs them wrasslers are always hitting each other with, facing away from the door.

Thus, he doesn’t see Chandler Tsonda, his hands wrapped around the Five-Star belt ready to use it as a weapon, sneak through the door behind him. Tsonda gives a middle finger to the back of Sandusky, then takes two silent steps forward to smash the belt into his former PWC colleague and-

Kevin Sandusky: I thought after all this time you’d have changed your hairspray.

A couple feet behind Sandusky, who still hasn’t turned around, Tsonda gives a "what the fuck?" look, despite the fact that the other man in the room can’t see him. The Model Citizen stays silent, not willing to tip his hand yet.

Kevin Sandusky: Either way, you don’t want to do that. In this confined space, your aerial skills would be useless and you’d be reduced to brawling or grappling, either of which I can do better than you. So why don’t you put the belt back on your shoulder?

Shaking his head, saying "unbelievable" under his breath, Chandler Tsonda slings the title back over his shoulder, giving it a little brush-off, as Sandusky stands up and pulls the earphones out, with his eyes now on the same level as Tsonda’s.

Chandler Tsonda: Umm…this is kinda awkward.

Kevin Sandusky: You’re the one who came here to ambush me. Well, that’s after you basically spelled it out not even twenty minutes ago.

Chandler Tsonda: Touche. Anyway, what say we squash the beef, Ebola, eh? C’mon, don’t you remember-

Kevin Sandusky: It’s not Ebola anymore.

Chandler Tsonda: Ebola, Marburg Virus, whatever. It’s some disease that kills African people who fry monkey brains. You taking the name is a Japanese thing, about the honor of your dad and stuff. I get it.

The former RUSH star shakes his head as Tsonda continues.

Chandler Tsonda: You may recall a little indy joint known as PWC where you and I, surprisingly, saw eye-to-eye, thanks to common enemies.

Kevin Sandusky: One of whom is your boss.

Chandler Tsonda: Okay, 1) he’s not my boss, 2) stop interrupting me; Asians are supposed to be polite, and 3) seeing as your only friend in this company is Lame-O, you may want to seriously consider my proposition. That guy hasn’t won a match since the last John Frieda sale.

A completely blank stare from Sandusky at the "model humor" prompts the Viet Viper to return to his previous line of reasoning.

Chandler Tsonda: Anyway, consider this: the A-List offers immediate credibility and an in with the big boss, Tyler Nelson. You’re already in one of our movies.

Kevin Sandusky: Aren’t they Danny’s movies?

Chandler Tsonda: Ebola, I don’t quite think you’re getting the hang of things.

Kevin Sandusky: It’s not Ebola.

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah whatever, we’ll probably have to change the corny name thing if you join the team, but c’mon, who couldn’t use a little bit of an image upgrade, eh?

Tsonda prods Sandusky’s shoulder a bit and Kevin responds by grabbing Tsonda’s wrist. He quickly lets go, but his actions easily convey the "don’t fucking do that again" mentality.

Chandler Tsonda: Well…erm…yeah, feel like reliving our glory days?

Kevin Sandusky: We were tag partners for one show.

Chandler Tsonda: Semantics!

Kevin Sandusky: No, I think I’ll be fine. I can’t see myself ever siding with Ferguson or Spiffy! or whatever he wants to call himself.

Chandler Tsonda: Huh?

Kevin Sandusky: Spiffy!? El Spiffy!? You know, Danny Ferguson’s old alias?

Chandler Tsonda: Pretty sure he wasn’t on Alias, dude, but I’ll check imdb.com and we can figure it out.

Kevin Sandusky: I think you should go join your buddies because you’re going to find this room considerably less friendly to you in about a minute.

The Sultan of Style raises an eyebrow, questioning Sandusky’s intentions and looking down at his belt to make sure it’s nice and cozy.

Chandler Tsonda: You’re a fool, Ebola.

Kevin Sandusky: Unlike some of these people, I remember your last little team: 2GVC, wasn’t it? A funny bunch of Communists you were.

Chandler Tsonda: Well, if American hadn’t ruined the entire country of-

Kevin Sandusky: Sorry, I already watched the Stanislav segs tonight; don’t really wanna hear it again, so I repeat: leave.

Chandler Tsonda: Hmmph…have fun being a PRIME bottom-feeder and moonlighting as Tony Gamble’s sparring partner for the next four months.

Kevin Sandusky: By the way, I was going to give you one pass due to PWC. You just used it.

The Five-Star champion calls over his shoulder as he pushes through the door, always craving the last word.

Chandler Tsonda: I was thinking the same thing…

And with that, Sandusky sits back down with his iPod, re-focusing himself for the match.

"He must be around here somewhere…"

Ruslan and Stanislav continue to walk around the backstage area, pushing in various doors to virtually any room they see in an attempt to find Tchu.

"He is probably hiding," mutters Ruslan as he looks through an air conditioning grate.

Stanislav chuckles and looks down at Ruslan, "Alexei Gregorovich, Ivan does not think he is hiding in there.

With a wry grin, Ruslan looks up over his shoulder at his towering comrade, "I’ve seen individuals hide in far stranger area’s when they know the Russian Bear is upon them."

At the far end of the hallway, standing silently, is Tchu. Stanislav leans forward, oblivious to Tchu’s presence, and stares through the grate with Ruslan, "If he is in there, he would not be getting out, eh?"

Ruslan nods to himself and adjusts his hat in just a way that he is able to look down the hallway, and he stands up immediately. Stanislav grumbles to himself, still peering through the grating. "Ivan… I believe we found him."

Tchu continues to stand quietly, a good fifteen feet from the two Russians. Ivan Stanislav looks over to the side and rises to his full height, and the two communists walk, in lock step with one another, directly towards Tchu.

Tchu doesn’t flinch, but he clenches his fists together, "Coming to start this early, Stanislav?"

"DYAAHAAHAA!!" comes the reply from Ivan, "hardly! Trust me, if Ivan wished to wipe you out before match, he would have done it far before this time, comrade."

"You wouldn’t have succeeded, and I’m not your comrade."

Ruslan chimes in, "We’re looking to fix that, you see."

"I’m listening."

Stanislav and Ruslan stand about five feet away from Tchu, well within range to attack him if need be. Stanislav grips his suspenders and gazes down at Tchu, "The fact of matter, Tchu, is that while we must battle one another in wrestling ring, there is no need for us to be enemies."

Tchu continues to stand poised. "Hm?"

"Indeed!" Ruslan adds, "For our common enemy is Tyler Nelson, and we should be focusing on him, da?"

Stanislav nods in agreement. Tchu remains quiet. The two Russians exchange glances for a moment, before Stanislav lets loose with his deep, throaty voice, "So, even if we are exchanging punches and kicks in wrestling ring, just be sure to understand we are not divided in our hatred for Tyler Nelson. Just like a good communist, there is always strength in numbers." Stanislav winks.

"You realize our match is only a few minutes away, don’t you, Stanislav?" Tchu asks quietly. Ruslan and Stanislav look at one another and nod in unison.

"Da."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tchu nods, "You’re right about Nelson, Ivan, and if you want this to simply be a friendly contest between two men, I can handle that."

"Good!" Stanislav answers and he quickly turns on his heel. Ruslan, however, remains facing Tchu. Ivan begins to walk away.

"Just… one thing…" Ruslan whispers. Tchu remains quiet. "Don’t expect to win. You have not fought the likes of Stanislav and Ruslan."

Tchu quirks his eyebrow at the mention of "and Ruslan" but says nothing, as Ruslan turns and the two communists leave just as suddenly as they appeared.

Nick: Folks! We’re back for some more PRIME action, and we’re going to see one heck of a match in just a moment! "The Anti-Prime" Tchu will be squaring off against "The Russian Bear" Ivan Stanislav!

Richard: Hopefully the two of them will wipe one another out, and we’ll be spared both of their careers!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen! The following match is scheduled for one fall!

"Pressure" by Staind begins to play over the loudspeakers as the crowd rises to their feet and cheers for Tchu, who promptly walks out of the backstage area and towards the ring. He neither plays to the crowd, nor takes his eyes off of the ring.

Nick: Tchu looks like he’s all business tonight!

Richard: Well, he’d better be! Sounds like Stanislav isn’t going to be pulling any stops in this match.

Nick: Perhaps, but it is Stanislav’s introductory match, he’s probably still rusty.

Vince: From Daytona, Ohio, standing 6’2" tall and weighing in at 240 lbs, he is the Inhuman Being: TCHUUUU!!!

Tchu slides under the bottom rope and walks to the corner of the ring, facing the entryway, and waits patiently.

Vince: And his opponent, hailing from Arkhangelsk, Russia, standing 7’1" tall and weighing in at 400 lbs, The Russian Bear: IVAAAANNNN STAAAANNISSLAAAVV!!

Unlike the straightforward entrance granted to Tchu, fire erupts from the entryway as "The Anthem of Russia" by the Bolshoi Symphony Orchestra blasts over the loudspeakers and Ivan Stanislav, with Alexei Ruslan, emerges from behind the curtain. Stanislav eats up the audience reaction, which is a mix of positive and negative feedback, and raises his arms high over his head.

Ruslan brings with him a flag denoting Russia and waves it proudly, while Ivan takes his good old time walking to the ring. Tchu, on the other hand, remains calm and collected in the ring and watches his adversary.

Richard: Once a glory hound…

Ivan walks to ringside and has a word with Ruslan, who dutifully nods. Stanislav then turns and climbs into the ring slowly, trying to get the pace of the match, early on, in his favor. Vince calls for the bell and bails out of the ring, as the two men walk to the center of the ring. Tchu looks up at Ivan while Ivan stares down at Tchu, and the two pause for a moment before nodding to one another, and both take a step back.

Nick: Tchu and Stanislav had a few words prior to this match… looks like they’re going to honor their agreement.

Richard: Yeah, we’ll see how long that last. You get in the ring and punch someone in the face, and the good times stop rollin’!

Ruslan stands the flag up on the side of the ring and starts barking orders to Stanislav. He points at Tchu and screams in Russian, his high pitched squeal piercing the din of the Mellon Arena. Stanislav nods to himself, taking in the words, and stands up straight, points at Tchu, and laughs.

"DYAAHAAHAA!!"

Tchu blinks, somewhat surprised by the… assault? Stanislav lets loose another laugh and slaps his chest, motioning for Tchu to "come and get it."

Nick: Ivan is trying to psyche out Tchu, but that’s not going to work. He’s been up against bigger and meaner than Ivan Stanislav.

Tchu rushes at Stanislav and ducks low, dodging a wild right cross from the Russian. He wraps his arms around Stanislav’s waist and knees him in the stomach, but to no effect. Tchu tries again, and Stanislav again no sells the move before bringing his arm down across Tchu’s back, knocking him to a knee. Ivan lifts his boot and kicks Tchu in the face, sending him onto his back, but Tchu recovers into a roll and rises to his feet again, standing away from Stanislav.

"DYAAHAA!!"

Tchu stares across the ring at Ivan and waits, trying to feel out his adversary. Stanislav points at Tchu and then at himself, beckoning him to come at him again. Tchu runs straight to Stanislav and the two lock up, but Stanislav shoves Tchu backwards. Tchu tries again, unafraid of the larger man, and again is shoved backward. A third lockup, and Tchu squeezes to Ivan’s side and to his back, holding the Russian in a waistlock, and drives his forearm into Stanislav’s back. A loud grunt exits Stanislav, but nothing more.

Ivan pauses and shrugs, but Tchu manages to hold on. Stanislav lurches to the right, swinging Tchu up and off his feet, but he regains his footing and maintains the waistlock. Finally, Stanislav kicks his large leg back in a mule kick, but Tchu is ready for it. Tchu leaps straight into the air, gripping Stanislav’s suspenders for leverage, and manages to grab Stanislav by the back of the head. With Ivan’s balance off, Tchu locks in a sleeper hold!

Nick: Is he going to nail the Downfall already?!

Stanislav roars as he struggles to regain his balance, and starts to fall. However, instead of Tchu getting Stanislav’s head to the mat, Ivan sits down and hits his tailbone instead.

Richard: Whoa… that was a close one!

The entire ring bounces as a roar of anger blasts from Stanislav’s mouth. Ruslan grabs his hat and pulls it over his eyes while Stanislav sits, stunned, and smarting at the attack. Tchu doesn’t wait, however, and dropkicks Stanislav in the back of his head. Ivan bellows and falls to his back, gripping the back of his head and rolling toward the edge of the ring.

Nick: Ivan is on the defensive already!

Tchu gets up from the dropkick and dashes towards Stanislav, baseball sliding him out of the ring. Ivan falls in a heap of muscle and noise at Ruslan’s feet, hitting his head off the outside floor, and rising suddenly. Blind rage and surprise fills his eyes, as he stares, amazed, at Tchu.

Tchu maintains his focus, not letting any emotion show on his face. But Ivan is totally different. With a roar, Stanislav climbs to the apron and into the ring, charging straight at Tchu. Tchu hits the mat, letting Ivan step over him and rebound. He remains on the mat as Ivan comes at him, but Stanislav manages to boot him in the side and send him careening across the ring into the corner.

Richard: YOW!

Tchu hits the turnbuckle sideways and falls to the mat, but Stanislav is on him. The Russian Bear grips Tchu by the neck and hoists him up into the air, shaking him twice, before spinning and chucking him across the ring. Tchu lands on his back, just a few feet from the corner, but Stanislav doesn’t pursue him. Instead, he fixes a stray suspender and spits on the mat, incensed now.

Nick: Ivan really should be going after Tchu while he has him down. What’s he doing?

Richard: He’s an idiot. Plain and simple.

Nick: Who? Ivan?

Richard: Take your pick.

Tchu stands and dusts himself off, checking his boots and staring across at Ivan. He takes one step towards Ivan, and the Russian climbs out of the ring and walks over to Ruslan.

Nick: Huh?

Stanislav and Ruslan exchange a few words, pointing dramatically at Tchu and the referee. Tchu looks perplexed, but patiently waits, until the duo finish their discussion and Ivan climbs back into the ring.

Stanislav marches straight towards Tchu. Tchu throws a punch, hitting Ivan in the sternum, but he shrugs off the blow and grips Tchu by the throat and pulls him toward him. Ivan sends the front of his skull crashing into Tchu’s forehead, knocking him silly. With ease, Stanislav grabs Tchu and lifts him into the air, pressing him twice above his head in a gorilla press, before dumping him to the mat. Stanislav rains boots down on Tchu’s midsection three times, rocking and shaking the mat with each blow, before resting on boot on his body in a most careless cover.

1…kickout by Tchu.

Nick: No problem there.

Ivan looks almost surprised, and kicks Tchu and makes another booted cover.

1…kickout by Tchu.

Richard: This is kind of funny.

Stanislav roars and walks away from Tchu, pointing at the referee and accusing him of a "slow count."

Nick: Is this guy for real?

Tchu gets to his knees and coughs, while Ruslan screams for Ivan to turn around. Ivan is oblivious, however, as he continues to berate the referee, and Tchu stands upright. The Inhuman Being rebounds off the ropes and runs straight at Ivan. Ivan turns just as Tchu is on him, and absorbs a hard clothesline across the chest. The ref dodges to the side while Ivan staggers backward into the ropes, rebounding into Tchu. Tchu wraps his arms around Ivan’s waist and lifts, slowly, in an attempt to suplex Stanislav. Ivan roars as he’s lifted off the mat and dumped to the side in a strained, but effective belly to belly suplex.

The crowd goes ballistic.

Ruslan covers his face with his hat again.

Nick: Holy crap!!

Richard: Even I can give props for… no... no I can’t.

Ivan hits the mat hard and rolls out of the ring once again, leaving Tchu to stand with the referee. Ruslan rushes over to Ivan and checks on him, helping him to his feet. Alexei grabs Ivan by the face and looks straight at him, muttering something and nodding. Stanislav nods and looks back at Tchu, before climbing to the apron. He points at the referee and screams something to the effect of "No slow counting, da?" and then climbs into the ring once more.

Ruslan, on the other hand, slips around the ring so he is behind Tchu and hops to the apron, screaming. Tchu glances over at Ruslan, just once, and it’s enough for Ivan to lurch forward. Stanislav throws a wide, long haymaker, using his height and reach to his full advantage, and nails Tchu on the jaw, sending him sprawling to the mat. Ruslan cackles madly and hops back to the floor, proud of himself and gives a thumbs up to the angry crowd. Stanislav goes right to work. He grabs Tchu and lifts him high in the air, only to bring him down in an inverted atomic drop. Tchu yelps and falls to his knees, only to take a knee of Stanislav’s in the jaw for good measure. Lying on the mat, blinking up at the lights, they are quickly blotted out as Stanislav looms over Tchu and drops an elbow over his neck. Ivan rises and drops another elbow, and then makes a cover.

1…2…kickout by Tchu!

Stanislav glowers at the referee and rehooks the leg.

1…kickout by Tchu.

Ivan slaps the mat with his hand and hooks the leg again.

1..kickout by Tchu.

Ivan roars and gets to his feet, yelling at the referee. Ruslan reaches in and grabs Tchu’s leg with one hand and reaches into his pocket for a small, metal baton. He pulls Tchu out of the ring while Stanislav keeps the referee busy.

Nick: Whoa!! He’s cheating!!

Richard: Wow, you really worked hard to be at this level of commentary, didn’t you?

Ruslan flicks his wrist, and the baton elongates to about a foot. He waits until Tchu is standing and swings, but Tchu ducks and Ruslan hits the steel post, letting out a CLANG and dropping the baton. He stands, stunned, as Tchu stares straight at him. Ruslan looks to the left, and the right, and tries to make a break for it, but Tchu grabs him by the back of his overcoat. Tchu throws the overcoat up over Ruslan’s head, blinding him, and then kicks Ruslan in the ass. Ruslan runs straight forward, blinded and booted, and slams headfirst into the protective barrier and falls prone to the floor. Stanislav hears the commotion and turns, but Tchu is already on the top turnbuckle. He leaps and dropkicks Ivan in the chest, but Stanislav manages to absorb most of the blow.

Ivan takes three steps backwards and shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

Nick: He has to capitalize here!

Tchu rushes forward and grabs Ivan, whipping him into the ropes. Stanislav thunders against the ropes and rebounds into a kick. Still winded, Stanislav doubles over. Tchu hooks Ivan’s head and plants him into the mat with a DDT!

Crowd: TCHU!! TCHU!! TCHU!!

Tchu hops on top of Ivan and grabs his head in a headlock, applying pressure and remaining behind the large Russian. Ivan thrashes and tries to press himself up from his seated position, but Tchu drives a knee into Stanislav’s back and pushes him back down. Clawing at the mat, The Russian Bear lurches forward again, and again Tchu pulls him back to a seated position. Third time, however, Ivan manages to lean forward and get on his hands and knees, with Tchu wrapping his legs around Ivan’s waist and letting himself be lifted.

Stanislav thrashes while Tchu holds on for dear life. Ivan tries to grab his legs and pull him off, but his rage and confusion overtakes his concentration. Looking around the ring, his jaw jutting while Tchu wrenches the hold on harder, Ivan thunders backwards toward a turnbuckle in an attempt to squash his adversary.

Tchu, however, lets go at just the last moment and curls up in a ball at the base of the turnbuckle. Stanislav slams his considerable back against the turnbuckle and staggers forward, believing he’s crushed his opponent. Ivan grins and raises his arms proudly before the crowd, who continues to cheer Tchu’s name. Tchu rushes forward behind the bewildered communist and dropkicks the back of Ivan’s knee, sending him toppling like a redwood, face first into the mat!

Nick: He’s got Stanislav really reeling now!

Tchu grabs Ivan’s leg and wrenches on an ankle lock, eliciting a roar of pain and frustration from the larger wrestler. Ruslan begins to come to and pockets his baton, before climbing up to his feet and wiping his eyes.

Stanislav reaches forward and, using his considerable reach, grips the lower rope, causing a rope break. Tchu reluctantly releases the hold, but goes straight back to work on the fallen Russian. He jumps over Stanislav and runs to the second turnbuckle, facing Ivan, and hops up. He jumps from the second turnbuckle, poised for a legdrop, but Stanislav surges to his feet. Tchu hits Ivan’s back as he rises, flipping himself backwards and onto his neck with a sickening ‘thud’ while Ivan merely stands, unaware of what just happened!

Richard: Ivan’s most potent move yet! Getting up!

Stanislav turns to Alexei, who points to Tchu and nods. He turns to Tchu, seeing him lying on his back, and wastes no time capitalizing. He lifts Tchu effortlessly and drops him in a backbreaker. Stanislav lifts him again and sends him to the ropes, on the rebound, he levels Tchu with a thunderous clothesline!!

Richard: He could have taken Tchu’s head off!!

Stanislav grabs Tchu by the hair and tosses him into the corner. Following immediately, Stanislav grabs Tchu’s chin and wrenches his head back, exposing his chest, and throws three huge fists into Tchu’s chest.

Tchu roars, trying to shrug off the blows, and throws an elbow. The bow hits Stanislav’s temple, but he manages to shrug it off and throws three more hard rights into Tchu’s body.

Nick: A lesser man would have crumbled by now, but Tchu can’t fight this off forever.

Ivan laughs in Tchu’s face and moves his head closer, glowering at him. Tchu responds with a headbutt, and hits Stanislav in the nose. Ivan growls and takes one step backwards, roaring in pain. Tchu, gasping for air and his chest totally red, hops up to sit on the top turnbuckle. However, Ruslan dives in the air and grabs his ankle, catching him and preventing him from jumping. Ruslan hangs, his feet dangling in the air, and screams in Russian for Ivan to finish him.

Stanislav surges straight at Tchu and throws a high clothesline, nailing the distracted Tchu, and sends him hurling backwards off the top turnbuckle to the floor.

Richard: Holy crap!!

Ruslan falls to his hands and knees and scurries away, while Tchu lies motionless outside. Stanislav laughs and raises his arms triumphantly again, bellowing at the crowd. The crowd, however, doesn’t return his happiness and boos him. Stanislav shrugs, uncaring of the crowd’s opinion, and climbs out of the ring. Tchu begins to stir, but not enough to get away from the Russian Bear. Stanislav hoists Tchu up over his head and chucks him into the ring, sending him rolling to the opposite end. Stanislav hops to the apron and climbs into the ring.

Richard: Houston, Tchu’s gotta problem.

Stanislav leans forward, grabs Tchu, and lifts him again, crunching his shoulder with a shoulderbreaker!

Nick: He’s starting to take him apart now. If that big lug hits too many more of those moves, I’m afraid it’s over.

Stanislav grins and properly pins Tchu now, smelling blood.

1…2….kickout by Tchu!

The crowd pops loudly as Stanislav looks up in disbelief. Instead of pinning Tchu again, he lifts him in a bearhug and squeezes him. Tchu yells in pain while Stanislav carries him around the ring, like a rag doll, and wrenches the hold on harder.

Nick: He’s finally learned his lesson. Ivan isn’t messing around anymore. He’s going to try to eliminate him now!

Tchu screams in pain and weakly drives his elbows into Stanislav’s head, but he only manages to cause more damage to himself while Stanislav wrenches his back again, reestablishing his hold. The ref checks Tchu, who shakes his head defiantly, while Stanislav laughs maniacally. Tchu grabs Stanislav’s head and punches him, twice, only for Ivan to squeeze harder, seemingly enveloping the smaller wrestler. Tchu winces hard, once, and suddenly goes limp.

Nick: Uh… what happened?

The referee quickly checks Tchu.

Nick: I think he killed him!

Stanislav doesn’t let go of the bearhug, while the referee lifts Tchu’s hand once and it falls.

"DYAAHAAHAA!!"

He checks Tchu’s hand again, lifting it, and it falls. Tchu’s hand is lifted one last time, and as the referee releases it the Anti-Prime lets out a scream of defiance and leaves his hand, clenched in a fist, up in the air!

Nick: He’s still in it!!!

Richard: God Dammit!!

Stanislav bellows and squeezes harder, but Tchu keeps his fist up, before raining blows on Stanislav’s forehead. Ivan roars and brings his head back, headbutting Tchu in the chest and releasing him. Tchu falls to his back, grasping his chest and similarly hobbling to a knee as pain courses through his back. Ivan shakes his head and rubs his eyes, whilst Ruslan hops to the apron and starts to direct traffic. Stanislav nods to Ruslan and walks over to Tchu. He leans forward, grinning wickedly, and lifts Tchu by the head. Stanislav hooks Tchu in a suplex position and snaps him up.

Richard: Uh oh…

Ruslan hops from one foot to the next, screaming "Finish him, Comrade!" at the top of his lungs.

Stanislav holds Tchu up for a moment, before he starts to feel Tchu start to wriggle and try to come free. Stanislav growls and struggles, as Tchu begins to wrestle more and more. Ivan begins to lean backwards in order to finish the suplex, but at just the right moment, Tchu slips free, slides behind Stanislav, grips his head in a sleeper, and drops him, this time properly, with Downfall!!

Nick: DOWNFALL!!

Stanislav’s head thunders against the mat, causing a reverberation so great it nearly knocks Ruslan off the apron, and Tchu scrambles to cover the stunned man.

1…2…3!!!

Winner: Tchu!!!!

Ivan tries to kick out, but he’s too late. Tchu releases him as the referee raises his arm, while Ruslan rushes the ring and checks on Ivan. Ivan sits up, still dazed, and shakes his head, trying to get his bearings.

Ivan is still shaking his head and Tchu is lying on the mat, attempting to pull himself up by the ropes.

Tyler Nelson: Lovely… just lovely!

The CEO struts out onto the stage as Tchu is lying on the bottom rope and Stanislav is now sitting in a corner, rubbing the back of his head. Ruslan slipped back to the outside to better tend to his comrade. Meanwhile the fans are taking it to Nelson, who is standing at the top of the ramp.

Tyler Nelson: That was a wonderful match. Congratulations, you just did everything I hoped you would do. But now it’s time for business to pick up.

"Aerials" by System of a Down starts and the crowd begins to boo even louder as the Universal Champion appears through the curtained entrance and comes to stand beside Nelson. Obviously visible in his right hand is his custom made silver DeMarini bat.

Tchu is now up to one knee in the ring and Ivan has not moved, instead keeping his eyes fixated on Nelson the whole time.

Killean has a look of pure hatred on his face. Nelson pats him on the shoulder, causing the champ to slowly make his way towards the ring.

Tyler Nelson: (without mic this time) Get him! Take his head off!

Nick: This match is over! Something needs to be done here.

Killean gets to ringside as the fans continue to drown him in heat. He hasn’t taken his eyes off "The Inhuman Being" yet. Tchu is now back to his feet, but he is not all that stable. He is holding his back, showing the effects from some clubbing blows dealt by Stanislav.

Richard: He’s going to put Tchu out for good! Yes!

Nick: This can’t happen!

Killean slowly gets into the ring, still keeping his eyes locked on Matt Ward. He comes to stand mere inches from Tchu who is still unsteady on his feet. Killean puts his left hand on Tchu’s right arm to steady him and then looks at his own right arm, which is outstretched and holding the silver bat. He twists the weapon as it sparkles under the arena lights. Tchu then realizes he is about to have his ass handed to him so he does the only thing he can do.

Nick: Right hand by Tchu!

Ivan meanwhile has risen to his feet in the other corner. Killean is barely fazed by the shot and notices Ivan standing tall now. Killean locks eyes with his intended target…

…and shoves Tchu aside! He drops the bat and charges towards Ivan. The impact is heard throughout the arena as Ivan crumples backwards to the mat lying back in the corner he had risen from.

Richard: SUPREME JUSTICE!

Nick: MY GOD! What an impact! Nelson is clapping! Wait… Killean wasn’t here for Tchu at all! Nelson sent him on a hit of sorts against "The Russian Bear"!

Richard: Great work Sherlock…

Killean rises to his feet with a large smile on his face. He turns just in time to see Alexei Ruslan charge at him, extendable steel pipe in his hands. He swings and connects directly with Killean’s temple to the approval of the fans. Killean stumbles back, holding the side of his face.

Nick: What a shot that was!

Richard: The champ is seething now!

Killean turns to look at Ruslan. His face is painted red and enraged, practically foaming at the mouth. How dare he lay his hands on the Universal Champion. Killean removes the cracked sunglasses and tosses them to the side. Ruslan charges again and swings. But this time, the pipe is caught by "The Supreme Machine" and he quickly grabs the Russian comrade and turns to deliver a bone crunching spine buster.

Nick: NO! That was a sickening thud!

Ivan Stanislav had rolled to the outside of the ring, trying once again to regain his composure. Tchu meanwhile sat outside the ring against the barricade surrounding the ring. Tyler Nelson stood with a smile from ear to ear at the top of the ramp.

Killean went to pick up his trusty bat and waited patiently for Ruslan to get up. The manager slowly made his way up after a powerful spine buster. The crowd was trying to warn Ruslan of the weapon wielding champion but it was too late. Killean charged and just as Alexei turned, he was struck in the throat by the silver bat, Supreme Justice being modified to strike with the bat instead.

Richard: Whoa!

Nick: Whoa?! That’s all you can say? Ivan’s friend and manager could be seriously hurt!

Sure enough, Ruslan is rolling around in the ring, holding his neck. He coughs and up comes some blood. It is now slowly running out of his mouth.

Nick: We need medical help out here now! NOW!!!

Tyler Nelson watches as the medics begin to spill out from the backstage area. Ivan gets back to his feet, looking into the ring and then looking at Nelson. He knew Nelson was behind the plan, that Killean only followed what Nelson told him. Yet, he didn’t want to run to take Tyler Nelson apart. Instead, he roared and slid into the ring to protect Ruslan. Killean meanwhile ducked out the other side of the ring and made a signal to the entrance way.

Just a few seconds later, guards and police officers made their way down the ramp and into the ring. Ivan Stanislav was speechless, filled with anger at what has happened to his Alexei. He made his way to his feet and walked to the ropes, only to be held back by guards. Otherwise, Killean would be fine for the pickings.

Nick: This is despicable! Nelson and Killean think they can do this and get away with it? These guards are too much!

Richard: Who is going to stop them? You?

The medical staff load Alexei Ruslan onto a body board and then move him out of the ring and onto a stretcher. Killean raises his arms, bat in hand and the crowd really gives it to him. Ivan is angered, being restrained by the guards. He could break free, but he knows Nelson is the true devil behind the attack.

Meanwhile, Tchu disappeared through the fans and Tyler Nelson stood by the curtain, happy with what he has seen.

As Killean watches as security escorts a wounded Alexei and an angered Ivan Stanislav backstage, more security personnel and a few police officers as well make their way into the arena through the numerous entrances in the crowd. Most of the entrances are blocked within a minute and even the curtain arena on the stage is now occupied by authorized security and one armed guard.

Nick: What is Killean doing? He is practically directing traffic with security here. They are all over the place!

Richard: Best security money can buy Nick. Look at all of them.

Killean motions to a few guards in the stands that one of the entrances is lightly protected. The guards then follow his instructions and split up to cover the entrance.

Killean Sirrajin: Now…

The crowd continues its assault on the Universal Champion. Some beer cups remain in the ring from just a couple minutes earlier when Killean saw fit to attack Ivan and injure Alexei Ruslan.

Killean Sirrajin: Now, security. You all know your duties. From this point on, until I leave this ring, not one person is to leave this arena and not one person is going to enter either. If someone saw fit to leave during one of my appearances just a few short minutes ago, you don’t deserve to be let back in. I don’t care if you paid for your seat. Fuck ya.

The crowd boos louder and even some chants of asshole start up.

Richard: Uh oh, they are talking about you again Nick.

Nick: …

Killean Sirrajin: I don’t care if someone needs to take a piss. These empty beer cups should help. Again… fuck ya.

Killean picks up an empty cup from the canvas and tosses it to a few fans in the front row, who proceed to give PRIME’s most hated superstar a one finger salute.

Killean Sirrajin: But now, it’s time to get to the point. There is one person that security has been authorized to let enter this arena. And no, it’s not Tyler Nelson either. Even he has been banned from ringside during my time. Hey, I’m Universal Champion; I have plenty of pull around here.

Nick: I honestly didn’t think this crowd could get any louder. Last week, Sirrajin was practically booed out of the building. This week, the stands are beginning to shake with the noise being made.

Richard: People just can’t appreciate someone like Killean. Just because he has started to think about himself, doesn’t make him a bad guy.

CROWD: ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!

Nick: You heard them.

Killean Sirrajin: At this time, I have only one person to invite to this ring to join me. Some would say that he is part of the old guard in PRIME history. However in recent weeks, he has proven to be a contender and a threat in today’s PRIME as well. He is a Hall of Famer… he is a former Intense, Tag Team and Global Champion… he is the current Hall of Fame Champion and the number one contender to this Universal Champion…

The crowd starts to change to cheers as they figure out pretty quickly who Killean is speaking of.

Killean Sirrajin: So Ignatius, I know you’re back there. I’d like to invite you to the ring at this time.

Chants of "IGGY! IGGY" begin throughout the crowd and they just continue to get louder as the second pass.

Killean Sirrajin: Come on Iggy. I know you’re watching on a monitor in the back.

A few seconds later, "Surfing with the Alien" hits the sound system and Ignatius shows up on the ramp to a pretty large pop from the crowd. He doesn’t really take his time to serenade the fans. Instead he boots it to the ring while security plugs up the entrance on the stage and enters, trying to figure out why exactly he has been invited out to the ring by the most hated individual in the game today.

Nick: What could Killean possibly want Ignatius out here for? Killean has already attacked Ivan Stanislav and his manager. Could he have the same planned for the number one contender to his title?

Richard: Killean is a smart man. I’m sure it’s not that simple.

"The Eternal Sunrise" stands mere feet from Killean, who just returned to the center of the ring after fetching another mic from the time keeper. He kindly hands it over to Ignatius, who accepts it after trying look into the soul of "The PRIME Choice" to see what exactly the meaning behind the invite is.

Killean Sirrajin: Iggy, I thank you for taking the opportunity to join me out here. You and I have been friends in the last 2 years since I joined PRIME, wouldn’t you say?

Ignatius nods, the fans strangely quiet now. They must be just as perplexed as Nick and Richard.

Killean Sirrajin: Good, I was hoping you’d say that. Now, friends have a certain bond, to look out for one another and to help one another as well. And that’s why you are here Iggy, cause I want to help you.

Nick: Please don’t tell me this is some trick to get Ignatius out of the title match at ReVolution 100.

Killean Sirrajin: Now this has nothing to do with the match at ReVolution 100 between you and I. That match is booked and will be happening, with the most prized championship on the line as well. But this isn’t about that. This is about…

Ignatius shifts his weight as Sirrajin reaches out with his arm and points to a piece of paper that Ignatius has been hiding in his hands. Lisieux opens his hand to reveal it.

Killean Sirrajin: …that. The item that is in your hand. I know you were just standing backstage, looking it over. I know in your head you are cursing Toshiaki Motoki for putting you in the position to make perhaps 50% less money than all of the other superstars on the PRIME roster.

Nick: What the hell is he talking about?

Killean Sirrajin: I won’t explain in great detail because these peons don’t need to hear particulars. It’s a long story, but I know you are suffering right now. You are living paycheck to paycheck and that still doesn’t cover some of the basic expenses. Being on the road wrestling is not a cheap experience for a wrestler either, but double that for you right? I could only imagine how frustrating it could be for you.

Nick: Yeah, that coming from a guy who makes more money right now than anyone else in PRIME. Like he could really understand.

Richard: Ummmm, he just said that nimwad. He said he could only imagine it.

Nick: …

The crowd is now starting to get more vocal again. Numerous peoples are booing "The Supreme Machine" as he raises the mic to his mouth again.

Killean Sirrajin: It’s simple really. I’m here to give you an offer Ignatius.

Cue the heavy heat.

Killean Sirrajin: Think about it man. You could return to the high life, the successful life with plenty of money in your pocket and plenty of food to put on the table. You are lookin’ a little skinny there my friend.

Sirrajin pokes at Iggy a little as Iggy looks down, the expression on his face one of thought and little else. Ignatius Lisieux has never had such a blank look in his eyes.

Killean Sirrajin: But seriously, I’m offering you a way out Ignatius. Back home, I have my hands in a business that you could do well in. Your current debts will be paid off completely. You’ll have your own home, your own car and your own life. Here in PRIME, you’ll return to your former glory. You used to defeat the best of wrestlers with little to no effort. Point is it’s a clear choice. You can go back to what you once were with the success, the wealth and the choices. Or you could continue on your current path of poverty, debt problems and limited success.

Nick: I’m speechless…

Richard: You kidding? I’d be diving into that offer quite fast if I was in Lisieux’s shoes.

Nick: Agreed, it may be simple as that, but then again something is never simple when Killean is the mind behind it. He is trying to mess with the main event at ReVolution 100. I can smell the deceit…

Richard: No, I just farted.

Killean Sirrajin: Oh and I can’t leave this out. Whatever your choice is Iggy; know that there will not be consequences either way. This is just a friend helping a friend out of a funk he is in. Tyler Nelson has nothing to do with this… no one else does. This is all Killean now Iggy.

Nick: It’s crazy to think there won’t be repercussions. Killean is one of the most dastardly individuals we have seen in PRIME.

Richard: But Killean is smart. He knows what to do and when to do it. He’s trying to be nice.

The fans begin another chorus of "ASSHOLE!" chants.

Nick: Nice? By listening to the crowd you should know how bad Killean really is.

Ignatius Lisieux has had his mind on every word of Killean’s. It was true, his life is in shambles. He made barely any money in PRIME because of what was taken from him by Vampir Nosferatu and the rest of the Dark Age. Plenty of his paycheck went back to PRIME, to repay the debts he owed in return for his career being saved. It is a difficult life and Ignatius had to admit the offer was good. Killean is an old friend to Ignatius and he trusted him, regardless of Killean’s recent actions.

Ignatius shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs so he can form a complete sentence. Meanwhile, Killean moves in for the final sell… and the crowd totally berates him for it. He places a hand on Lisieux’s shoulder.

Killean Sirrajin: Don’t you trust an old friend Iggy? I can make it all happen. All it takes is your agreement and POOF! Your life is back on track again as it was intended to be.

Ignatius raises the mic to his lips, finally ready to speak for the first time.

Ignatius Lisieux: I… it’s a generous offer Killean and yeah I trust you. But it’s a tough decision to make. It’s certainly enticing. Look, let me think on it for a week. It’s honestly a big decision to make.

Killean nods his head and smiles in approval.

Killean Sirrajin: Certainly! Take the week, think it over while you stress to pay the bills once again and let me know.

Nick: That was low!

Richard: It’s the truth! And look… Ignatius knows it!

The crowd is chanting something incoherent. They cannot trust Killean and his promises. They have had their hearts broken before too.

Ignatius bows his head, once again thinking hard about what he has been offered.

Ignatius Lisieux: Next week, I’ll let you know. I promise.

Ignatius looks bothered by the decision he needs to make. He knew he deserved more in his life and now, no strings attached he was being given the offer to be set free. It was something he’d only imagined since that fateful night. The look on his face showed it too. His face full of emotion and thought.

Killean meanwhile puts a hand on Lisieux’s shoulder again, talking to him quietly as the crowd continues the on going heat, chanting for Lisieux to reject the offer. Ignatius begins to nod, showing his serious consideration for the offer. The video then fades out, leaving Ignatius looking at Killean as he talks, just like he has this entire segment

The motherf*cking Gap Band snaps your attention towards the entryway and signals the beginning of our evening's very special tag team encounter. No offense to the team of Business and Pleasure, currently making their way out courtesy of "You Dropped A Bomb On Me." Don't tell that to Joey Melton, though, because it would bum his experience right now, as he tries to get the crowd to sing along with the entrance music.

While Melton and his partner, Lindsay Troy, step off the ramp and enter the ring, a buzz fills the crowd, preparing for an entrance that, up until now, had lost its buzz. Kyle "Velocity" Lamen had been in more than a slump lately. More than a rut. It was damn close to a trench with the hard luck he'd found between the PRIME ropes. The last straw came the previous week, when his streak of consecutive Revolutions came to an end. Cal Ripken he was not, but it still meant something to him. And then it was over.

But this week would be different. This week, unexpectedly, was the start of something new. With the hiring of Kevin "Ebola III" Sandusky, Kyle would get one more chance to reunite the greatest team of his professional career. CCW had seen them, but PRIME was still new. They may not be ready for Terminal Velocity.

"Bloodclot" by Rancid rocks through the crowd as they remain on their feet. It wouldn't be fair to qualify TV as one of PRIME's most popular teams, but Lamen was certainly one of the most popular stars. Melton and Troy were no slouches in the popularity department, either, so this was a win-win situation for the fans. Who to cheer for came down to whose moves they liked more. Or it just came down to cheering for Lindsay because she had boobs and most wrestling fans liked/had never seen boobs.

Sandusky and Lamen burst from the back, full of the kind of energy that both named them and identified them to the crowds. Their newly-matching ring attire has them ready for battle as they slap hands on the way down the ramp. They quickly slide into the ring and get checked out by the ref, eager to begin this one. Lamen opts to start for his team, while Troy begins for B&P.

The two were still slightly strangers. Kyle's last match was an inexplicable under-a-minute defeat at the hands of Troy, just two weeks ago. He was eager to make up for that mishap, and she was willing to give him the benefit of a doubt. With a handshake and a ring of the bell, they begin to circle.

Lindsay throws a high roundhouse kick on the move, and Kyle is quick to duck it. He swings into a back-spinning leg sweep, but she is light enough on her feet to dodge it. As she comes back to the ground, she traps Kyle in a front facelock. He tries to roll out of it, but everyone tries to roll out of it, so she blocks that. So he rolls backwards, putting his shoulders on the mat. As she follows and attempts a press, the lock loosens and Kyle flies up, slipping behind and leaving Lindsay face-down on the mat.

Before Kyle can secure a better position, she fires a hard elbow back, creating enough space to shift up to a knee. He keeps a rear waistlock and remains behind her as she gets back to her feet, looking for a reversal. She finds it with a forward roll, which Kyle tries to turn into a rolling crutch cradle by bridging back. She's only pinned for a second, though, as the one count is registered just as she pushes to the side and slips out of position. She spins to her feet right as Kyle nips up, and the two square off.

This time Kyle fires a kick, and Lindsay catches it, dropping into a small dragon screw leg whip that tosses Kyle into the Terminal Velocity corner. He prepares to move back out, but Kevin Sandusky tags himself in, assuring Kyle that he wants a chance with the girl. Troy says something to him and beckons him toward the center of the ring.

The former Ebola comes right in over the top rope, and bounces into a wheel kick. Lindz ducks it and comes back with a dropkick, but Ebola dodges it and drops to a knee right underneath her. With nowhere to go, Troy's dropkick becomes a self-inflicted backbreaker.

While she rolls around in pain, Kevin drops a hard elbow to the chest, not even taking a moment to consider the gender issue. After all, Troy wouldn't hold back, so why should he? This is what he tells himself as he puts the boots to Lindsay's frame. She rolls toward her own corner, but Sandusky grabs her by the ankle and drags her back toward the center. Bouncing helplessly on one foot, she twists one way, loading up, then spinshard in the opposite direction, doing a complete 360 degree horizontal spin, that just so happened to include an enziguiri that clocked Kevin. He stumbles, dazed, as Lindsay rolls toward her corner and tags in Joey Melton.

Playing to the roaring crowd, Melton takes his sweet time approaching Sandusky, who is still sleepwalking out there in the center of the ring. He showboats all the way up to Kevin, then reels back for a punch - only to watch Kevin snap out of it and give him the old thumb-in-the-eye treatment.

Blinded, and distinctly tasting his own medicine, Melton is now the stumbling one, waving his hands frantically in front of him to find solid ground. He gets it temporarily when Sandusky bounds off the ropes and nails him with a running front dropkick. The force knocks him back toward the ropes on his backside, and he uses the opportunity to bail from the ring.

While he's taking his sweet time out there, Kevin moves back and makes the tag to Kyle, who vaults back in, ready to go. Melton finally rolls in and the two lock up. Kyle, more eager to expend energy on a lockup, backs his opponent to a neutral corner, then gives the clean break. As Melton walks back out for another lockup, Kyle gives him a high kick right to the head, catching the old schooler by surprise. He falls back into the turnbuckle and Kyle follows up by leaping into his lap feet-first, setting up for and following through on a textbook monkey flip, complete with Joey shouting "whoOOOAAAAOOOhhh" as he flew overhead.

He hits and stays flat, giving Kyle the time to hit the ropes and deliver a Rolling Thunder-esque splash for a count.

1...

2...

Troy, entering the ring on her own terms, kicks Kyle in the head to break up the count.

Kyle is up, and Sandusky is in the ring. It was - and still is - a friendly match, but when Business is a part of your team name, you've gotta be ready to ramp it up. Terminal Velocity takes offense and advances on her, despite the referee's urging otherwise. Lindsay, halfway through the ropes, turns back towars the ring, prompting the ref to try and stop her...only to turn his back on the dual action low blow that Melton just gave the two Ks.

When the ref turns to address that situation, Lindsay springboards up in the B&P corner and flies back with a moonsault pump dropkick that floors both of them. What happens next is a bit of a blur, but four-man...er, four-person brawl is the best explanation.

Somewhere in the fray, Melton is tossed to the outside by a two-man hiptoss from TV. They turn their attention back towards the ring and give Troy a dual dropkick, starting to show the form of old. Which is what makes the next event so disappointing.

Lamen, sensing the end, heads to the outside apron and the ropes. Sandusky sees him out there and picks Troy up in an electric chair position, expecting a Doomsdaycanrana or something similarly spectacular to put this one away. Kyle never saw his partner, though, and he had something else in mind.

He leaps from the top...onto Melton, who recovers just in time to curse and be pounded into the security mat by the flying plancha.

Back in the ring, Kevin watches it go down, and lets up on his secure hold on Troy for a split-second - mostly so he can hold up his hands and be all like, "WTF?" With that opening, Lindsay flips back, upending Sandusky and driving him into the mat with a reverse hurricanrana. She makes the quick cover and he's too dazed to kick out in time.

1...

2...

3.

The bell rings and The Gap Band begins again. Outside the ring, Kyle rises and sees his partner, sitting up, holding his head. The ref is raising Troy's hand. Lamen asks what happened, and Sandusky can only hold his hands out in frustration.

It was nothing, really. A blip. A simple miscommunication between two guys who hadn't seen each other - much less tagged together - in years. It certainly didn't need to be cause for alarm - Terminal Velocity would have other chances to get on the same page.

Melton and Troy take the high toad, not willing to rub in the win. Of course, another win in a sparse division just put them in line for a shot at the tag titles held by the A-List. That is, if the A-List could get on the same page long enough to defend them.

As Business and Pleasure disappear to the back, Lamen is distant, staring off into the crowd, taking this loss particularly hard. Sandusky, sensing the problem, goes over to check in with him, but Kyle pulls away, quickly exiting the ring before his partner could calm him down.

With a slow turn to look out at the arena one more time, Kyle sighs, then disppears to the back. Sandusky, still confused by his partners seeming overreaction, gives a slow chase as we cut away.

Our misdirected Scottish friend Adam, fresh from a highly-secretive surveillance mission (or a run for fresh coffee – depending who you believe) returns to the once-shared, now-divided, locker-room to find a surprising discovery awaits him...

Adam: Johnny! Iggy!

Yep, it appears that things have finally been smoothed out with the split in Team Superface, much to the relief of all involved (and the great surprise of Adam, who’s managed to spill scalding hot coffee down his leg with the shock of seeing the reunion).

Adam: Ahhh... buggery!

He shakes his leg to try and clear the burning liquid from his jeans before it starts to hit his skin. It’s a bit of a worrying situation to see a French-Canadian skater-styled dude and an ageing classic wrestler tearing the trousers off an innocent Scotsman. But, thankfully, it’s not as bad as it may have appeared to a bystander who happened to walk past at the wrong time.

Adam: Cheers guys - saved me a bit of trouble there!

He looks slightly embarrassed standing in just his boxers and boots, so looks about for something to cover himself with – knowing Iggy’s discomfort (putting it mildly) as having the Scot near-naked around him. A towel suffices for now, but it wasn’t anything permanent and certainly wouldn’t do for the rest of the night.

Adam: Umm, yeah... I’m gonna grab a quick taxi to the nearest mall and grab another pair of jeans – I know neither of you guys’ stuff’ll fit me - can I borrow one of your phones?

Just then; the image of Noble’s "mobile telephonicular device" (roughly the size of two small saloon cars, minus the portability) springs into Adam’s mind, causing him to emit a slight grin of amusement.

Adam: On second thoughts; don’t trouble yourself Johnny – I already know how to work Iggy’s.

Ignatius, who was obviously thinking the same thing as Adam was, hands over his ultra-slim cellphone with a wink and an amused smirk, (telepathic comedy rules!)

Adam: Before I head, y’mind filling me in on what I missed during my recon- (he stumbles) uhh, coffee trip?

Noble raises an eyebrow at Adam’s character slip, but lets it slide.

Noble: Ignatius and I just had a good ol’ man-to-man, figured out it’s all been unfortunate misunderstandings the past few weeks.

He grabs Ignatius and pulls him into his huge chest with one massive arm.

Noble: All good as new again...

Seeing the ‘group hug’ glint on Johnny Noble’s eye reminds Adam that he has new jeans to pick up - and sharp-ish. He quickly reminds Johnny of his trouser-less predicament and makes his exit – just in time to avoid any rib-crushing team bonding.

Adam: Close one...

He starts flicking through the phone, completely confused by the hi-tech interface, alternately befuddled and amused by the screens and menus he ends up viewing.

Adam: Oh Iggy… a picture of yourself in a mirror? For shame!

He continues through the phone, chortling as he goes at times – calling a taxi now the last thing on his mind, but then suddenly he stumbles across something entirely different…

Adam: Message received 18:59, sender... Hayley Noble?

This was big news to the "Number One Son".

The camera opens up in a darkened room in, presumably, the backstage area of the arena. We can see nothing but a figure standing by a window, low levels of light cascading through the blinds, illuminating various parts of the man’s obviously well-toned body. He turns, briefly, to face the camera, sufficiently acknowledging its presence, but the combination of the darkness and his scruffy blonde hair blocking his face and his identity remains a mystery if one were to recognise him at all. However, his anonymity, is transient, such is the way of debuting warriors.

Voice: My name is Jonathan Winters. Some of you may recognise me and some of you may not. Either way, I don’t much care.

Winters folds his arms, still glaring out of the window intently, his muscles sufficiently highlight by his tight yellow t-shirt.

Winters: I have been called many things in my time. A traitor, an ignorant prick, a loner, anti-social and undoubtedly much worse in addition. You’d think I’’d want to stand here and dismiss the rumours, try to defend myself in some feeble way, desperately attempting to vie for the approval of my new colleagues and employers, hell, even the audience. You only think that because you don’t know me, but look on the bright side, you probably never will.

Winters smiles, lowers head and then shakes it, obviously finding something amusing.

Winters: Truth of it is, I just don’t care how you all perceive me. It’s not on the top of wish list and I guarantee it never will be. I’m just here to win, I’m here to tear apart anyone that may get in my way...

Out of nowhere Winters begins to chuckle to himself.

Winters: Hell, I promised myself I wouldn‘t do this. I promised myself I wouldn’t stand here, like a damned retard, and unnecessarily hype myself like all of these other losers.

Winters turns to face the camera, his smile dissipating as quickly as it formed.

Winters: Guess I broke that promise, but at least I can back what I say up. How many others can sincerely make that claim?


With that Winters turns toward the window once more.

Winters: Now go. I already gave you far more than I agreed to and much more than I wanted to.

Anticipation seeps through the limbs of one Silvio Fiore.

Browsing down the corridor serves to present him with enough time to realize the conditions in which he was set to endure. He’d barely been here two weeks, and yet already he’d stepped on the toes of arguably the most intense of men on the roster.

To say he wasn’t timid would be false on mention.

There was no turning back at this point, however, and in knowing this, the Italian Breed decided to make the best out of a bad...and possibly bloody...situation. He takes a turn to the right of the corridor as he stumbles upon his assigned locker room. Taking a deep breath, he places his duffel bag on the concrete ground below and reaches deep inside of his pocket for the room key. After much hassle, he manages to snag the keys, inserting the desired one inside of the lock and twisting it.

But something was wrong.

The absence of a click places Fiore in a sense of bewilderment, as he opens the already unlocked door. Upon entering the room, he notices that the lights are off, which only furthers the question as to why his door had been unlocked. Brushing it aside for a moment, he flips the light switch, igniting a glow that illuminates the room. It is then that he finds the solution to his inquiry.

A solution in the form of Vangelus Olsig.

"May I....help you?"

Fiore places his duffel bag down as he gazes at the smiling Vangelus Olsig whom had been sitting the dark room, awaiting Silvio Fiore. In response to the verbal motion, Vangelus pushes himself off of the wooden bench and browses over towards Silvio Fiore, smiling as he stalks his challenger for tonight.

Vangelus Olsig: No, my friend...the question is may I help you. Tonight, our paths cross in a match that I know all too well...and that you are oblivious too. Ask the Karina Wolfendens. Ask the Kyle Lamens. Ask the Emilio Rages. In a matter of a few weeks, they’ve all experienced what it’s like to step into the Intense Division...and I guarantee you that neither of them, including Karina, have the balls to experience it again.

Taking a moment to place his hand on the shoulder of a less than amused Silvio Fiore, Vangelus lowers his tone so that it serves to send chills down the spine of his opposer.

Vangelus Olsig: I’m afraid that you’ll suffer the very same fate.

A small chuckle erupts from the lungs of the champion as he removes his hands from Fiore’s shoulder and positions himself, back first, against the cold white wall.

Silvio Fiore: If you are done, I’d like to prepare myself for my supposed "doom."

Silvio states, greeting Vangelus with an emotion-less smile before proceeding unto the previously occupied bench to begin his pre-match rituals.

Vangelus Olsig: Was that supposed to be some sort of sarcastic joke? Because let me assure you, Silvio...this is no joking matter. In that right tonight, I am going to te-...

Silvio Fiore: Where did I place that wrist tape? I know I put it in here somewhere.

Anger boils in the eyes of the Intense Champion at the thought of knowing that his tactics to bend the mind of Silvio Fiore are failing greatly. He pushes himself off of the wall and storms over to Silvio, pointing his finger in the face of the Italian who’s simply lacing his boots with little to no regard towards the figure before him.

Vangelus Olsig: You listen...you WILL respect me, okay? I am a pioneer in this industry. I am the very man who revolutionized every aspect of hardcore. I am the epitome of Intensity, which is why everyone fears me...and you will be no different than the rest, understood!?

With a swift smile, Fiore pushes himself off of the wooden bench and pats Vangelus on the back in a sarcastic manner.

Silvio Fiore: I must say that I am very proud of your accomplishments, Vangelus, but as of now, I have something just a tad bit more important to tend to.

A pat on the head this time opens the door for Silvio to brush past Vangelus and head towards the blue lockers positioned against the wall where he inserts his duffel bags.

Vangelus Olsig: Are you trying to say I’m not important!? I am the Universal Champi-....wait no, I am the Intense Champion! My name is Silvio Fi-...I mean your name is Silvio Fiore, and you will respect us, I mean m-...AAARGH!!!

Suddenly an intense roar escapes the mouth of Vangelus Olsig as he picks up the wooden bench and tosses it half-way across the room in full "Incredible Hulk" mode. With red veins present in his eyes, he turns his attention towards the very man who’s broken his concentration.

Without hesitation, he lunges himself towards Silvio Fiore, grabbing a hand full of his shirt and lifting him off of his feet, slamming his up against the cold locker with fury present in his demeanor.

Vangelus Olsig: I know what you’re trying to do, but you will NOT succeed! I am Vangelus fucking Olsig...I am the best Intense Champion in the history of this damn federation, and NO MAN will down play me, especially not some underpaid, glorified janitor!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?!

As his limbs began to shake profusely, Vangelus finally looses Fiore, allowing Silvio to slump down to his feet with a perplexed look on his face. Taking a brief second to straighten up his shirt, he addresses the champion who has now stationed himself back on the bench, grasping at his head while rocking back and forth.

Silvio Fiore: I’m not trying to psychologically destroy you Vangelus...it’s just that I’ve seen your type too many times to really be intimidated. I don’t want to kill you...don’t want you end your career...I just want to go out there and give the fans a good, contested Intense Title Match.

Taking a few steps Vangelus who now has his face buried in the palm of his hands, Silvio extends his own hands, requesting a handshake from his rattled opposer.

Silvio Fiore: Let’s go out there and give them just that, Vangelus. What do you say?

As a brief moment of silence passes, Vangelus finally lifts his face out of the palm of his hands and glares at the outstretched hand of Silvio Fiore. The rage in his eyes only seems to be growing as he violently pushes himself off of the bench and gets right in the face of Fiore. With one middle finger to his face, he gives Fiore his answer.

Vangelus Olsig: Fuck you, Fiore...Fuck you so hard!

And with that, Vangelus snatches up his Intense Championship and storms out of the room, being sure to slam the door behind him with so much force that a generic picture hanging on the wall falls to the ground below in shatters.

Lowering his extended hand, Silvio heads back to his rituals, shaking his head at the demonstration that had just taken place before him. Yet even after all of that, he only had a few choice words for Vangelus before their illustrious meeting.

"Good Luck, bro."

'I Am' begins to play. It is accompanied by booing. It isn't the loud, we hate your guts and want you to die, kind of booing you'd hear if someone like Tyler Nelson or the creator of Dora The Explorer were to be walking out but it's booing none the less.

The Grin simply goes about his business and gets into the ring. He hasn't the time, nor the care, to be bothered by what a bunch of damn fans think anyway. He hates you. What you think doesn't matter. Get used to it.

Vince Howard: Entering the ring first, from Las Vegas Nevada, it's Tony 'The Grin' GAMBLE!!!!

More booing. More ignoring from Gamble. You get the picture.

'Invincible' replaces the sounds of 'I Am' and along with that the booing is replaced by cheers. Loud cheers, the kind of cheering you hear when really hot women get ready to take their clothes off during a frat party. That kind of cheering. It's what people do for the good guys.

Vince Howard: And making his way to the ring, from Jerusalem, Israel...standing in at 7'1" and weighing in at a impressive, and imposing, 395 pounds....TITAN!!!!

Richard: Imposing doesn't even begin to cut it for description. If that man were angry at me I'd likely cry, soil myself, and have a heartattack all in one quick second.

Nick: One can only dream Richard.

With Richard giving Nick a dirty look Titan walks up to the ring, steps up onto the apron, over the top rope and BAM! Catches Gamble with a boot to the face as he tried to take and early advantage by jumping him the moment he walked in. Pretty good stragedy by Gamble, just executed poorly on this night.

Titan reaches down, pulls Gamble up by the head, throws him into the corner. Folks this throw is with authority. We're not talking about little league under hand pitching style here. We're talking about trying to throw him through the ring post kind of throwing. Titan quickly follows him in with a knee to the stomach, a forearm to the head, an elbow to the back of the head, three quickly punches to the sides and back of the head and then a stiff uppercut that sends Gamble up, off the mat, and crashing back down onto his ass in the corner of it.

Yes, you're right, not the best way to have you match start off if you're Gamble. Titan, wasting zero time, drops two quick kicks into the chest of Gamble before bending down, grabing him, and whipping him toward the other ropes and taking his head off. Instead of letting go for the Irish whip Titan holds on and drops Gamble to the mat with a furious short arm clothesline that I am pretty sure could have sent Ivan inside out. I could be wrong...but I'm pretty sure none the less.

Once more Titan grabs him and throws him into another corner. Another set of vicious punches, elbows, forearms, and knees drops Gamble, who should be getting applauded for not simply being knocked completely out or dead at this point, back to his ass once more before bending back down, lifting him up and over with a nice vertical suplex that sends Gamble back to the mat the hard way.

Wanting to waste no time Titan reaches down, picks Gamble up once more, and slams him right back down to the mat with a nice little scoop slam. You might not think that is effective, but try having someone of this size hand you your ass in that manner. It is damned effective. Scooping Gamble up once more Titan whips Gamble into the ropes once more. This time, rather out of desperation, luck, instinct, whatever you want to call it Gamble ducks under a forearm attempt and bounces off the other ropes. Just as Titan turns back around he is met with a very stiff front dropkick to the solar plexus from The Grin.

The Giant, while he doesn't go down, is stunned enough for Gamble to at least attempt to amount an offensive comeback. Still shaken, beaten, and no doubt already stiff from being thrown around thus far, Gamble quickly bounces off the ropes again and this time lands a dropkick to the knee of the gentle giant. Titan stumbles back a bit more, closer to the ropes, and is quickly caught with a flying forearm smash to his massive chest that does just enough to knock him into the ropes. With Titan leaning on the ropes, surprised by the quick flury, the Grin bounces off some ropes once more and drops Titan to the mat, where he then rolls outside of the ring, with a chop block to his right knee. More to the side of the knee than anything but effective all the same.

Cue the crowd booing as a grin starts to form on Gambles face now that he has some control of the match. Titan, on the outside, pulls himself up to his feet via use of the apron. He begins trying to work out the effect of the chop block by moving his leg up and down. At the same time Gamble scales to the top turnbuckle. Ready to unleash more high flying action on the giant and continue taking the fight to him. Just as he jumps from the top, looking for a high crossbody, Titan looks up, and the comeback is over.

Peacemaker...on the floor...with authority.

Crowd giving a holy shit chant. Crowd going nuts. Richard and Nick looking on in amazment. Titan throws Gamble back under the ropes, slides into the ring himself, covers him. This is pretty pointless as it's clear that poor Gamble will not be getting up.

One!

Two!

Three!

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of the match, by pinfall...TITAN!!!!

Once again the crowd goes nuts. They shower Titan with cheers and praise. Nick and Richard are continuing to look on in amazement.

Nick: That was..

Richard: Impressive is the only word for it Nick.

Nick: My thoughts exactly.

Johnny Noble is grabbing a pre-game meal fit for a red-blooded American man: a baked potato and some steak tips. He has about an hour before the match, so why not indulge in some carbohydratic joy?

And that joy is immediately interrupted as he hears loud voices coming up the hall towards the catering area. He looks over and sees the A-List: Illustrious Face-Eater, Chandler Tsonda (with the lovely Eleanor Kannon-Hall), and Danny Ferguson.

Illustrious Face-Eater: Methuse-fucking-lah, what’s crackin’? Grubbing up before we get NYPD’d?

Both other members of the A-List and Johnny Noble look at him, confused, before he delivers the punch line with considerable gusto.

Illustrious Face-Eater: ‘NOCK YO PUNK ASS DOWN!

Fake laughter and high-fives abound in the A-List camp as Noble looks down as his food, considerably less appetizing around the souring influence of these three.

Johnny Noble: Son, I’ve been cracking skulls since before you were born.

Danny Ferguson: What about losing to Tony Gamble at pay-per-views? Exactly how long have you been pulling that one?

The older man, as old as any two of the A-List combined, would rather not have to sit here and trade verbal jabs.

Johnny Noble: What’s the point, Tsonda? You bring a stoner kid, an indy film star…and your hired female hand to do what? Mock me out of competing? Do you fear me that much?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Listen, old guy: you have THIS many friends.

She holds her hand in a circle, which of course is the hand-signal for the opposite of a lot.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Me and Chan and the ginger and the little kid? We’ve got so many friends that make some of them be backup friends that we only call when our real friends are in the hospital with gastronomic problems or something!

The Five-Star champion looks strangely at Ellie, who folds her arms as if having just made a fantastic point and Chandler jumps in right after, reaffirming the point.

Chandler Tsonda: Well said, Ellie. Basically, Noble, you’re a douchebag. The two pals you managed to hang onto for all of ten minutes while you were here have finally deserted you for bigger and better things.

Johnny Noble: Lemme guess: you three idiots have come here to "scare" me into forfeiting the match?

Chandler Tsonda: Oh dear Johnny, we have no such intention. It’s just imperative that you know, beforehand, that you will be bloodied and humiliated in front of the fans who you adore so much.

Illustrious Face-Eater: You passed out with your shoes on and it’s now our duty to shame you to death.

Danny Ferguson: Yeah…I’m not really sure how I could further convey the idea that you’re getting both hurt and embarrassed. But you are. Ass.

More high-fives and laughter. Tsonda almost accidentally high-fives Johnny Noble, who is completely stone-faced.

Johnny Noble: Is there anything else?

And with this, Chandler Tsonda grabs Noble by the shirt (at about the chest area, not even close to the neck, considering the height difference).

Chandler Tsonda: WHY WON’T YOU QUIT?! YOU CAN’T WIN GODDAMMIT!

Noble tosses the momentarily deranged Tsonda to the floor, while Face-Eater and Danny share a look and Face does the "he’s a loon" circling finger around the head thing.

Johnny Noble: This is where you three can’t beat me. Ever. You can cheat your way to wins all you like and I can steal wins once in a while, even if I have to fight fifteen of you and you cronies. And you’ll never take my pride. I’ve worked for years in this industry to cement a reputation of never giving up and darn it if I’m going to start now!

Even back in the arena, some fans get goose bumps at this powerful exclamation from Noble. The response from the A-List is slightly different. D-Ferg is shaking his head, Tsonda and Ellie are laughing, and Face is perusing the catered food with his eyes.

Danny Ferguson: Noble, ouch. Just ouch. That was a Sci-Fi channel-worthy monologue. Just weak, dude. Badly delivered, full of melodrama and clichés, and done to death.

Johnny Noble: Don’t the three of you dare not take this match seriously.

Illustrious Face-Eater: Say, you gonna eat those steak tips?

IFE reaches for the tips and gets his hand smacked away by Noble. He reaches again and this time Noble’s hand goes right around his neck, which brings Tsonda, Ferguson, and Ellie to full-alert level, taking all the joking out of the equation.

Illustrious Face-Eater: (gasping) Fuck…ing…buzz….kill.

Danny Ferguson: Put him down and we let you dig your grave in the ring.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Or don’t...and we totally club your brains out right here and ruin all this nice food. Ooh…they’ve got gnocchi!

Noble looks at the A-List and at the quickly asphyxiating Face-Eater, pondering whether to call the bluff of the two much smaller men. He shoves Face-Eater to the ground with his one hand, leaving the former Internet champ sitting on the ground, massing his pained neck. He has nothing to say as he takes off with his plate of food.

Chandler Tsonda: See ya out there, Johnnykins!

Illustrious Face-Eater: (still gasping) What…a…fucking…narc.

Ferguson and Tsonda help Face to his feet and then the three go about the important business of choosing their pre-game food.

Killean Sirrajin walked backstage with a little extra spring in his step. A constant smile is visible on his face as he passes by the security guards, some of whom watched the arena earlier when he invited Ignatius out. He was also passing by some of the other PRIME staff, pulling his sunglasses down a little to check out one of PRIME’s newest backstage assistants. He nodded his approval and was moving through the back like he owned the place.

Now sure, Tyler Nelson was the most powerful individual in PRIME but Killean would like to think he had a hand in it all. After all, he finally beat Clyde and put an end to the title reign that Nelson was ready to give his life for. Given everything that he had accomplished recently, he was beginning to overflow with confidence and now believes that he is truly untouchable.

One person however intended to prove him wrong. Tchu was favoring his back a little as he met up with "The Supreme Machine" in the halls. Both men proceeded to stop right next to each other just as normal friends would do. Fact is this is no normal relationship between two people. It was just turning into something scary at this point.

Killean Sirrajin: Having a little issue there Matt?

Matt hid the pain well. He had been hit more times than he had wanted to be tonight and with a guy like Ivan, once was one time too many to get hit.

Tchu: That Ivan is just one tough son of a…

Killean Sirrajin: Unless you wanna get hit by him again, hold of on the bitch comments. As for me, I can say it all I want. Ivan is a son of a bitch who got taught another lesson tonight.

Brimming with more confidence by the minute as he speaks about his accomplishments, Killean smiles from ear to ear. Tchu however just shakes his head and frowns.


Tchu: Yeah I meant to ask you about that. You had the perfect chance to lay me out tonight. Yet you shoved me aside to get to Ivan. I understand Nelson’s dealings with Ivan but hell; you could have knocked my teeth out.

Killean crosses his arms defiantly, securing the Universal Title to his shoulder more with the pressure of his arms.

Killean Sirrajin: Matt, you still don’t get it after all this time. You lose a match to Ignatius and you turn into the little puppy that lost his way. The man that thinks he is no longer unstoppable, instead he is unimportant. Matt, when are you going to learn that everything doesn’t revolve around you? Stop it with the bullshit.

Killean moves closer to Tchu, who stands his ground. Meanwhile the tension can be cut with a knife. Is this going to explode now?

Killean Sirrajin: Yeah, that’s right, not everything is about you Matt. I have many other things that I need to consider as well. Right now, you are not on the top of the list of people I need to be concerned about. Yet you seem to stand here and ask why I didn’t put you out of your misery. It should be obvious… I AM UNTOUCHABLE! I AM the Universal Champion. I could put you out of your misery whenever I want to. But for some reason I see the need to keep you around until I can really put the effort forth to rid you from my life. Right now, you’re just fumes compared to the gasoline that is fueling the fire in my mind. Remember Matt, I am "The PRIME Choice" and no one… not even you can lay a finger on me without suffering the consequences. It’s a vicious circle, one that you should be looking to avoid rather than trying to get involved in.

Killean smiles again at Tchu as he continues to walk past him, leaving Matt with his thoughts and a mildly sore back.

Tchu knew that he didn’t have Killean right were he wanted him. He wanted to expose the lie at the exact right time. Killean would then have no choice but to focus all his energy on him. That is when he would make the fatal mistake.

If anyone was listening to the the soundtrack to Gran Turismo 4, they'll recognize the music of D.S. "What To Believe" kicks up, and the youngest PRIME wrestler steps out from the back. Howard, do your thing, partner.

Vince Howard: The following non-title contest is set at one fall! Entering first, from Gillian Flats, Kansas;, weighing 164 pounds... Silvio Fiore!

There are cheers from the people who like what he can do. Even if, last week, he lost after taking a single kick from Titan St. James. But the incredible difference in weight aided in that pinfall, as Fiore was seen doing all he could to get the shoulders up. Fiore walks out, clapping a few hands and looking eager to start. He'd never be accused of being afraid of anybody.

Vince Howard: And his opponent...

"Faint" by Linkin Park brings out the Prince of Delusion, who is assured of his victory. His expression is a combination of anger and confidence. He's frustrated at Fiore's lack of respect, something that will change right away. The Intense Champion runs down to the ring.

Vince Howard: From Bogota, Colombia; weighing 223 pounds... the Intense Champion, Vangelus Olsig!

Blaine Blair: Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on!

Linkin Park ends... those last three words just felt so right. Anyway, Linkin Park's music ends as the administrative assistant to Tyler Nelson steps out. He had to assert himself quickly; Olsig doesn't seem to want to wait. Already having his own microphone, Blair is on the stage to make his announcement on behalf of management. Silvio and Vangelus have their attention his way.

Blaine Blair: Vangelus Olsig, the management wants you to know something. I'm here to convey a message. Apparently, despite your behavior rubbing some people the wrong way, management actually has faith in you in your ability to continue as the longest-reigning Intense Champion in PRIME's three year history. In fact, they think that you're getting off too easy. So as a reward for all your hard work, you're getting a new challenge, starting tonight. You ARE, in fact, defending your Intense Championship tonight, against Silvio Fiore. And you have a fifteen minute time limit. But not only that, if you fail to win in fifteen minutes, you WILL lose the title to Fiore.

Inside the ring, Olsig is inaudibly shouting at Blair. Not that he doesn't think he can do it, but this is Vangelus's division, Vangelus's title. No one makes the rules in his matches but him.

Blaine Blair: Referee, you may begin the contest. Good luck, Olsig; not that you'll need it or anything.

Blair takes his leave, with the referee calling for the bell. Infamous will have to wait to deal with those who would assert themselves where they didn't belong. Silvio starts off with hands raised, stepping in with caution while looking for the lockup. Seizing immediate control, Vangelus Olsig throws a quick roundhouse kick with his right leg. Silvio wasn't coming in hastily, so he stopped himself. The kick wasn't a fake-out, just a demonstration of Olsig's martial ability. Not that we really knew he had it in him; perhaps he decided to usurp Karina's style? Or perhaps he understands that he's got to really make this a special punishment for Fiore.

Nick: Quick kick there.

Richard: There's probably not a thing in this world that Olsig couldn't do if he wanted.

The two facing off again, Silvio keeps himself at what he feels is a a safe distance. Vangelus Olsig has his arms down at his side, nothing of a ready stance, but one can never be too careful about him. Moving him, Fiore steps forward on the right leg, outstretching his arms to grapple Vangelus. Wouldn't be a collar-and-elbow tieup, as Olsig wasn't proffering his arms for that part of it. Instead, the Intense champion simply raises his left leg at the thigh of Silvio and executes a simple push-kick to keep the young challenger at a distance.

Richard: He's trying to show Fiore that he'll beat him at the bigger game or the smaller game. It doesn't matter.

Silvio is backed away a step by the push kick. Olsig intentionally throwing the second impact at the sternum to be weaker than he can fully muster. The point is to establish psychological dominance through physical action. Silvio moves in again to the same result. Vangelus switches legs on the push/pump kicks, going right to left. This time Silvio shifts his right shoulder backward, the pump kick glancing off of him; this allows him to roll past the leg, downward toward Vangelus Olsig to hit a full-strength Koppou Kick early in the match. The heel cracks at Vangelus's Xyphoid Process, the bottom of the sternum where the rib cage splits off away from the lower abdominal organs. Olsig is stunned, going down to a knee, Silvio coming up to a knee.

Nick: Good move there, Silvio is playing for keeps and I think Vangelus Olsig is making a mistake by taking him too lightly early on.

Richard: The cat plays with the mouse before it slaughters it. Watch Animal Planet sometime, dammit!

Vangelus starts to rise. Silvio comes up with a clothesline, playing right into Vangelus's hands as he drops down with the leg sweep to put Quicksilver on his back. An Axe Stomp at Fiore's head is avoided by rolling toward Vangelus and coming up on his hands and knees. Challenger now between the champion's legs, Olsig jumps into the air to bring his weight down upon Fiore's back, but the young man, does a forward roll in place, thrusting his legs upward to shift Vangelus's weight with feet forward. Olsig lands on his back, Silvio standing in front of him at his feet. Running forward, Silvio doesn't see Vangelus stand up. Rebounding off of the ropes, Silvio falls backward and narrowly avoids a high spinning heel kick from Vangelus Olsig, completing a full forward backflip to land on his hands and feet. Olsig turns around to see Silvio performing a standing moonsault.

Richard: First rule to doing a moonsault -- don't do it so you miss.

Silvio is indeed too far away to land on Vangelus, and even if he was close, that he would do a standing moonsault to a standing opponent would never give him the proper height or velocity to make it damaging in the slightest. Vangelus Olsig, a martial artist primarily but understanding of the physics of the human body and how it works in wrestling, knew that Silvio couldn't and wasn't doing the moonsault correctly, so he didn't try to do anything but just watched as Quicksilver did a graceful belly-flop onto the mat.

Nick: Fakeout of his own, and Vangelus Olsig goes twisting down!

The young dynamo never intended a moonsault, instead backflipping into a headscissors variation and spinning himself to take Vangelus Olsig to the mat. He stands up and meets Vangelus with forearms to the head, backing him into the ropes. A whip away, Silvio pushes himself to accelerate enough that he actually gets to the ropes at the same time as Olsig. As the Intense champion bounces off, Silvio uses an evaside-type 619 maneuver in his blindspot to stay behind him. Infamous stops himself in the middle of the ring, Silvio behind him. Naturally, the crowd is cheering, so Vangelus knows to do a 180, but when he does, Silvio isn't there.

Richard: Down!

Not that he could hear Parker, but it's too late anyway since Silvio rose up from directly underneath Infamous's line of sight, having stalked in a crouch to get closer to him, and landed a palm-uppercut to the chin. Olsig is knocked off balance, reeling, but the follow-up superkick misses as Vangelus tilts his head. The leg is pushed away and Vangelus jumps up to hit an Enzuigiri to the turned-around Silvio.

Richard: Back up in your ass with the resurrection!

1....

2....

Kickout!

Vangelus allows Silvio to rise, then arm drags him into the corner. Silvio comes up quickly, with Olsig moving in after him with a Tiger Wall Flip. Silvio waits for Vangelus to land, then lunges out of the corner with a Shotei (hey, he spent... two weeks in Japan). Vangelus sidesteps, jumping up to the second rope. Diving back, he scores with the back elbow, and quickly gets back to a standing position to run to the ropes. Silvio gets up behind him and moves out to the center of the ring.

Nick: Vangelus Olsig picks up the pace...

When Olsig rebounds, Fiore sets his arms out. Vangelus moves into The Cutting Edge and goes along with the Sideslam, but comes out of it with another Arm Drag. Fiore rolls to his feet and takes down Olsig with a Low Spinning Leg Sweep. Silvio somersaults forward with a Senton, with Olsig rolling under him to avoid it. They get to their feet at the same time and both of them perform Spinning Back Heel Kicks. The impact is leg upon leg; they both fall a step backwards, off-balance.

Richard: Don't fret, Olsig, keep up the pressure.

Vangelus is rubbing his leg after that kick, while Silvio shows no effect to the met kicks. His superkick missing its mark, Silvio is taken into a Headlock, with Olsig immediately changing up into a Hammerlock. Fiore escapes into his own Hammerlock, with Olsig clutching his head and sending him forward in a Snapmare. Vangelus rolls forward, intending on the Flipover Neck Whip. Silvio leans forward to slip from Olsig's grasp. Infamous lands in a seat in front of The Cutting Edge, who brings his legs up underneath the arms and rolls back and to the left, pinning the Intense Champion with a Gedo Clutch recliner pin.

1...

2...

Kickout!

Olsig kicks out and rolls back to his feet. Silvio rolls forward. Vangelus quickly slips behind The Cutting Edge and pulls him into a School Boy.

1...

2...

Kickout.

Silvio catches Olsig and drags him into the Small Package.

1...

2...

Kickout.

The Cutting Edge hops forward with a Sunset Flip before Infamous can even rise.

1...

Richard: Silvio once again demonstrating how wasting your time trying to look cool against Vangelus Olsig is just asking to get beaten.

1....

2....

Nick: Kickout! The challenger remains in the match after Vangelus Olsig rolls out of the Sunset Flip with a dropkick!

Richard: It normally takes a number of wrestlers to beat Olsig. This week Silvio's on his own. He needs to just forfeit if he doesn't want to learn the hard way that PRIME wrestlers don't get Workman's Comp.

Vangelus Olsig kicks Silvio in the side of the head, forcing him to roll over onto his stomach. A couple of stomps to the head are to disorient him and add to the damage. Soccer kicks at the top of Silvio's head make him take up to his knees, and more surgically-precise footwork from Vangelus Olsig at the base of the back of Fiore's neck, and at the top of his chest, further serve to set the new tone for the matchup. Vangelus Olsig is a not master of martial arts, he is the Intense Champion; that's good enough. He can take charge of a match in a heartbeat and keep it that way.

Richard: There's probably not a thing in this world that Olsig couldn't do if he wanted.

Nick: You said that before.

Richard: Repetition for emphasis, ya jerk.

Silvio is kneeling on the mat, body language indicating that he is very much dazed and out of it. Slumped shoulders, arms low draped on his legs, and his weight leaning backward. Vangelus Olsig turns and runs to the ropes.

Nick: ONE! TWO!

Richard: Kickout with authority, proving that God is indeed backing the right horse.

Though Silvio is face-down on the mat, Vangelus is recovering from a dangerous German Suplex that spiked him on his head. For the waistlock, his shoulders slip back into position with Fiore's high back-bridge.

Nick: I can't believe Silvio Fiore pulled off such a crisp German Suplex! He looks so slight, but there's some muscle underneath there. Whatever can be said about the young man, it can't be denied that he's quickly establishing himself as one of the most unpredictable wrestlers on the roster.

Richard: What are you talking about? It's a free country, I can deny it all day long and there's not a thing you can do about it.

It's actually Vangelus Olsig who gets up first, but as he brings Silvio to his feet, Quicksilver hits a forearm, followed by a Roaring Elbow, then a Spinning Back Elbow. The standing backflip leads to the Pele Kick.

One!

Two!

NO!

Nick: Silvio was nearly put out by the Tombstone Piledriver counter!

Richard: Vangelus Olsig is the Intense Champion for a reason. He's the longest-reigning champion PRIME has ever had!

Olsig brings Silvio to his knees, then takes to the ropes as The Cutting Edge begins to rise. Returning, Vangelus ducks underneath a Clothesline and stops behind Silvio, deadlifting him into the air with the Crucifix and slamming him into the mat with the Sitting Crucifix Powerbomb!

Nick: The Sacrifice!

Richard: Olsig's dangerous, yo.

Following the finisher of the Intense Champion, he holds the legs. The referee is right there, slapping his hand to the mat.

One!

Two!

SHOULDER!

Nick: Silvio Fiore just kicked out of the Sacrifice!

Richard: That's not possible!

Nick: The referee is saying he's out.

The crowd is cheering for the fact that Silvio escaped a move that isn't very easy on the recipient. But while the rest of the world is making a fuss about it, Olsig retains his composure. Vangelus brings Silvio to his feet, whipping him into the corner so hard that he hits chestfirst. A follow-up Corner Shining Wizard hits at the back of the head. The young dynamo stumbles backward out of the corner, taking a SICK lariat from Vangelus Olsig that turns him for a loop to land on the back of his neck and flop over onto his stomach. And yet, before Olsig can do anything, Fiore pushes himself up to his hands and knees. No problem for Infamous, he just goes to the ropes and returns for the Spear.

Nick: Silvio flips clear over the Spear!

And immediately backflips, successfully scoring with the Pele Kick!

Richard: Kicking Vangelus in the head? BLASPHEMY!

It takes all of Fiore's strength to push himself to his feet after that last bit, but as he does so, he's struck at the forehead with a Pele Kick from Vangelus Olsig! Left for dazed, Prince of Delusion hits the ropes again for a GINORMOUS Gore that drills through the young challenger. Pinning him is a simple matter of staying over his chest.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR--NO!!!

Nick: How did Silvio kick out of that?

Richard: VOODOO!

That probably isn't the case, but nevertheless, Silvio's resilience in the face of the overwhelming attack of Vangelus Olsig is starting the crowd to cheer for him.

Richard: What are these people doing?

Nick: Supporting Silvio.

Richard: Why?

Nick: Seems Vangelus Olsig has taken steps to get the crowd against him.

Richard: Idiots!

Vangelus Olsig sits on Silvio's chest and pulls back on the head. While a neck crank would easily be possible, that's not his intention. Instead, he locks the head in a Figure Four and falls back to the mat, his shoulders just off of the canvas. Silvio finds himself sitting up in a Chokehold variation, legal within Judo as the "Sankaku Jime." And it's the same way in wrestling, though we'd just call it the "Triangle Choke."

Richard: Silvio Fiore isn't escaping this. No way he can scoot on his ass to the ropes. Not with 223 pounds of Vangelus Olsig pulling his airway shut.

Indeed, Quicksilver can't go anywhere. And he's going to pass out if he doesn't submit; his airway shut, the young man won't get anymore oxygen until the hold is broken. Vangelus Olsig knows that the match is his now. All that's left is for the referee to register his victory; until then, he's not letting go. Maybe not even after...

Nick: What's Silvio doing?

Richard: Well isn't that nice; he knows he's going to have to leave the federation after this ass-kicking from Vangelus, so he's waving goodbye to all the people. Too bad we don't care.

Perhaps not waving to people, but The Cutting Edge's arms are swinging out in front of him. Vangelus sees this, but finds no point to it. Silvio is wasting energy, which is only a positive for Vangelus. But waving arms gives way to notable shoulder movement, which leads to leaning left and right. By the time that Vangelus Olsig notices what's going on, Silvio has snapped his left leg over carrying the momentum he'd been slowly building. Olsig now found himself chest-down on the mat, still scissoring Fiore's head. But Silvio is now sitting on Olsig's lower back, and with his arms in a favorable position shuffles his legs forward and leans back, stretching Olsig in a Cloverleaf variation that takes the pressure off of the challenger's neck and puts it onto lower back of our Intense Champion.

Nick: Submission to submission! Silvio is wrenching the back of the champion and the crowd is eating it up!

There isn't any room for leverage in this hold. Infamous couldn't hope to flip The Cutting Edge off of him, the hold is just too low of a seat, while too high on the back. And because of Vangelus's Triangle Choke, his arms are pinned beneath his own body.

Nick: How long can Vangelus Olsig stay within this move?

Richard: Are you kidding? This is like a morning workout for the champ.

Nick: Well, he may not tap out, but he'll have to do something. Every second he's in that submission is another second lost to the clock, and Silvio need only last fifteen minutes to win this match and the championship.

But Vangelus doesn't have to do anything. Silvio stands up within his own submission hold. Having the waist controlled, it's not terribly exhausting for him to power Vangelus off of the mat and drop him with a--

Nick: Cradle Piledriver!

An oldy but a goody. Vangelus just got head-spiked GOTCH-STYLE, BABY! Oh yeah, I think there was a pinfall in there somewhere.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

There we go. Silvio isn't quick to his feet, though. The referee can hear him gasping for air from the earlier chokehold. Or maybe The Cutting Edge's got asthma. Either way. The young dynamo stands up and turns his back to Vangelus, performing the Standing Moonsault.

Richard: Knees!

And gets the air knocked out of him once again. Vangelus Olsig rolls over onto Silvio and covers him high on the chest.

One!

Two!

Silvio throws the far shoulder upward, which plays right into V.O.'s hands as he leans back slightly and locks the arm. A Crippler Crossface is the result.

Richard: Silvio has to tap!

But instead of that, he pushes Infamous's hands off of his face, over his head.

Nick: Or he could just do that.

Vangelus releases his leglock on the arm to switch into the Wakigatame. Silvio rolls forward out of it, and Prince of Delusion responds by hopping over the chest and transitioning into the Anaconda Vice.

Richard: That's it. It's over. Stick a fork in Silvio. Many times. Please.

Again, Silvio is caught in a dangerous submission hold. This one works the neck and the arm. It will be very difficult for him to get out of this one. Vangelus Olsig is paying closer attention to The Cutting Edge's movements now. Quicksilver tries to escape, but wouldn't even consider the option of pulling on the hair or grabbing the Adam's Apple. Fiore throws a knee toward Vangelus's head, but he can't get the power to maintain by the time he gets his leg that high.

Richard: Futile movements from a futile man.

Nick: Wait!

Silvio raises both knees this time, something that Vangelus can't tell. With his free arm set on the mat, Fiore attempts to nip up to his feet. That doesn't really work, but he does get his torso moving. Only one more time to be sitting up, with Vangelus's head on his lap. The young dynamo lifts his leg, scissoring, and rolls away. The neck dislocation of Vangelus Olsig is noticeable in the way that he bridges back just to relieve the pressure. By now, he's released The Cutting Edge's arm, but it wasn't hard for him to then push the challenger's leg off of him.

Nick: The champion and the challenger have been fighting tooth and nail in this match and they're coming up at a stand-off!

But they don't even wait that long. When they meet each other, they exchange knife-edged chops. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. No punches thrown, none intended. One after the other, they trade the hard, fast strikes. Each hit drives them to continue. They energize with each attack, rather than to grow weaker to any extent. The two spur each other on. Finally, Silvio takes advantage after a knife-edge chop to the throat. The young man goes into a chopping fit for 7 seconds; at the tail end, The Cutting Edge hits the Uraken.

Nick: HAYMAKER!

Richard: Nobody is better at this than Vangelus Olsig. NOBODY!

Silvio takes the hard punch to the left side of his head and goes down to the right.

Nick: SNAP KICK!

Richard: Damn you, Silvio! Just take what I say on faith! No need to test it!

The young dynamo rights himself after surprising Vangelus with the kick to the side of the head. He takes the head and hooks the leg, swinging to the side

Nick: That was like a Fisherman's Swinging Neckbreaker!

Richard: It sucks is what it is.

Silvio is down, Vangelus is down. Neither man appears to be moving. Normally, a referee might start a ten count. But that would just make the crowd upset. There has to be a decisive winner in this one. With but a little over a minute to go, the clock is ticking and it's up to one of these men to take it over the top.

Nick: The pressure now, with the timer at 14:02, is all on Vangelus Olsig. With 58 seconds left in the match, he has to defeat Silvio. The Cutting Edge just has to keep from losing.

Silvio would rather end it sooner, rather than later, and so rolls over and puts an arm on Olsig's chest.

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER!

Vangelus Olsig isn't dead yet. Silvio gets to his feet with 49 seconds left, pulling Vangelus up.

00:43

A whip into the corner, Olsig goes in facing the corner. Silvio rushes in after Vangelus. The Intense Champion puts both feet up with a Mule Kick. The Cutting Edge hits hard, and staggers out of the corner.

00:39

Vangelus Olsig sits on the top turnbuckle, standing up while Silvio has his back to the corner.

Richard: The beginning of the end, Stuart. Silvio may be fighting, but the executioner is about to notch his belt again!

The Front Flip, the Somersault Neckbreaker. Not really his go-to move, but that doesn't matter. It's effective; that's all that counts. Vangelus Olsig dives down toward Silvio to end it all.

00:35

Nick: Silvio ROLLS THROUGH!

Something of a backward roll, he was expecting the move somehow. Or he immediately shifted. One couldn't know, but it was fluid and near flawless in execution of the escape. Silvio stands up, hopping over the leg sweep, and hits the Glimmering Warlock to Vangelus Olsig.

Richard: He has to step-up to do an enzuigiri to a crouched opponent? God, he blows.

But Silvio wastes no time in pulling Vangelus Olsig over to the corner and stepping out through the ropes, setting foot on the middle turnbuckle and hopping up to the top. He takes but a second to balance himself.

00:30

Nick: 450 SPLASH! Silvio hit it and it's GOT to be over!

Crowd: ONE!

Nick: We could have a new Intense Champion right here!

Crowd: TWO!

Richard: NOOOOO!

Crowd: THREE!

There are cheers that Vangelus Olsig's reign of terror in the Intense division is over. But they're shortlived.

Referee: Breached the ropes!

00:26

Richard: YYYEEEEEEEEEEESSS!!

Silvio is upset with himself for making that mistake. Had he taken the extra moment to hook Vangelus's leg, the rope break wouldn't have happened and he'd be the champion right now. But he's still got the advantage. Just 26 seconds to go.

Nick: Vangelus Olsig has got to be winded now. If The Cutting Edge just keeps it going for 25 more seconds, he's got himself his first title in PRIME.

Quicksilver rolls out of the ring, onto the apron.

00:24

The crowd is cheering already. The referee signals to the timekeeper to get the belt ready. Meanwhile, the Intense Champion is rolling over onto all fours. Silvio waits patiently on the apron. As Vangelus takes his time getting up, The Cutting Edge simply sits patiently waiting for the clock to tick down. He doesn't have to do anything else at this point.

00:19

Nick: The stipulation passed down from management comes to immediately haunt Olsig as he now has to watch mere seconds tick away until he loses his championship.

00:16

Vangelus Olsig rises. Silvio figures that a simple dropkick will be enough to put him down. He wants Prince of Delusion on his back when the match is over. Standing up, he springboards into the ring.

Richard: Powerbomb!

00:14

Vangelus Olsig takes Silvio up in a Fireman's Carry. Rather than an impact maneuver, he spins around. Once, twice, three times. Four revolutions. Six. Eight.

Nick: CRADLE TOMBSTONE DRIVER!

Richard: Hold it! Yes! Count it, COUNT IT!

00:05

ONE!

00:03

TWO!

00:01

THREE!

Referee: That's it!

00:00

He was close. So close. With one second left. Vangelus only had to spin one more time, the referee not be so quick in his step. Silvio could've just dropped down to the floor and had been safe. Overzealousness, or principle in wanting to win without the time, either way to look at it that's what led to his downfall. Silvio, at 14:59, suffered the pinfall and Vangelus Olsig, the Ariel Divo, retained the Intense Championship.

Richard: SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS THAT WAS AMAZING! Vangelus Olsig is hard to bet against, and he proves it with clutch plays like that. And the way he played possum with Silvio... BRILLIANT!

Nick: Silvio is going to be disappointed with himself. His loss was, quite literally, by the slimmest of margins.

Richard: Vangelus was winning this going in. I knew it, it was just you and Red Dog over there who were in denial.

Vangelus Olsig receives his title from the referee. Standing up, he casts a derisive glare down at his defeated opponent. There's something in his eye, the way he looks at Silvio. Something about the way that Vangelus surveys the fallen. Fiore sits up, snapping his fingers. He didn't win, and he knows it. Olsig holds the title up, making sure that Silvio sees it. And he does, but Fiore does something unexpected and smiles. Not even an empty smile, he's okay with it.

What does it take to get under his skin? Vangelus wonders.

Nick: I've got to give Silvio credit, he definitely put up more of a fight than Vangelus was expecting out of him.

Richard: Don't you listen? POSSUM!

Nick: Yeah... anyway, we're going to show you some DVD advertisements because merchandising keeps the ship afloat. Don't go anywhere!

Richard: Or we'll send Killean after you. And he'll do it, too!

Well it’s about that time again as we make another weekly visit to an oh-so-familiar locker-room, populated by none other than the "Hall of Fame Champion"; Ignatius Lisieux (wearing no more than a towel, would you believe!?) and the former Tag-Team Champion; Adam (who’s wearing much, much more... a full-blown smart black suit to be precise – complete with earpiece, dark shades, menacing expression – the works).

Ignatius Lisieux: So... fashion dictates that army gear is out and Matrix agent is in, eh Mr. Smith?

Adam: Affirmative… "Mr. Anderson."

A small smirk crawls onto Adam’s face at his dry humour (the douche is basically laughing at his own impersonation) as Ignatius rolls his eyes a little.

Adam: Confirming plans for tonight's mission; we are set to rendex-vous with Captain Noble for impromptu assistance in 5, check?

Lisieux wearily nods and grabs a bottle of Australian shampoo before making a nod toward the shower behind him.

Ignatius Lisieux: I’m gonna go head in for a quick one before I get dressed, we can't leave him out there himself; no 'I' in team right?

Adam: Affirmative.

As much as the Scotsman probably wanted to join his uber-hot buddy in the showers, his poker-face and militaristic reply told a completely different story. An exasperated sign from the French-Canadian fills the air - he’s more than a little tired of Adam’s insistence to run his new "gimmick" constantly.

Ignatius Lisieux: Listen, man – I know you’re all excited about this all, but you don’t need to be ‘in character’ all the time. Especially not when we’re just hanging out, alright?

Adam: Okay... I just think it helps keep me on my toes if I keep with it, y’know? - Method acting, innit?

The French-Canadian nods again, looking noticeably relieved at the return of "regular" Adam.

Ignatius Lisieux: That’s the phrase, glad to have you back - you’d probably better get booted up as well – don’t want you choking when someone pulls on your tie out there, do we? That’d be incredibly Irwin R. Scheister of you…

He gives a playful wink to his running buddy and then wanders in for his hot, steamy shower (Adam’s wording, not mine!) We’ll skip the details of the changing, but we’ll return just as Adam finished wrapping his wrists in the good old white tape. He stands and gives a few shadow-punches to check all’s secure, then sets about removing the last of his ‘agent’ apparel – the earpiece that’s still in, curly wire hanging loose from it. But just as he’s about to take it out his face turns; brow furrowed in concentration the Scot seems to listen intently to the disconnected earpiece…

Adam: Roger, I’ll be right there.

He tears out the earpiece and throws it to the ground, storming out of the door in a hurry - a man on a mission. Unfortunately for Ignatius Lisieux, during Adam’s exit there was a slight problem with the latch to the door and, in his rush to attend whatever imaginary emergency his brain had concocted, Adam had knocked away the only thing to keep the door from completely locking when it closed – the small rubber doorstop was now slid under the bench he’d just sat on to lace his boots… basically, the French-Canadian was locked-in.

GASP!

A sign appears:

EATEN BY WIZARDS

(p.s. - needs more salt.)

As Danny steps out of the office, he runs right into the yin to his yang, the Lisa Simpson to his Unibrow Baby...Kyle Lamen. With his hair matted down from a shower, and an empty look in his eyes, Kyle doesn’t even react to the sight of his nemesis.

Danny Ferguson: Heeeey, buddy!

Kyle Lamen: Excuse me.

Kyle tries to get into Nelson’s office, but Danny blocks the door.

Danny Ferguson: Bossman’s having a little pow-wow in there. Champions only.

Kyle doesn’t give him a response, and instead tries for the handle again. Still blocked.

Danny Ferguson: Whaddya looking to see Ty about?

Kyle Lamen: Are you his secretary?

Danny Ferguson: Hey, I’m just trying to help this company run smoother. You know, filter out the unnecessary requests, give the people in charge some time to think for themselves. I also occasionally win a match. But of course, I understand that you know none of that.

Kyle Lamen: Do you get tired of that joke?

Danny Ferguson: As long as you’re still losing, it’s still funny. Saw you drop a tough one out there. Don’t sweat it; we can’t all be successes in the singles and tag departments.

Kyle Lamen: Danny, I really don’t want to talk to you right now.

Danny Ferguson: That’s a shame. Maybe you should go talk to your partner Kev - from the looks of it, you guys aren’t reading from the same book, much less the same page.

Kyle Lamen: Hey, it sounds like you’re full of ‘em tonight. Too bad you missed the "Last Comic Standing" cut. I guess you’re busy tainting the legacy of a wrestling legend, anyway.

Danny Ferguson: I’d rather taint his legacy than my own.

For all the work Kyle puts into shutting Danny’s assaults out, that one cut deep. He closes his eyes and tries to shake it off. Then he turns back toward the door.

Kyle Lamen: Let me in.

Danny Ferguson: Tell me what you’re going in there for.

Kyle Lamen: Oh, is this seventh grade? I’m sorry, I thought we were both adults.

He makes one more formal push, and Danny blocks him. Fed up, Kyle stands back from the door and tries to keep himself composed.

Danny Ferguson: What the hell makes you want to get in there so bad?

Kyle Lamen: I...

He turns away from the camera, but his voice is clearly heard.

Kyle Lamen: I’m going to Tyler for my release.

The arena crowd reacts negatively to his announcement. So does Danny...in fact, Danny looks like he’s just been stabbed in the stomach.

Danny Ferguson: Your release? From PRIME?

Kyle Lamen: No, my release from Pittsburgh. Of course it’s my release from PRIME, asshole.

Danny Ferguson: Why?

Kyle Lamen: Are you kidding me? You have the audacity to ask me that after all I’ve heard from you in the past few months? All I hear from you is how I’m a loser and how I don’t need to be here and I should just go off and let this tumor eat me alive. Congratulations, Danny: I agree with you. You’re right. I’m leaving.

He starts for the door to Nelson’s office again, but Danny again intercepts him. Kyle bites his lip and resists taking the situation further.

Danny Ferguson: So let me get this straight...you spend your "farewell tour" claiming about how you’re just living life, and how we all wish we could be as carefree as if we were dying. But now you hit a losing streak and you’re going home? Your zest for life is gone? Just like that, you’re a broken man?

Kyle Lamen: I guess so.

Hiding his inexplicable shock behind a sudden smirk, Danny walks away from the door.

Danny Ferguson: I always knew you were a hypocrite anyway.

Kyle was almost turning the doorknob when that shot came in. He pauses and looks back at Danny, who was waiting to see if he grabbed it.

Danny Ferguson: I’m sure that all those kids who got behind your "have fun while you’re here" campaign will forgive you for bailing out when times got rough. I mean, you have cancer, right? That gives you a freebie to renege on your promises, I guess. When the going gets tough, the tough go home to spend their life bedridden.

Kyle Lamen: (pulling away from the door) Why the hell does this matter to you?

Danny Ferguson: Because I hate everything about you, but at least you cared enough to hate back. Whether I agreed with you or not, at least you showed a little passion. I work with enough fake people to respect you for that. You had your spirit...but now that that’s gone, too...I guess maybe you SHOULD go.

Kyle stares at Danny for a second, then chuckles to himself. He turns back towards the office.

Kyle Lamen: Cute, Danny. Probably something pulled from a romantic comedy. I’m sure you thought that reverse psychology would work, that I’d change my mind and walk away, that I’d continue the fight instead of asking for my release from PRIME.

He turns the knob and pushes the office door open.

Kyle Lamen: The thing is, Fergie, your intervention is about twenty minutes late. I asked for the release earlier tonight; now I’m just picking up the paperwork before my flight out of town.

There’s no response from Ferguson as Lamen gives him an unflinching stare.

Kyle Lamen: Revolution 100 is my last show. So if you’ve got something else you need to say to me...you’ve got one month to do it.

Through the opened door, we see Tyler Nelson look up from his desk in recognition of Kyle. The former eVolution of ReVolution walks into the office as the door clicks shut, and we fade out.

Inside the cozy confines of Tyler Nelson’s office, a discussion is taking place regarding a very disturbing string of events that have been taking place in PRIME as of late. Seated behind his new mahogany desk is one Tyler Nelson, leaning back slightly in his comfortable leather office chair with his right leg crossed over his left knee. In on of the two chairs situated on the other side of his desk sits ‘The PRIME Choice’ Killean Sirrajin, his trademark (and sponsor provided) Ray-Ban’s hiding his eyes from the glare of the shiny Universal Title slung over his shoulder. In the other sits PRIME’s resident movie star, Danny Ferguson, taking a break from the filming of his Terry Funk biopic to have his voice heard on this important subject.

Killean: So what’s the deal with Toshiaki Motoki, anyway?

Danny: Yeah, there seems to be a whole lot of decisions being handed down from his office lately, including the hiring that bastard Sandusky last week.

Killean: Right, or maybe the more important matter of my title being on the line twice in just over a month!

Danny: Yeah, that too! I thought you were the head cheese around here, T-Nel!

Nelson shoots a slight glare at Ferguson for nearly questioning his authority.

Tyler: I haven’t a clue what the ‘deal’ is. I haven’t seen the son of a bitch for I don’t know how long. All I get are these Goddamn memo’s from his office, which he hasn’t even been in. As soon as I see the bastard I’ll have it out with him, but no one can seem to tell me where he is. Not even that toad Blair knows where he is, and I think they’re ‘close’, if you know what I mean.

Killean and Danny get bitter beer faces at the thought of Motoki and Blaine Blair making man-love, then quickly erase the mentally-scarring images from their heads.

Killean: Look, Ty…you know I think you’re the man and all…

Tyler: I AM the man!

Killean: Right. But how in the hell can Motoki book Universal Title matches?

Danny: And how can he book them with the challengers he did? Lisieux? What the hell did he do? He certainly didn’t pin the current champ during the Jewel In The Crown tournament, because I’m the one that did that.

Sirrajin is staring a hole in the side of Danny’s head after the last statement. Danny tries to be nonchalant about it, but he eventually turns to look at the larger, angrier man.

Danny: What? It’s true, isn’t it?

Killean: (growling) We could arrange to have that mistake rectified, you know...

Tyler: Gentlemen, please. I’d rather not have my own allies fighting amongst themselves, so cut out the sniping.

Sirrajin slowly turns back in his seat to ignore Danny, who keeps a rather content smile through it all. Then Killean fakes like he’s going to lunge at the Superstar, who practically jumps through the ceiling, then quietly acts like he didn’t just get punked. Happy with his revenge, the champ turns back to Da Boss.

Killean: I could have used this week off to recover after the last two grueling shows I’ve had. I mean, the sponsors wanted me for a promotional tour but I couldn’t go because I had to get ready for tonight. I’m missing out on sponsorship dollars, and if I’m missing sponsorship dough then PRIME’s missing sponsorship dough. And if PRIME’s missing sponsor-

The CEO sits up in his chair and interrupts the Universal Champion.

Tyler: I get the point! This Motoki thing is getting out of hand, I know. I’ll deal with it as soon as I can. Since Taun Pham hasn’t been around for me to tell him otherwise, Motoki still has some executive powers. Where exactly he gets off booking matches like this, I don’t know. He must be bitter over his boy Nova flaking out on him. Whatever it is, rest assured that I’ll get it taken care of.

Danny: He is crimping your style quite a bit, Ty. I heard some of the boys talking about how your iron fist is more like aluminum since Motoki is pulling his shit. You need to nip it in the bud if you’re going to get everyone to fall in line.

Killean: Lock it up.

Danny: (nodding) Lock it up.

Tyler: I don’t need you to tell me what to do. I realize the situation, but I also have the problem of the Russian to deal with.

Sirrajin chuckles waves his hand dismissively.

Killean: You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I put that Ruslan character on the shelf for at least a few months. I doubt he’ll remember his name when he wakes up, so I’d say that problem is basically solved.

The CEO sighs to himself.

Tyler: I appreciate the positive reassurance, but Ivan Stanislav is too hard-headed to just up and leave, especially after we sent his Commie buddy to the hospital. He’ll be back soon enough, and he’ll be plenty pissed.

Killean: Not to worry. DeMarini is sending me a prototype quintuple-wall bat to test out. If Ivan comes back, we can give him the first trial run.

Danny: If you end up needing help from The List, you know my cell.

Killean: Yeah, ‘cause you guys did so well with Titan.

Danny: Hey, he doesn’t have a title now, does he?

Sirrajin gives him a "fair enough" shrug, and Danny rises from his seat, checking the Rolex on his wrist.

Danny: Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. I’ve got an 11:45 to LAX. We’re on set for the rest of this week. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.

Killean: I’m on my way out, too. After all, I’ve got a friggin match to prepare for.

Tyler: Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Danny pulls open the door to the office and steps outside. However, he doesn’t make it very far...

It was time.

Another mysterious edict by Motoki's office was about to be answered. Chet Worth puts his Golden Ticket on the line against Killean Sirrajin's Universal Title. Winner takes all.

And then the horns kicked in.

And my shoe started to squeak...

I've come to my senses,
That I've become senseless,
I could give you lessons on how to ruin your friendships,
Every last conviction, I smoked them all away,
I drank my frustrations down the drain, out of the way,
So I sit and wait and wonder,
"Does anyone else feel like me?"
Someone so tired of their routines and disappearing self-esteems,

Chet Worth, surrounded by an army of security guards, makes his way to the ring. Three to his left, three to his right, six behind him, and six in front of him, thanks to the attacks he's gone through the last seven days, and Tyler Nelson's "assurances".

Nick: I can't believe Worth is up to this. He's lost everything this week! Can't go to his house, thanks to fans ransacking it, can't go out in public without getting mobbed, and who do we have to thank? Tyler Nelson.

Richard: You know, I used to think our fans would know the difference between real and fake, but, I guess some of them aren't really as smart as we'd like to give them credit for.

Nick: We seem to say it week in and week out, but poor, Chet Worth. What'd he ever do to deserve any of this?

Richard: I don't know. I really don't.

Worth makes his way into the ring, amid jeers of the fans, as the security guards disperse, keeping watch on the ring. Worth is visibly nervous, but, he tries his best to maintain his composure.

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and it is for the PRIME Universal Championship. In the ring to my left, standing six feet, three inches tall, and weighing a purported two hundred and seventy-one pounds, the Dual Halo Winner and holder of the Golden Ticket...

CHET WORTH!!!

And his opponent...

Dead as dead can be, my doctor tells me...
But, I just can't believe him, ever the optimistic one.
I'm sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy.
Wake up and face me, don't play dead because maybe
someday I will walk away and say 'You disappoint me',
Maybe you're better off this way

Howard: He stands six foot four...

The red and silvery spotlights dance on the entry way...

Howard: He weights two hundred and ninety-four pounds...

Killean Sirrajin makes his grand entrance....

Howard: He is the Supreme Machine...

Sirrajin pulls the Universal Title off his shoulder and thrusts it into the air. At that exact second, pyro goes off behind him, sending red and silver flashes into the air.

Howard: He is The PRIME Choice...

Sirrajin calmly walks to the ring, a smile on his face as he stares Worth down.

Howard: He is the UNIVERSAL CHAMPION...

Sirrajin stops, grabs a sign that says "SIRRAJUN FEARZ TCHU", gives the holder a wink, and tears it in two.

Howard: HE IS KILLEAN SIRRAJIN!

Outside the ring, Sirrajin thrusts both arms into the air, and once more, pyros erupt from behind him, once agan sending red and silver explosions into the air. Sirrajin turns to watch it, and applauds.

Nick: Here's the Universal Champion.

Richard: Yeah.

Nick: Great pyro.

Richard: Oh, yeah.

Nick: This is going to be a slaughter, isn't it?

Richard: Obviously.

Nick: One of those where the entrance is longer than the actual match?

Richard: For Sirrajin's sake, I hope not. Worth's powerful in the early going, and these two have never faced off. Hopefully, Sirrajin can control the Dual Halo winner quickly, and wear him down.

Nick: Agreed. Otherwise, we could see a new champion tonight.

Sirrajin looks to the ring finally, and gives a confident wave to Chet Worth. Worth simply motions for Killean to get in the damn ring. Sirrajin smiles, and grabs a microphone from Vince Howard.

Sirrajin: Come on Worth. I figured we'd start the match out here. I've got some friends here that'd love to see you... a bit closer.

The Champ motions to a group of frat boy looking types, drunk and rowdy. Worth frowns, and waits in the middle of the ring. He begins yelling unintelligibly at Sirrajin who stands with a smile on his face.

Sirrajin: So, the choice is yours, Chet. Come on out here, or else, this match'll never happen.

Worth's angry face turns to a bit of a grin as he points behind Sirrajin. The PRIME Cut turns around just in time to get a face full of fist! Two security guards break ranks, going after the man who hit Sirrajin, grabbing his large frame and yanking him over the guard rail.

Uh oh.

Conspiracy plan. As the two guards lift him over, the man comes into full view.

Nick: What the...?

Richard: Is that?

Sirrajin looks closely, but doesn't recognize the man, and punches him in the face. The attacker falls to the ground, as the security guards reach out, and grab Sirrajin! Sirrajin freaks out as they throw him into the ring! The bell rings and this match is underway!

Nick: What is going on here?!

Richard: I don't know, but, something's fishy here.

Worth goes after Sirrajin quickly, leveling him with a few kicks to the midsection as he tries to stand. The two guards at ringside take off their riot helmets and reveal themselves to the crowd. Worth and Sirrajin trade punches in the ring as Sirrajin gets the upperhand and throws Worth off the ropes.

Nick: Jason O'Neil and Peter Maxwell! They're here for Chet!

Richard: Thank God! Looks like the odds are evening into Chet's favor! We could have a new champion tonight!

Nick: But, who's the other guy?

Richard: I think it's...

The third man stands up, and turns around directly in front of the camera.

Nick: IT IS! FORMER CORE LEGACY CHAMPION BUDDY KINGFISHER!!!

Richard: Is he part of PRIME now?

Nick: Must be!

Sirrajin waits for Worth to come off the ropes, and when he does, he ducks behind, and grabs his head, doing the "Throw Opponent Over Top Rope" move we see all the time that never really works.

Same holds true here. Worth grabs the top rope, lands on the ring apron. Sirrajin charges and gets a shoulder in the midsection for his troubles.

The remaining security personel circle the three interlopers, and try their best to take them into custody. Maxwell, O'Neil and Kingfisher beat a hasty retreat through the crowd, as the security follows them.

The Dual Halo Winner grabs Sirrajin, and punches him in the head, twice, before bending him over and kicking him in the face. Sirrajin falls backwards, and Worth moves quickly, coming off the ropes, and dropping a leg drop across the chest of the Universal Champion. Sirrajin tries to roll out of the ring, but Worth stops him, and pulls him to his feet.

Worth hits Sirrajin with a huge European Uppercut, knocking Sirrajin into the corner. Sirrajin looks dazed as Worth hits another one, nearly taking the Supreme Machine's head off.

Nick: Worth is fired up!

Richard: He smells more gold, I think!

Nick: I think he can do it! Sirrajin is a sitting duck!

Richard: I hate to agree...

The Golden Ticket Holder backs off into the opposite corner, and runs at The PRIME Choice, htiting him with a big splash. Sirrajin hits the mat ass first, sitting in the corner. Worth drops down, and hooks one of Sirrajin's arms around the ropes, sticking a finger in his own mouth, and running it through The Supreme Machine's ear!

Richard: Wet Willy! I don't care who you are, that's disgusting!

Nick: I agr- HEY!

Richard: Sorry. Couldn't resist!

Nick: I hope that was your finger.

Sirrajin struggles, but, it's no use. At the four count, Worth breaks the hold, and lifts the finger in the air with a scream. Worth puts a few heavy boots to Sirrajin's head, and then, it's time. He pulls Sirrajin to his feet, and kicks him in the gut. A few fans cheer as Worth signals it's time for Sirrajin's hopes and dreams to crash to the ground.

Nick: Worth is on fire here!

Worth lifts Sirrajin into the air in a suplex.

He holds him for five seconds...

Nick: OH MY GOD! WE COULD HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!

Ten seconds...

Richard: YES! YES! YES! DO IT CHET!

Fifteen...

Nick: This will be a huge slap in the face for Tyler Nelson! Do it, Chet!

Twenty and KABOOM! Worth pushes Sirrajin forward, and drops him to the canvas with the For What It's Worth! It should be all over!

But, then, it happens.

The frat boys from earlier, upset that Worth could quickly win this match enter the ring area. There's no security this time to stop them. They make their way into the ring, and before Worth can even make the cover, they're on him.

Nick: Wha...

Richard: Oh no...

Punches and kicks fly as Worth tries to make his way out of the ring. Four of the young adults grab his arms and legs, as a few more start to kick him. The ring becomes chaos as Killean Sirrajin rolls out of the ring and looks on absolutely bewildered. Referee Bernie Roberts grabs Sirrajin and begins pulling him toward the backstage area.

And not a moment too soon.

A few more fans jump the apron, going to the ring, looking for a fight. A few of them grab the frat boys, and begin to fight. A few others go after Worth, looking for the Golden Ticket. A few of the PRIME wrestlers come out, and look at what's going on, Danny Ferguson, Kyle Lamen, Kevin Sandusky, Titan St. James, Lindsay Troy among them, hoping that they can help out.

The fans realize that security isn't coming, and that's when all hell breaks loose. Seeing Ferg and company on the aisle way, a bunch of fans jump the gate, and charge up the aisle. The wrestlers run away. There's nothing else they could have done in the face of what was happening. Nick and Richard leave their seats, and make their way out of the arena.

Pandemonium ensues as fans start to pour into the backstage area, looking for anything and everything they can find.

The wrestlers run as fast as they can to their cars, trying to get the hell out of Pittsburgh.

In their haste, they've left behind important items: Ring gear, suitcases, wallets, money, jewelry, cell phones, and one T-Mobile Sidekick.

The fans make their way to familiar areas they saw earlier, and ransack them in seconds, taking anything and everything that their heroes touched, interacted with, ate, threw away, and left behind.

More people run into the ring and begin tearing it apart. The skirts are gone, and the top rope has somehow become detached. Two people have grabbed steel ringsteps, and together, threw them as hard as they could toward the people running toward the back, hitting a woman in the back of the head. People didn't care to move around her. They stepped over her in most cases, but, some people walked directly on her prone body.

Catering was cleaned out in a matter of moments. The rigatoni, chicken, broccoli, fries, fried chicken, roast beef, beer, rum, wine, and the rest of the beverages were consumed or thrown, and a small fire was started on a table.

The wrestlers got into their cars, and left, the last one carrying Tyler Nelson, Killean Sirrajin, Clint Poteet, Nick and Richard. Almost like when the Death Star blew up in Return of the Jedi and Lando and the Millenium Falcon just made it out before becoming star dust, The Nelson Convoy just slipped out of the gate before the fans reached them, and the police arrived.

People had gotten out.

They were the lucky ones.

Everyone was lucky.

Except one man.

Chet Worth, who now lies bleeding at the bottom of a pile of bodies stacking up in the ring as the tear gas starts to fly in the Mellon Arena.

Poor Chet Worth, indeed.