This is PRIME where you expect the unexpected and nothing is as it seems to be. There is drama around every corner and peace is about as rare as George Bush talking sense. Even as the show is about to open, a multitude of minds are working at high speed to come up with something to allow their owners to get one up on someone else. You won’t find hearts and flowers in this part of the world, respect lasts five seconds and the person who was your friend a week ago could be your enemy by the end of the night. This is PRIME and it’s not for the weak of heart. If you want to see a happy ending, couples skipping hand in hand through long grass and love all around then look away now and don’t come back because this will burn your eyes out.

"There’s no place like home."

The camera fades up to see Paul Cain standing in the parking lot, looking towards the back entrance of The Ford Center, the symbolic gateway to the world of PRIME. He still wears the trademark Armani suit jacket and pants with a black shirt underneath, although something is missing. Cain is running his bottom lip slowly against the top one and his eyes appear distant as he ponders that first step back into this chaotic environment. This is a pensive and focussed Cain, the trademark arrogant smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a hint of nervous tension. With one hand, he sweeps back his long black hair from his eyes and glances down to the ring on his wedding finger. Never before had those in PRIME or beyond been given a glimpse into the real world of Paul Cain, yet would this jewellery be the window to a world full of vulnerabilities, the equivalent of kryptonite to Superman.

His eyes stare at the ring as if it’s the very same ring that Frodo cherished so intently. Two fingers idly trail over the golden marriage symbol as he takes a long, deep breath. In the distance, Hessian can be seen pacing through the backstage area as he prepares for El Rayo Azul IV. The gladiators are preparing themselves, this is a man’s world and this is where people either survive or die, there is no in-between. As he looks up to see Hessian, he glances back down to the ring, a symbol of the family life and a world away from this dogfight. An innocent chid who doesn’t know her daddy, not really, not completely and a wife who believes in him, the dutiful husband and the good father.

With the clink of gold against the cold floor below, the ring drops from his finger. This is not a world for families and for those who can be harmed by the deeds done within this place. He bends down and sweeps up the jewellery, slipping into the pocket of his pants. The wife that loves him and the child that adores him, they are best left behind, left in the safety of ignorance. This is the world of men who thrive on pain and torment, only the strong survive and in love is weakness. Sever all ties, deny it all, shut down your feelings and face the battle alone with nobody to support you and stand by you. Be an individual, look for nobody to guide you, be your own salvation and your own defence. Love your family but leave them behind for this is not a journey for them to endure, this is your battle and yours only. The path has been chosen and now it’s time to walk it, walk it alone.

"This is just what I need."

With a deep breath, Paul Cain takes the first steps forward into the Ford Center and back into the world of PRIME.

Goodbye my Angels, Daddy has to do this.

"The doorman said...NO HEAD, NO BACKSTAAAGE PAAAAAAASSSSS! The doorman said…NO HEAD, NO BACKSTAAAAGE PAAAAAAAASSSSS!"

The soul food of Funkadelic grows louder and louder, and lights shine on a series of black BMWs as the FUNK SHUTTLE roars around the corner of the ever-seg-ready side parking lot to the Ford Center and comes to a screeching stop not far from the steps to the backstage entrance.

Pssssshhhhhttt!!! Screeeeeeeee!!

The doors fly open to the trademark cloud of questionable content and origin, and Nova steps out, eyes bloodshot and a huge grin across his bearded mug. He’s on the celly, and his free hand clutches a bottle of Riesling.

Nova: (holding the bottle up) Yeah, I got the Riesling. 2003. Cool? Well, most excellent, man. Not wrestling and getting wasted at the shows is just fine with me, ya know? Same pay, last I checked.

He walks over and sets the wine on the hood of one of the escort cars and lights a cigarette before pacing around. Pacing on the phone is an unbreakable habit for him.

Nova: Alright, d00d, I’ll see you later on, then. Yup. Take ‘er easy.

He hangs up the phone and starts to walk back over to get his wine.

"NOVA! HEY!"

A guy with a PRIME crew work-shirt waves at Nova from a corridor on a different end of the parking garage. Nova squints for a moment, and then grins with recognition.

Nova: Hey, Tim!

Tim: Hey, you remember those pyros I said we were ordering a few weeks back? The kind that come in those fuckin’ ridiculously big cannons?

Nova: Goddamned right I do. Talk to me, Timbo.

Tim: Well, I think we have them here tonight, down the hall. I was wondering if you wanted to see them before we strap them in. It’ll just be a second.

Nova looks back at the FUNK SHUTTLE, then shrugs as he takes a drag from his smoke.

Nova: Yeah sure, if it’ll just be a minute.

He follows Tim back towards the corridor. As their voices fade, a hooded figure emerges from the shadows of the lot and moves quickly towards the car where the wine sits, temporarily forgotten. The hooded man hunches over the bottle, arms moving deftly. He stands there for a moment, then looking both ways he flees back to the darkness from whence he came.

Tim: Damn, sorry for wasting your time, man. I thought for sure I’d heard we had ‘em in this week. Who was it told me…

Nova: Really, don’t worry about it, Tim. I’m sure it was just one of those things…rumors start going and pretty soon we have fucking nukes back here, according to John Doe on the production staff…

Tim: Well, we did that one week…

Nova: I’m pretty sure Angelo disabled the warhead…but then, I’m not sure, so…

Tim: Well, all the same, sorry ‘bout that. We’ll see about it later?

Nova: For sure, dood. For sure.

The Rising Star walks over, snatches his bottle of wine, and makes for the backstage entrance. Tim begins walking back towards the corridor…

SLAM!

…but as the door shuts behind Nova to the arena, he wheels back around and begins walking back towards the FUNK SHUTTLE.

Tim: It’s all clear.

The hooded figure emerges from the shadows and approaches him, holding out a wad of cash. Tim stares at him nervously for a minute before extending his hand to grab the money. The hooded figure’s clammy hand clamps down on Tim’s, however, and from underneath the hood, a grin is visible on his face, and the outlines of scars on his cheeks.

Hooded Figure: Everybody’s got a price.

Tim stares at him, a bead of sweat rolling down his face, and then the hooded figure shoves him away, the cash still gripped tightly in his hand.

Tim: H-hey! We had a deal!

Hooded Figure: Piss off.

Tim glares at him, eyes narrowing in anger. But fear is more powerful than anger sometimes, and his shoulders slump in defeat as he turns and trudges off back towards the corridor.

Vangelus Olsig throws back his hood, and watches the rat scurry away.

Nick: Welcome back folks! It’s time for our first match of the night and contestant number one is already waiting in the ring, the always expendable El Rayo Azul IV!

Richard: Ya gotta wonder if management bothered to tell him who his opponent is, if I were as deliciously sadistic as Worth and co. I wouldn’t!

Nick: Well he’s about to find out in the worst way possible as Vince Howard makes the announcement…

Vince: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The following contest is scheduled for one fall…

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motörhead hits the PA, the crowd showing a minimal response to an as of yet unheard theme song in PRIME. As darkness descends upon the arena, strobe lighting fills it accompanied by flaming pyro on either side of the entrance as a large silhouette of a man appears before the masses.

Nick: Well Richard there’s only one man can fill boots that big-…

Richard: IVAN?!

Nick: What? No!

Vince: Making his way to the ring, hailing from Detroit and weighing in at 315lbs…making his return to PRIME, he is the Construction of Destruction…HESSIAAAN!!

The crowd burst into a chorus of cheers as a spotlight hits the entrance, lighting up the massive frame of the hardcore hellfire that is Von Kelsig. Standing slack-jawed in the ring, El Rayo watches as Hessian calmly strolls down the ramp, glancing at the crowd with a smile growing on his lips.

Nick: Hessian returns to PRIME after a long absence, and his look has changed dramatically!

Richard: Wow…he actually resembles a wrestler now, guess the medieval armour and Halloween masks are out this season!

Nick: And my goodness seeing those horrific scars covering his face and body it’s no wonder he needed them!

Standing at the apron, Hessian cracks his knuckles, cocking his head at the opponent standing before him. Gripping the top rope he propels himself from the floor onto the apron and into the ring, standing high and mightily before El Rayo. As the music stops and the lights go up, El Rayo wastes no time, sprinting back into the ropes and launching himself at Hessian with a dropkick to the gut.

Nick: El Rayo getting things started quickly here, and who can blame him given his opponent! Hessian hasn’t seen action in the ring so perhaps a hard-hitting offence will benefit here!

Richard: Yeah, a big stick wouldn’t go amiss either, lest we forget what happened before Hessian’s departure!

Unfortunately for El Rayo, Hessian barely reacts to the dropkick while he tumbles into the mat, nipping up immediately and setting into the Goliath with a barrage of lefts and rights, all the while being laughed at by Hessian. With a worried expression on his face, El Rayo begins assaulting his opponent with closed fists, but before the referee can intervene Hessian halts him with one hand, before wrapping the other around El Rayo’s head, pushing him just out of punching distance!

Nick: Azul must be running on instinct to keep punching, Hessian doesn’t seem bothered by those illegal punches!

Richard: He’s kept remarkably toned for a 7’er pushing forty!

Shaking his head in disgust at Rayo’s inability to produce any effective offence, he pushes his opponent back into the mat. As El Rayo gets back to his feet, Hessian falls back off the ropes and thrusts himself into Azul with a massive clothesline that leaves the Mexican spinning in mid-air for a moment before crashing into the mat once again. Giving him no time to rest, Hessian pulls him to his feet again and launches him off of the ropes, catching Azul on return and driving him into the mat with a vicious tilt-a-whirl backbreaker drop!

Nick: The Kiss of Death! One of Hessian’s favoured moves and the name of the album from which his theme song was taken!

Richard: Don’t commercialise man! It was called that long before that album was released!

Picking El Rayo up, Hessian wraps a hand around his throat and hoists the Mexican up over 7 feet into the air, stalling for a moment before sending him straight to Hell with a chokeslam. Maintaining the grip around his neck, Hessian lifts him all the way back up again with one hand and once again re-introduces him into the mat with another brutal chokeslam!

Nick: To Hell And Back! Hessian is wasting no time showing El Rayo, the crowd and the boys in the back he hasn’t lost touch with the sport!

Richard: What message can he possibly be sending? It’s the curtain jerker and he isn’t exactly facing his nemesis here, this is just playtime for Hessian.

Indeed it seems so, as once again Hessian pulls his unfortunate opponent to his feet leaving him no time to recover from the double chokeslam. Pushing El Rayo away from him for maximum momentum, Hessian slingshots Azul into the turnbuckle at tremendous velocity. Crunching into the cushions, El Rayo flies back from the momentum and straight into Hessian’s arms. Tossing his victim up into the air, Hessian catches him on his shoulders in the Canadian backbreaker rack, much to the pleasure of the baying audience. After a few wrenches of the back, El Rayo is driven into the mat with the Crucifix piledriver!

Nick: Eternal Damnation! Looking as good as it ever did! The match has barely got going and already Hessian is ending it abruptly!

Richard: Well it would be an insult to Hessian to keep it going, after all he’s returning in the opening slot of ReVolution against what is essentially fodder to him! He’s probably venting frustration, after all he could’ve burned a pentagram into someone or thrown someone off of something tall or you know…something Hess-like.

Nick: I’m guessing he must be going through a change of character given his attire and-…oh my god!

As they conversed, Nick and Richard watched as Hessian picked El Rayo up once again and straddled him over the top rope, thereafter grabbing both Azul’s legs and pulling back to release his opponent like a human bow and arrow into the air and crashing down in front of the announce table. El Rayo’s screams echo through the building as he clutches at the testiculated mess that was once his groin!

Nick: Hessian just shot El Rayo at us! With one of his more controversially agonising moves known as the Ballista!

Richard: I do believe that’s the first time he’s ever used that move!

Nick: Hessian has an arsenal of moves, a number of which are yet to be seen in the ring. He’s sticking to his guns, no doubt wanting to end this match immediately!

1! The referee begins a ten count as El Rayo kicks out, tears welling up in his eyes as he rubs his sore spot. 2! Hessian folds his arms and watches on, with a stoic look as El Rayo hears the count of two and rolls around, taking some much-needed breaths and forcing the pain into the back of his mind. 3! El Rayo reaches up and rests his arms on the announce table, staring at Nick and Richard with a pained expression on his face. 4! Before El Rayo can get up however, Hessian slides out of the ring, grabbing Azul’s feet and pulling him back. 5! Hessian looks back to check the trajectory before hiking Azul up and executing a loose but effective release German suplex that sends the little Mexican cascading through the ropes and crumpling into the mat. 6! Shooting a wry grin towards the announcers Hessian turns and slides back into the ring to face the heap of flesh lying before him that is El Rayo Azul IV.

Richard: El Rayo flew like a cannonball straight back into the ring!

Nick: El Rayo is struggling to cope with the little punishment he has been dealt so far, with no more than a few punches serving as his offensive he hasn’t had a look in edgeways thus far!

Stalking El Rayo Hessian advances, nudging Azul with his foot before pulling him to his feet and sloppily whipping him into the corner. Stumbling straight into them, Azul is disoriented as Hessian picks him up, sitting him on the top rope and hooking both his feet around the second rope. Facing the crowd, El Rayo winces as Hessian wraps an arm around his neck, spinning on his heels and executing a brutal neckbreaker that sends El Rayo springing back up into a sitting position before sprawling out over the turnpost and eventually falling back onto the mat!

Nick: The Broken Hangman! One of a variation of innovative turnbuckle moves Hessian looks eager to showcase!

Kicking El Rayo back into the middle of the ring, Hessian places his size 22E boot on Azul’s chest and waits as the referee makes the count.

1…

2…

3!!!

Vince: Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your winner…HESSIAN!!!

Nick: Wow! That was short and sweet, by the looks of it El Rayo will be hurting in the morning! Hessian’s pulls out an easy victory on his return to PRIME!

"Kingdom of the Worm" blasts into the ears of all in attendance once more as Hessian raises an arm, sneering at El Rayo as he lies contorted on the mat. Turning to ringside, Hessian motions to Vince Howard for the microphone, to which he is obliged. Looking around at the crowd Hessian absorbs the cheers as they slowly fade, allowing him to begin.

Hessian: I knew there would be a time when the craving would take hold once again, that I couldn’t suppress that shudder running up my spine, adrenaline building as I watched bodies flying falling and fighting within this squared circle. I thought my sole purpose in this industry was to spill the blood of those who would threaten my position at the top of the food chain, namely the darker among us that brought pain and otherworldly sadism to this sport of men. In my quest of annihilation however I never once took a look at myself…the man behind the monster.

The sporadic cheers echoing around the arena fall silent as Hessian glances unsurely at the fans as he forces the lump in his throat back down into his gut.

Hessian: At the top of my game I laid waste in as many brutal forms as I was allowed, taking innocent souls to a place where only I was foolish enough to tread. Behind the guise of the armour, the masks and the magic I went on a mindless rampage, and even at my most vulnerable time during the Global Title match I passed off the weakness and looked back through those glowing eyes at the pools of blood and the screams echoing in my ears, chasing them with a passion.

Nick: Hessian seems to be laying out a revelation here Richard; he’s definitely changing his tune.

Richard: You don’t say, I’m still trying to adjust to the attire and the lack-o’-mask. Those scars are Sabutastic!

Hessian: It took time away from the sport pursuing another passion to realise what I was and who I am. Looking back now I pity myself for so foolishly squandering precious time and effort on a lost struggle. While the real warriors gave their bodies for Championship gold, honour, pride and respect I wasted my time hunting down those unfortunate bastards like me who couldn’t see the reality behind the smoke and mirrors. Dark Gimmicks? A goddamn joke! A running gag from the Academy to that elevator episode with Vampir! Oh, please don’t get me wrong I stand by every match and stipulation I ever had the privilege of bestowing upon opponent and fan alike, but the logic behind it was nothing more than a fairytale.

Nick: Wow! Hessian is dismissing his own legacy as a joke…

Richard: Not entirely, just the cosmetics…and he’s making sense Nick!

Hessian: So listen up PRIME. I’m back and I’m supercharged for violence. The bells and whistles are gone, what you see before you is Hessian stripped back to nothing more than the flesh and the brutality. It’s time to get real, and unfortunately for everyone in the back that means putting the theatrics aside and focusing on making every last one of you sorry sons of bitches suffer at my hand. I’m done chasing the fantasy; I only have one mission now and you all have to face that reality with me. By the time I’m done with this place people will only dare utter my name as a warning to others who wish to step toe to toe with the Construction of Destruction…for there are worse things to fear than the reaper boys and girls. Hessian is back.

Throwing the microphone down Hessian begins to make his way from the ring as "Kingdom of the Worm" plays out once more when suddenly…..

IF I GO CRAZY THEN WILL YOU STILL CALL ME SUPERMAN

"Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down cuts off Hessian's music. The crowd turns, very surprised by the sudden appearance of the recently-returned Shawn Stewart. He steps out on the ramp, not dressed to compete, but in black athletic pants and his velour hooded jacket, he still looks ready to fight. His approach to the ring is unflinching and he keeps a steady gaze on Hessian.

Nick: Shawn Stewart is here to...

Richard: Commit suicide.

Nick:... answer the challenge...

Stewart rolls under the ropes and motions for a mic from ringside. Hessian leans back against the turnbuckles, a slight grin on his face as he watches this man he knew from OSW and RPW. Stewart turns to Hessian, a slight grin on his face. His fists show that they're taped, as always, when he extends a hand, pointing at the big man.

Stewart: So, you're here to make all of us suffer, here to show you're nothing more than, flesh and brutality, right? You think you're worse than the reaper? I don't think you give people here very much credit. I know you don't give me enough. You sure aren't the first monster I've tangled with, made bleed, beaten, whatever. You won't be the last. But you think this brutality posturing is going to scare me? The last 'monster' that I fought with went too far. He threatened me, my wife, my family, my life and then we had it ought. You can see, he didn't follow through, in fact I beat his skull in and left him in a coma when the night was done.

It's a response that draws a cheer from the diehards in the audience. "Let's go, Shawn!" Shawn doesn't even look, he's not here for adoration, he's here for a good challenge.

Stewart: You want someone that's going to push you? That's going to stretch you to the limits? Someone that's going to bust your big, goofy-looking skull? You and me, big man, we're going to go round and round.

Shawn smiles up at the taller man, nodding him on as Hessian shouts back.

Shawn, though, doesn't get to finish his thought.

"In 2 Deep" by Kenny Wayne Sheppard.

Nick: Hey! Just when I thought it was getting interesting before.

Richard: Oh. It’s the Almighty Tardo.

Nick: Shush! That’s Vangellus Oxios and it seems like he wants a little something to do with this tête-à-tête we already got going on in the ring between Hessian and Shawn Stewart.

Vangellus Oxios, receiving quite possibly the loudest pop of the three so far based on the fact that he’s A) an idiot and B) a very popular idiot. The World’s Most Marketable Wrestler, Van World Order mic in hand, paces around the entryway for a second and starts walking down the ring while slapping some hands. Hessian remembers Vangellus Oxios all too well; the two having an ugly little spat that involved Vangellus standing up to the monster on more than one occasion.

Nick: We got Oxios entering the ring now and it looks like he’s got something he needs to get off his chest. Let’s bear in mind that it was Oxios who came to the aid of Shawn Stewart as well last week as a result of that two-on-one beatdown he was receiving at the hands of Sonny Silver and Kenjiro ITO.

Richard: MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME! Get it right or he’ll have your job.

Nick: He’s not… ugh, just nevermind.

Oxios: Cut my music, loyal production monkeys!

Hessian smirked a little bit, seeing Vangellus again for the first time in nearly two years. Shawn just stared at the quirky high-flyer, but was willing to at least hear the guy out.

Oxios: Now… Shawn. Big hulking monster with an appetite for destruction… I know that it seems like you two want to sit there and swing your dicks to see who’s got a biggest of them all --- That’d be me, of course –

Some pops for the cheap plug of his… well, equipment.

Oxios: But see, I’ve got a little problem here. It seems to me that I, being a man of the people and a man made up of a rare and valuable substance called ownage, has fans… loyal viewers that tune in to see my sparkly teeth and my bad-ass moves night in and night out in this ring. And I can’t disappoint. So…

His attention turns right to Hessian, who stands still with arms folded, amused a little bit that he’s the object of Oxios’ attention.

Oxios: Bub, you and me got a little bit of history where you were under the impression that I was your personal doormat. Well, let me take you on a little trip back through time, Hess, my boy.

Oxios starts waving his body around in an attempt to act like those little waves in a flashback, much to some laughter from the Seattle audience.

Oxios: The year is two thousand and four. The place was North Carolina and the PPV was RPW’s The Kannon Effect. Weeks building up to that, yeah. You got a couple on me. You beat my ass here, there and everywhere. But the scene is different. You have me on the ropes and you go for the Eternal Damnation and try to make my brains one with the concrete… but I sneak in those three seconds and that’s all it took to pin you.

Hessian also remembered the event well, it seemed.

Oxios: But it didn’t end there. No. After the bell, Talk, Dark, and Psychopathic over here picks me up over his shoulders and spikes my head into the mat with Eternal Damnation. He got the proverbial last word in… but now, let’s go back to our normal time.

Again with the waves. Again with the laughter. Oxios looks up at the 7’2" Hessian.

Oxios: Now, here we stand. The year’s two thousand six. We’ve both gone through some changes it seems. I’ve come back from Japan better than ever. You’re back from your time away better than ever. We’re on a much grander stage… that means that I’ve got more people watching my every move than ever before, and that means that the challenges are greater. You’re looking for a fight, here’s one. Me… here, right n…

Stewart: All right, that’s enough…

Some fans boo and some cheer for Stewart’s interruption, but he’s unfazed by what anybody thinks of him. He stands near Oxios and grits his teeth.

Stewart: I respect that you have the balls to want to come in and face Hessian, but it’s pretty rude to come into a conversation when two people are already talking. I’ve got first crack at him. Besides, what makes you think you can step over me first?

Oxios: Well, I bailed your ass out of the fire last week when that retard, Silver and his pet Japanese guy took turns passing you around.

A couple "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" sounds come from the crowd, but Stewart doesn’t let the comment affect him.

Stewart: It was a sneak attack on their part and I assure you, they’ll be dealt with in time. But right now in this ring, we got a problem.

Nick: Eeep. Now Hessian’s got his mic back.

Richard: He’ll probably be happy to lynch both of them, knowing that guy.

The Construction of Destruction stands there and scratches his chin, thinking about all the attention he’s getting. With little more than a breath, he gives his two cents.

Hessian: Fine, then. I’ll break both of you in half… RIGHT NOW!

Richard looks on smug at ringside.

Richard: Called it.

Not even getting the chance to toss the microphone aside, he’s cut off…

"No Chance" by Dope.

Richard: WOO-HOO! THIS SEGMENT JUST GOT INJECTED WITH 100 CC’S OF AWESOME! HERE COMES THE CHAIRMAN!

Nick: What the hell is HE doing out here?!

Sure enough, pushing his way through the curtains and dressed in an Armani business suit, Mr. Silver does a ridiculous power-walk down the ramp and heads up the steps. With a smug look of confidence (read: Looking like he smells something awful.) he boldly walks past a game Stewart, his nemesis of the last couple weeks and Hessian and takes a microphone from ringside. Now looking peeved at what’s going on, he absorbs… cheers from the crowd?

Nick: What the hell? Since when did Sonny have fans?

Richard: It’s the rule of the hometown. We’re in Seattle, Sonny’s from Seattle, he’s got some people on his side.

The booing definitely overwhelms the cheering, but they’re there. The self-proclaimed SUPERWRESTLER looks over all three wrestlers before speaking.

Silver: WHAT IN THE HELL IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! I’M TRYING TO RUN A SHOW AND YOU THREE BASTARDS ARE OUT HERE HOGGING UP ALL THE GOOD AIR! STOP BREATHING! ALL THREE OF YOU!

The booing was definitely getting there, but still… fans are loyal idiots.

Silver: You!

His attention first goes to Oxios.

Silver: First, you blatantly come into MY PRIME and sit there with your high-flying loop-the-loop twirly-whirly horse-shit, you don’t even CLEAR your airtime through me and you get in MY business when I, Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME am handing out ass-whompings to all those I deem worthy of receiving one!

Then to Stewart, who’s ready to beat his ass.

Silver: And YOU! I was SUPPOSED to be having a battle with Scott Matthews. He was a big wrestler and naturally, I was gonna put him over and push him to the Universal Title right off the bat, but no! He disappears and you show up! I don’t even remember hiring your Dan Severn-looking ass, but here you are, ready to get your ass kicked by me… AGAIN. So for costing me a genetic freak of nature to push to the moon, I say FUCK YOU, SIR!

Nick: YOU’RE NOT THE CHAIRMAN!

Richard: HUSH! That kind of blasphemy will get you fired!

While Oxios and Shawn both roll their eyes, Sonny then addresses the VERY tall Hessian, standing approximately 11 inches over that of the man claiming he’s the owner of PRIME.

Silver: And finally, YOU! Hessian! When I put you in this match tonight, I had the feeling I was gonna give you a gigantic push, too. I mean, you’re huge, violent, and you have more moves than Shawn here has ways of putting people to sleep, but then you started talking. I didn’t approve of you to talk! You’re just supposed to beat shit up and go on an undefeated streak! You say you’re gonna denounce the dark gimmick? Well, they’re denouncing you!

Hessian’s look now changes from that of "bring it on" to "Stop talking. Now." Glad that clears it up.

Silver: Excuse me! The attention is on ME now, so shut your wordholes and listen up, girls. Now, normally what I’d do in a situation like this is book you all in a handicap match against me, then cripple you all single-handedly…. But it’s a waste of my time and energy. Since the three of you wanna beat the hell out of you and I need to start working double-time to get you mid-carders out of the way so I can gain MY championships… Great American Nightmare.

Hessian.

Shawn Stewart.

Vangellus Oxios.

Triple Threat Match!

I hope you all die in pools of your own blood!

Richard: THIS IS HUGE! WE’RE GONNA HAVE A TRIPLE THREAT MATCH BETWEEN THOSE THREE! VIOLENCE RULES!

Nick: He couldn’t command a bar of soap! He has no authority to do anything!

Oxios, Hessian, and Shawn just stare at Sonny like he’s out of his fucking mind as he stands there, smirking an evil grin.

Silver: All three of you are gonna get just what yo…

New voice: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!

Richard: What is this, an open mic night?

Nick: No, but I’ll tell you who this is. THIS IS CHET WORTH!

The music-less REAL CEO of PRIME, Chet Worth, makes his way out from behind the curtain to a nice applause as he strokes the beard on his chin. The four men all turn their attention to the CEO, who holds a mic in hand.

Worth: Silver, I can’t tell you how tired I am of hearing all the stories where my employees either run in fear or snicker in your general direction. You come out here, you talk and you talk and you talk, but for all the talking, you don’t say a damn thing.

A big pop blasts throughout the arena as Sonny stands there, ready to climb over the ropes and strangle Chet.

Worth: But it seems to me that I got four people willing to fight one another and some room for the dance card at the Great American Nightmare… so we’ll do this… At The Great American Nightmare in two weeks, we’re gonna have a Four Corners Match to see which one of you truly is the most dominant. A win in a match like this would go a long way for any one of you. It’ll be Hessian vs. Shawn Stewart vs. Vangellus Oxios vs. Sonny Silver!

Hessian cracks his knuckles and gets ready to fight, Shawn is checking his tape and smiles, and even Oxios seems to be in a fighting mood… Sonny does not. In fact, he’s still got his microphone and is pissed. Censors, ready your trigger fingers.

Silver: I don’t know who the hell that fat bastard thinks he is, but I call the shots. And I suggest that each one of you fucking chuckleheads listen up… cross the boss, and I’ll snap every last one of your necks.

Shawn: Not if I snap yours first…

Shawn drops the microphone and immediately tackles the Silver Lining, leaving the two going to town on one another with incredibly vicious volleys of right hands. Oxios took the distraction for a moment and let loose on Hessian with several kicks to the hamstrings before letting the vicious fists fly. Oxios was an INCREDIBLY stiff hitter, so the shots almost seemed to take their toll on Hessian until he evaded a big right roundhouse from Oxios. Hessian power-lifts Van right over his shoulders before getting a run and SPIKING him into the mat before letting the blows rain down upon Hess.

Worth motions for security to swarm the ring and looks on as fifteen to twenty wrestlers looking to get on TV as security agents slide inside to pull the four combatants apart. Sonny and Shawn were still trying to get at one another and Hessian had to be pulled off of Oxios, but the World’s Most Marketable Wrestler fires off a good high right kick, staggering Hessian back a step. The Construction of Destruction tries to get back on him, but by now security has done their job of keeping the four men separated.

Worth: Well… seems you all want a fight a little bit sooner than the Great American Nightmare, so we’ll do this…

The chubby CEO takes a second to think and smiles.

Worth: I got it. Next week, we’re gonna be bringing back an old PRIME favorite. The Friend or Foe match… In one corner, it’ll be Shawn Stewart teaming up with… Sonny Silver!

The former rivals from Old School Fighting stare at one another with only bad intentions crossing their minds.

Worth: Against… Hessian and Vangellus Oxios!

With a nod, Worth headed to the back while the security started to pull the four bloodthirsty men apart from one another. Now, let’s go to commercial and stuff.

Jonathan Winters met his new partner in crime, Charity, with a sigh as he gained access to the arena from the parking lot. He didn’t know just how long she’d been waiting for him there to show up, but she had a toothy smile plastered across her face regardless. Winters’ reaction wiped that smile away. He had that effect on people.

He walked past her silently, producing an expression of confusion from Charity. "What?"

He continued to walk, kit bag placed over his shoulder, waiting for her to catch up before dignifying her with an answer. "I’ve change my mind." He barged open the heavy corridor door and didn’t bother holding it open for Charity. There wasn’t a definition in the world for the word ‘gentleman’ that could be used to describe Winters -- and Charity was far from being a lady. "I think it’s a bad idea."

Charity isn’t phased by Winters show of ungentlemanly conduct and barged the door open after him regardless.

"You’ve change you’re mind?" She questioned, her face scrunched up tightly; it seems confusion is not a friend of her complexion. "But last week, you…"

"A lot can happen in a week," Winters responded, not breaking his stride.

Charity allows a grunt under her breath; a potent sign of anger clear for anyone to see. Winters often had that effect on people too.

"Why?" Charity asked. "What’s changed your mind?"

Winters sighed again; the second time in as many minutes. He realised that she wasn’t going to go away without some kind of reason. Luckily for him, he had several and so, diplomatically, selected the one he thought would convince her the most.

"I don’t see why I need you around," He told her straight.

They rounded the final corner of the corridor and then finally entered his locker room -- his locker room. He lowered himself onto a bench and rested his kit bag next to him carefully. Charity stood in front of him, hands on her hips and eyes wide.

"Why do you need me?" She asked and then repeated to illustrate her point, "Why do you need me?"

If the question wasn’t originally intended to be rhetorical, Winters’ silence made it so and it took Charity the longest time to realise it.

"I can’t believe you asked me that!" Her voice was raised now and Winters winced, as her high-pitched whine grated against him.

"Well I did ask," Winters told her. "Deal with it."

She sighed. "Well, first of all, I’m going to be getting you the title shots you deserve. Secondly, I’m going to make sure you’re pushed up the card…"

Winters held up a hand, forcing her to stop mid sentence. "I can and have done that myself."

Charity glared at him a little dumfounding. He continued regardless, "Two ReV main event bookings in a row?" He allowed the sentence to linger in the air for a few seconds and then, just before Charity could open her mouth again added, "And the Five Star Title shot tonight?"

"Well, yeah, of course," She spluttered, thinking on her feet. "But I’ll make sure you win those big matches…"

Winters glared at her sternly and rose from the bench, coming face to face with her. She didn’t budge an inch.

"No," he told her, "you won’t. I can win my matches on my own. I don‘t need or want your help in that regard."

She relented, edging backward and raised both hands defensively. "Okay, okay, I won’t interfere goddamn it."

He remained glaring at her for a time, before he set about unpacking the things from his kit bag. All of a sudden, Chairty developed a knowing expression. She edged closer, slipping an arm around his waist and gave him an all knowing look. He turned his head slightly to glare at her face.

"I’m good for other things too," she whispered, into his ear.

He shook his head disappointedly and removed her arm. "You’re not my type."

"You’re deluded," she told him, "I’m everyone’s type."

He ignored her. "…and from where I’m standing, you’re also of no use to me…"

"This isn‘t over!" She exclaimed. She then turned and stormed out of the locker room, slamming the door behind her.

Winters got right back to his kit back. "I figured."

Not every contest in the arena tonight was being waged in the ring, backstage a monumental battle was ensuing: on one side stands a man determined to get exactly what he wants, to tear the very lifeblood from directly inside his foe and feast upon it. Tony Gamble had only just entered into the battle, but his whole being was thrown into the fight – fists, feet, holds and grabs. Despite every valiant effort, the unmoveable opponent was, well… unmoveable.

Gamble: Fucking die!

Suddenly re-energised he flies in with a shoulder lunge, grabbing hold upon impact and firing a blistering series of punches. Sadly it is once again to no avail. He backs off, never losing sight of his prey. At this point, out the blue, an interruption arrives – taking the form of a lean, championship belt-wearing, chisel-jawed Scot.

Adam: Awright, man. You lookin’ for some Powerade out the machine, aye?

Gamble eyes him semi-suspiciously, but nods – his every effort against the vending machine having proved futile so far. The Scot walks across, gives it a quick kick at the dispenser, and picks up the bottle of sickly blue liquid that rolls out.

Adam: Here y’go.

Gamble takes a hearty slug from the bottle and looks at the beaming Scot who’s still standing there.

Gamble: Yeah?

Adam: Can I, ehh… talk t’you fer a bit, aye?

Gamble nods warily, taking another drink from the bottle.

Adam: See, I’m lookin’ into the history of this belt, like. And I’ve been readin’ up on the – to be frankly honest here – extraordinary man that used to hold it.

Gamble’s interest is piqued; eyebrow cocked, grin steadily growing, cocky stance already taken.

Gamble: Carry on…

Adam: The more I read, an’ watch over the past tapes an’ shite, the more I just think ‘Wow… he’s amazing’. An’ I’m tryin’ to really get into his head, y’know? So I figured I’d do the obvious thing and talk to you, right?

Gamble’s grin is as wide as it’s ever been, and possibly ever could be, as he listens to this.

Adam: So, aye – was hoping you’d be able to tell me all about him; those incredible Internet Championship matches, the ones that as-near-as defined the belt as it is.

Gamble: Well, I ca-

Already over-excited, Adam can’t stop and carries on over Gamble.

Adam: Basically what I’m trying to say is; will y’tell me everythin’ that y’learned in those matches? I really wanna get inside that complex mind an’ learn the secrets of being as great a champion as he was.

He pauses briefly and calms himself. Gamble has his arms crossed, head cocked and ego overflowing and can barely contain himself either.

Adam: Will you tell me everything you learned from losing to the great Jonathan Winters?

Face: dropped. Ego: shattered. Grin: non-existent. Gamble was not, as they say, a happy bunny. With Adam looking expectantly at him Tony Gambellini turns on his heel and storms off, tossing the bottle to the floor in anger as he heads back to his locker room.

Adam: …That a no then, aye?

So far tonight you have seen guys like Chet Worth, Nova, and that sneaky little bastard that is nowhere near as cold as his surname claims him to be... I mean seriously, who takes a cheap win like that, especially for something so important.

Winters, that's who.

The man could barely hold onto the Internet Title, and he wants to steal a chance at Gamble's Five Star Title...

Sorry, I forgot why we were back here.

So after his conversation with the little stalker by the drink machine, which Gamble completely forgot had stole his money -- that's twice now he's been robbed – he decided to go back to his locker room and sulk. Of course, someone had a different opinion on what he was going to do.

"Excuse me, Tony."

Have you ever just wanted to slap a woman so hard her silicone breasts popped out of her mouth? Neither has Tony, but he's getting there.

Tony Gamble: Can I help you, Lisa?

Lisa Tyler, with a cameraman in tow, stands right outside of Tony Gamble's locker room.

Lisa Tyler: I just wanted to know how you felt after that devastating loss to Jonathon Winters last week on Revolution.

Gamble shook his head.

Tony: I wouldn't necessarily call it devastating, Lisa. Jonathon Winters got lucky when Chandler Tsonda bailed him out from yet another loss he would have had to me. I'll have my chance for retribution soon, then Winters will remember first hand why he has never beaten me cleanly.

A bewildered look replaces the inquisitive one that Lisa had on her face moments ago.

Lisa: Another loss... never beaten you cleanly... Are you sure we're talking about the same person Tony?

Tony: Of course, we're talking about the man who couldn't even scratch the surface of my Internet success. We're talking about the guy I groomed for weeks before allowing him to be my successor as Internet champion. I'm talking--

Sonny: You're talking out of your ass, as usual, kid.

Gamble turns his head to see the man egregiously claiming to be the owner, creator, and chairman of PRIME. The fans watching the segment actually CHEER.

Fun fact: Seattle is Sonny's hometown. The people are his to command.

Looking at Gamble, he stands over the 5'9" PRIME athlete and laughs.

Sonny: From what I saw, you lost a match to a guy that has such low charisma he makes Carson Daly look like Johnny Carson. And you got beat up by a guy that looks like he's having an affair with Ryan Seacrest.

Gamble just shrugs his shoulders, since the analogy is pretty much spot on.

Tony: I'm surprised you took the time to take your head out of your ass to notice. Then again, I don't blame you... I like to watch me too.

The self-proclaimed Chairman of PRIME just laughs off the clever joke and folds his arms.

Sonny: Actually, I was rooting for the Amazon Bitch, but hell, watching Gamble fuck up another match was equally entertaining. Speaking of, as Chairman of PRIME, I've made a new decree.

He raises his right hand to match his height.

Sonny: You must be this tall to talk shit, so let somebody with fans speak now.

Tony: Considering I have had the Internet going nuts for months now, that would be me. Besides, you probably need to go remind Ito that his Ice Age is going to bomb worse than the damn cartoon. Seriously, I thought you had ego problems... that guys probably pasted his face next to the encyclopedia reference.

Gamble waves Sonny off with the back of his hand.

Tony: Now if you'll excuse me, I have an interview going on. People actually want to talk to me.

Sonny: No, they want to put a bullet in their brain when you talk. As for me, I'M MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, DAMN IT!

And for that catch phrase, the people actually… cheered? Retards.

Sonny: You wouldn't be the first midget with an Internet obsession that I've bitchslapped, Gamble, so I suggest you take the tone out of your prepubescent voice. Besides, it's a proven fact of life that Myspace bloggers are fucking idiots who couldn't spell Myspace if I spotted them the letters M, Y, S, P, A, and C. And if you're the King of the Internet… yeesh.

Gamble smiles proudly.

Tony: A bullet in their brain... prove it.

Just as soon as he says it, Gamble shakes his head.

Tony: No wait, I'm kidding. I do understand now why you're so upset, Mr. Chairman, SUPERWRESTLER, Silver Lining, Fuckhead... can I call you fuckhead? No, even better, I'll call you by the name you flaunted when you walked into the PRIME ring a few weeks ago. King of the Mid-Carders.

This time it is Sonny who beams with pride.

Tony: That's nice, Fuckhead, for you to lay claim to a title so worthy of your...

Gamble looks down at Sonny's feet them lifts his head to take a gander at the man standing across from him.

Tony: ... stature. I mean, at least you know you're never really going to amount to much else. So, King of the Mid-Carders, I'll make sure to give you a little shot out when I'm holding that Five Star title up over my head. Since, you know, It's not like I can get to where I'm going without the little people like you.

Again. More laughter from Sonny. My how the egos have grown in here.

Sonny: Bitch, I built this company so midgets like you could get stomped out on my way to greatness. I've been there, done that, controlled the universe, started the Diva Search and back. I won titles in Madison Square Garden, been a champion of the second-biggest Sports Entertainment conglomerate, and ran TWO federations into the ground because they were merely vessels that burned in the light of my badassness… besides, didn't you hold the Internet Title, for like, a week?

The Silver Lining extends a finger and points at The Grin.

Sonny: I'm King of the Mid-card because I've never won a "mid-card" title. I've been too busy using you guys as stepping-stones to really notice you people until now. But now, I'm here, so you will respect me and I think tonight, if your dance card is free, I'd love nothing more than to prove your worth as a stepping stone right now. I'm declaring a match tonight… HERE IN MY HOMETOWN!

Pause for the cheap pop.

Sonny: Tonight. It'll be me and the CEO of Awesome, Kenjiro ITO vs. Tony Gamble and whoever would be idiotic enough to align themselves with him… in an Impromptu Mid-Card Tag Team Match!

Gamble: You're on!

Gamble steps forward, eye level with Silver's chest.

Gamble: I'll have a partner, even if I have to drag Violet down to the ring by her hair, I'll be there.

Sonny: Dude, just call a member of your lollipop guild or something…

And on that note, Silver turned on his heel and left, leaving Gamble to his own devices.

Lisa: Do you really have--

Tony: Not now. It seems I have somewhere I need to be.

With that, Gamble opened his locker room door.

Tony: Hey, you up for a match tonight?

Lisa tries to sneak a peak at whoever is inside of the room, but the door gets slammed in her face.

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING TAG TEAM CONTEST IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL!

Low bass playing.

Blue hue of lights throughout the arena.

Guitar riff.

"No Chance" by Dope.

ITO and Mr. Silver made their way out from behind the curtain, receiving a HUGE mixed reaction due to the Key Arena going nuts for their former hometown boy, even after he bashed them a little bit earlier. ITO was jawjacking to the fans while Sonny soaked in the reaction, raising both taped fists in the air on his way to combat.

Vince Howard: INTRODUCING FIRST, HAILING FROM OSAKA, JAPAN! HE STANDS 6’4", WEIGHING IN AT 258 LBS., HE IS THE CEO OF AWESOME, KENJIRO ITO! AND HIS PARTNER, FROM SEATTLE, WASHING…

Vince reads off an intro card and shakes his head.

Vince: SCRATCH THAT. HAILING FROM THE VASTLY SUPERIOUR PARADISE OF HONOLULU, HAWAII…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince: …STANDING AT 6’3" AND WEIGHING 249 LBS., HE IS MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nodding his head proudly, the dual jackasses continued walking to the ring and headed up the steps, walking through the ropes and raising their arms to the sky to the round of jeering. Sonny turned his head to the entryway while ITO started doing some pre-match stretches.

"Internet Goin’ Nutz" by Paul Wall.

The fans continued booing for another not-so-nice individual scheming a-hole. Tony "The Grin" Gamble started walking through the curtains with Violet Rayne in tow, headed towards the ring. He pointed and laughed at both Silver and ITO like he knew something they didn’t… and this was true. His partner had yet to be named thus far.

Vince Howard: AND THE OPPONENTS, FIRST BEING ACCOMPANIED TO THE RING BY VIOLET RAYNE, STANDING 5’9" AND WEIGHING IN AT 187 POUNDS, HE IS THE SELF-PROCLAIMED "WORLD’S MOST DOWNLOADED CHAMPION," TONY "THE GRIN" GAMBLE!

Tony just stood there, sneering at the two assholes in front of him. He defeated ITO two weeks ago, and if he had the right partner, it may very well happen again. What was to go down?

"On Fire" by Lloyd Banks.

Eeep.

Sonny furrowed his eyebrows and ITO just stared on as the fans gave another mixed reaction for the man that Gamble chose as his tag team partner.

Vince: AND THE PARTNER… FROM DENVER, COLORADO, WEIGHING IN AT 235 POUNDS… THIS… IS PAUL CAIN!

This was a different Cain from the ones that fans cheered for several months ago. His smirk was replaced with a slightly indifferent appearance and he walked slowly down the aisle with hands on hips. Still, some couldn’t help but cheer for the return of the talented athlete.

Before he got into the ring, he stood motionless, simply looking straight ahead, ignoring the fan reaction, then both men entered the ring, staring down Silver and ITO. ITO was pointing at Gamble, yelling things about thanking his lucky stars he decided to put him over while Gamble brushed him off and said he was just jealous he beat him before.

The referee separated all four men and the match was gonna start with Silver and Gamble. The bell rang as both competitors started to circle around one another. Silver had the strength and the advantage with experience and killer instinct, but Gamble had him outclassed when it came to speed. Hell, Gamble was probably the best cheater in PRIME, bar none. He was a thinker, too, so he’d have to stay one step ahead of Sonny to keep from getting pummeled.

Silver: You’re fucking weird.

Gamble: What makes you say that, ass?

Silver: For a guy that’s about to get the curbing of a lifetime, you sure seem happy about it.

Gamble: Funny. Make fun of the scar. Like THAT’S never happened.

The bell rings as Sonny tries to lock up, but Gamble slides between his legs and steps up behind him, laughing the whole way.

Silver: Sicko. Bet that’s not the first time you’ve slid between a guy’s legs and came up behind them.

Gamble didn’t say anything, but let his feet do the talking, kicking away at the much bigger Silver’s legs with stiff shots. Several shots later, Sonny tried for a right hook, but Gamble ducks and pops up with a dropkick, rocketing Sonny back in the corner several feet. Silver rushes forward, but the quicker Gamble catches him with the deadly and dreaded DROP TOE HOLD~!

Tony applies a quick headlock, but The Chairman of PRIME hastily hops to his feet, pushing Gamble away from him and to the ropes. He bounces back and Silver misses the high boot, only for Tony to springboard off the second rope and connect with a somersault body block! He goes for the first cover.

ONE.

TWO…NO!

Gamble picks Sonny up by the head and hits a big uppercut before trying to whip him into the corner. Sonny reverses it and HEAVES Gamble full-speed into the buckle, but the agility of The Grin is enough to send him hopping to the top rope in a single leap. He goes for a moonsault body block and sees Silver dodge it. Thankfully, Gamble’s also got enough ring presence to land on his feet, following the failed attempt, but the very second he lands Sonny FLOORS him and sends him tumbling over onto his stomach with a brutal diving clothesline.

Smirking, Silver forcefully grabs Gamble by the hair and picks him up before hurling him into the nearest neutral corner. Silver lets him have it with knife-edge chops to the chest, then another. Another. Another. Another. Gamble staggers out of the corner and Sonny picks him up, spins him around, then drives him into the mat with a hard side slam. Dragging Gamble by the legs, he tags ITO in and holds Gamble in an abdominal stretch while ITO sucker punches him several times in the rib cage.

ITO: Your win was lucky, kid. Consider yourself lucky I don’t cut the other side of your fucking face to make a match set.

Before Gamble can reply, ITO rams several brutal forearm shots into the head before hooking him up and slamming him in the center of the ring for a suplex with a floatover pin.

ONE!

TWO…NO!

Still fairly early on in the match, Gamble gets the shoulder up. This just persuades ITO to try harder, grabbing him by the arm to bury several boots in his chest. He whips Gamble to the ropes, but Gamble bounces off the ropes again, coming back and snapping ITO over with a very cool-looking headscissors takeover. Tony gets back to his feet and throws both arms into the sky as if he and Paul already won the match, but ITO staggers to his feet and tries for a clothesline. Gamble ducks and drags him down to the mat with a quick neckbreaker.

Gamble makes the tag to Cain, who hops over the ropes onto the second rope, then lands a big knee drop square into the head of The Bad Will Ambassador. Gamble immediately crawls to the top rope and flies off with a wicked elbow drop, driving right into the black heart of ITO. Cain, being the legal man, makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Sonny had run in to make the save, but ITO fires up the shoulder before he can get there. Sonny yells at the referee who tells him to go back to his corner; this just allows a distraction. Gamble crawls into the ring and both he and Cain start shit-stomping ITO. Silver tells the ref what’s going on, but doesn’t believe him. In a rare act for a tag match, Sonny SPINS the ref around to see Gamble in the ring illegally, making him step back.

Gamble: What?! I was helping ITO back to his feet… eventually.

While Cain and Gamble were yelling at the referee, this gave Sonny a PRIME (pun intended. You heard me.) opportunity to grab ITO by the arm and drag him all the way to his corner. The referee turned back just in time to see Sonny get the tag from ITO. Cain was met with a right hand and got bounced back to the ropes, walking right into a HUGE Belly-to-Belly overhead suplex. Silver ran to the ropes and threw a sucker punch at Gamble, knocking him off the apron. While Violet checked on her boyfriend, Sonny went for the cover on Cain.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Cain shot the shoulder up, but Sonny went after his arm and pulled him to a vertical base. Cain gets in an eye rake to save himself, stunning the Chairman long enough to leap to the side and nearly cave his brain in with a leaping Enzuigiri to the back of the head! Silver dropped to the mat as Cain follows up by bouncing off the ropes, leaping into the air, and driving a knee drop right into the head of Silver.

Instead of going for the cover, he picks Sonny back up and throws several stiff right hands that rock the jaw of the faux owner of PRIME back into a corner. Paul goes to the corner of Gamble, who just now got back onto the apron and makes a tag. Cain runs across the ring and delivers a HARD running elbow to the temple of the prone Sonny and Gamble follows right after, landing a big spinning heel kick that sends Gamble over the top rope and landing feet-first on the apron. Silver hobbles forward as Gamble springboards off the ropes, landing a diving clothesline!

Gamble: Cheapshot THAT, asshole.

He follows with the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Gamble pummels the Silver Lining with several more forearm shivers to the head before knocking him back down with a low-seated dropkick. While Sonny is on the ground holding his head, The Grin takes a moment to undo the padding on the top turnbuckle, but the referee catches him and motions for him to get away from it.

Gamble: Hey! I didn’t do anything, jackass!

As the referee took the time to let Gamble know who was in charge, Sonny looks around sheepishly before heading to the corner and undoing the padding himself. He gets the padding off when the referee starts yelling at him as well. Sonny stands his ground and yells at the referee.

Silver: You useless shithead! Get out of my sight or you’ll be DQ-ing people in the Wuh-We!

Ref: You don’t own PRIME!

Silver: Like fuck I don’t!

Gamble shook his head in pity for his opponent before catching him off-guard with a wicked-looking forearm shot. He tried to follow up with an Irish Whip, but Sonny reverses the whip and heaves Tony HARD into the turnbuckle chest-first before letting him stagger right into a STIFF Enzui Lariat to the back of the head!

Sonny doesn’t go for a cover, but opts to drag Gamble to the corner of Silver and ITO where he uses the tag rope to choke the much smaller Gamble while Sonny throws more punches than your typical Bobby/Whitney domestic dispute.

ITO stopped just as the referee got wise to the tricks and Sonny tags in his partner-in-crime. Gamble, worse for wear right now, was the victim of several brutal-looking shots to the face before ITO hooks him up and SPIKES him into the center of the ring with a powerful Full Nelson Slam. The fans groan from the impact of the move as Kenjiro goes for a rather lackadaisical cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

ITO furrows his brow and glares at the referee, but decides against any physical action towards him… now, anyway. Gamble isn’t so fortunate and finds himself the victim of another favorite move of ITO’s…

KYUSHU!

One vertical suplex.

SHIKOKU!

Two suplexes.

HONSHU!

Three suplexes.

HOKKAIDO!

Four suplexes make up ITO’s Home Islands maneuver. After the sequence was all said and done, Gamble was prone on the mat. ITO started climbing onto the apron and was working his way up the turnbuckle, possibly looking for his racially charged choice of moves, the Pearl Harbor.

Violet Rayne saw her man in trouble and climbed the apron instantly, trying her best to distract the referee. Sonny just shook his head from the other side of the ring.

Silver: That does it. I’m never hiring anybody with ADD ever again.

This, however, distracted ITO and the referee long enough for Paul Cain to push The Cocky Osakan off the top rope, landing back-first on the mat and saving Gamble from a horrible fate. Rayne, looking proud, hops off the apron and starts cheering on The Grin as he makes it to the ropes. Slowly crawling to a vertical base and battered from the series of suplexes, he tagged Paul into the ring. The PRIMEate making his return to the ring wasted no time picking off ITO’s leg, grabbing it and slamming in right back into the mat.

He delivers several more kicks to the leg before pulling ITO to his feet. ITO cuts him off with a wicked European Asian Uppercut that sends Cain back a step. Back on his feet now, he throws Cain into the corner and tries for a Yakuza Kick, but Cain moves out of harms way, leaving ITO to get his leg caught on the ropes. Cain smells blood like a shark and bounces off the ropes before throwing a wicked dropkick into the tied-up knee of ITO. This makes ITO collapse back to the mat where Cain wraps him up and applies a standing Half-Crab in the middle of the ring.

Silver tries to slap a hand on the turnbuckle, willing ITO to fight out of the hold and make it to his corner. Some loyal Seattle fans were still cheering on Sonny, despite the fact that he bashed them before the match. ITO nearly makes it to the ropes, but Cain simply switches up the hold and turns around, snapping on a Standing Achilles Tendon Hold. He even has the foresight to pull him back to the center of the ring and snap it on him tightly before seating himself on the mat.

Kenjiro wasn’t going to tap. Thus far, he’d only been the victim of submission once in his career, to Max Danger. It wasn’t going to happen again as far as he was concerned. Clawing away at the mat and biting his lip to fight through the pain of Cain’s submission hold, Sonny extends a hand out and tries to make the tag from ITO, but Gamble comes out of nowhere and gets revenge for the cheap shot earlier, using a running Forearm Smash to knock the Silver Lining off the apron.

Gamble speeds back to his corner, not wishing to hear the referee speak one more time. Meanwhile, ITO is still in the confines of the hold, trying to get some momentum going in his favor. The fans clapping for him (well, some are clapping for Sonny mostly) to get back to his feet kinda shock ITO a little bit, but he keeps going until… ROLL THROUGH!

The momentum from rolling forward sends Cain down to the mat long enough for ITO to head over and make the TAG!

Sonny leaps into the ring and just as Paul Cain makes it back to his feet, he gets blasted with a huge right hand. Gamble tries to run in and only gets a stiff Clothesline for his troubles. Paul Cain got back on his feet, but Sonny fires off several stiff Kawada-like kicks to the chest of Cain before sending a final shot to the chest that knocks him down.

Cain gets to his feet and catches Sonny with a stiff forearm shot to the back, then tries for another whip, but Sonny reverses it and catches him with his own Blizzard Suplex!

ITO: HEY!

ONE!

TWO!

SAVE BY GAMBLE!

Gamble breaks the pinfall with a big elbow, then picks Sonny up by his head, but Sonny knocks him back with a huge European Uppercut. He runs to the ropes and tries for another move, but Gamble has the foresight to catch Sonny with a leaping Leg Lariat!

Gamble swiftly moves back to the tag rope as the referee attempts to restore order between the teams. Cain crawls over to The Grin and lifts his hand, TAG! Silver attempts to haul himself up as Tony, this time legally, drops Sonny with a standing drop kick which sends him back down hard to the mat. Gamble goes to his knees and begins choking on the throat of Sonny Silver which causes Ito, in frustration, to get back in on the action. The referee attempts to get involved by Kenjiro pushes past him and goes for Gamble, pulling him off the fallen Silver. Tony drives an elbow into the stomach of Ito, winding him and then The Grin looks to Cain for help. Paul is draped across the top rope wearily, looking exhausted.

With Ito still on his feet and Silver getting to his, Gamble is confronted on both sides. The crowd are cheering the reviving duo on but also wondering whether Cain has any energy left. It’s Silver who tries his luck first with an Enzui Punch as Ito distracts Gamble, however instinctively Tony ducks the blow. At the same time Kenjiro comes in and Tony grabs him, nailing a beautiful Belly to Back suplex on him. Gamble pops up and ducks a clothesline line attempt from Silver, just as Cain suddenly snaps his head up and shows a completely clean bill of health. Tony grabs at Sonny and prepares to execute the "Stop Laughing At Me" just as Cain swiftly enters the ring through the middle rope.

Cain grabs the back of Gambles neck and spins him around, forcibly breaking Tony’s hold on Sonny. Jamming The Grin’s head under his arm, Cain swiftly nails a "Twist Of Fate" on his supposed partner to the shock of the fans! Leaning forward, Paul takes hold of Silver and throws him down onto the fallen Gamble.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The crowd are shocked and many are cheering for the win of the fan favourites yet in total confusion. Cain stands and watches with a cold expression as Silver looks, mystified at the act committed by Paul. He glances down at Gamble, then up at Cain and finally over to his partner Ito who is just as puzzled at it all. Not ones to look gift horses in the mouth, Silver gets to his feet and moves to Kenjiro as they celebrate. Paul shows no emotion as he just glares down at The Grin mercilessly.

Completion

Violet Rayne cannot take anymore and climbs through the ropes to where Cain is standing looking down without remorse. She moves to confront him, screaming at him angrily for what he has done to their formerly mutual colleague. Her left arm waves at him madly with her finger jabbing into the air in front of Cain’s face. She doesn’t appear intimidated as she berates a cold and heartless Paul who isn’t even focusing on her, but instead gazing upon Gamble who is struggling to get to his feet. She too takes a glance at Tony and then turns back onto Cain, demanding answers for his bizarre actions.

Then comes the scream.

Cain’s hand is wrapped in the hair of Violet Rayne who is desperately struggling with her hands grabbing at his arm. His lack of emotion gives way to a snarling and spitting Cain who is now yelling his own inaudible tirade as the crowd are now rabid. The sight of a man abusing a woman in broad daylight is enough to pus the fans over the edge as they hurl their boos in his direction. With that, Paul drives a knee up into the stomach of Violet Rayne, causing her to be bent double by the pain. Keeping a tight hold of her hair, he drags her around the ring and then with a totally animalistic manner, presses the open palm of his other hand against her cheek and kisses her forcibly. Rayne’s legs kick around underneath her and her arms flail desperately all over the place as she tries to fight this invasion of privacy.

Crowd: ASSSSSSSSSSSHOLE! ASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHOLE!

He breaks off the kiss abruptly and licks his lips with a sick and twisted expression on his face. With the crowd hot, he heats them up even further by flipping them the middle finger and then hoisting Violet Rayne onto both shoulders. Security is now heading to the ringside as Cain swiftly spins her around in an F5 motion before dropping her into the Stunner variant known as the "Reality Check". The crowd gasps as she screams out in agony, her body crashing to the mat. Despite not being the most morally conscious in the world perhaps, Ito and Silver have seen enough as they return to the ring to chase Cain off. Paul dives under the bottom rope and out in the crowd, running like the proverbial thief in the night.

He’s just finished a match. But even with sweat pouring from his brow, Kenjiro Ito is not the sort of man to let a chance to talk shit pass by.

Nick: Why do we always give him the mic?

Richard: Because, he’s a wrestler. You think a measly timekeeper can stop him?

Nick: *sigh*

ITO: I’ll make this short and sweet tonight, since right now, you Seattle shitstains aren’t worth wasting my breath on. Adam, you Scottish sheepfucker, you and I have unfinished business!

Nick: And here we go, FCC vs. Kenjiro ITO, round 5346536...

ITO: You see, people like me eat filet mignon! People like Adam eat…haggis. Haggis. IT’S A SHEEP’S STOMACH, PEOPLE! How poor must you people be that the best you can do is eat sheep organs. Not even lamb, oh no. God forbid you have enough money to eat the good parts of the sheep, you get to eat the stomach. And worse yet, you fuckers are PROUD of this fact! Walking around in your checkered skirts and shouting "FREEDOM!" I watched Braveheart once. You know what the best part was? William Wallace dying. That part fucking owned! Drawing and quartering FOR THE WIN, FAGS! As far as I’m concerned, woad is another word for "Smurf Cum". Bunch of fucking fetishists!

Nick: I am disgusted by this man.

Richard: Yada yada, you always are! Fuck Scotland. Those people suck!

ITO: And have you ever heard bagpipes? The instrument sounds like a puppy being neutered, which is appropriate as we all know Scotsmen HAVE NO BALLS! They’re part of the United Kingdom, which sucks enough as is, but at least Wales has some people who know how to fucking fight! Those fuckers would cut your dicks off and make you eat them! Scottish people just got beaten up by the English ALL THE FUCKING TIME!

Nick: PLEASE, SOMEONE MAKE THE PAIN GO AWAY!

One man, it seems, is rather tired of the bullshit. Rather tired of the banter.

Rather tired of having his nation disparaged.

Richard: Please, like anyone can do tha--LOOK OUT ITO!!

Nick: HERE COMES ADAM!

The Internet Champion charges down the aisle, sliding into the ring to nail ITO with a series of sharp forearms and elbows to the head. The loudmouth seemingly has no response save to cover up from the Number One Son’s barrage. Finally, Adam nails ITO with a HARD lariat, sending Kenjiro careening over the top rope and earning Adam a mostly positive reaction, even here in Mr. Silver’s hometown.

Nick: Adam taking it to that jackass! Ito recovering on the floor, and Adam standing triumphantly in the middle of the ring!

Richard: A temporary state, I assure you!

As if to prove Richard right, ITO hops back up to the apron…before shaking his head and beginning a walk to the back, flipping Adam off with the time honored double bird.

Nick: You were saying? Adam’s ready to go, but ITO’s said no!

Richard: Strategy, Nick! He’s gonna do it on his terms!

Adam remains alone in the ring, gazing out disgustedly at the Bringer of the Ice Age, as PRIME goes elsewhere.

Even in the dangerous confines of the Ford Center parking lot, there is law. And that law is represented by none other than Officer Lawanda Sparkle of the Oklahoma City Police Department. There’s nothing Officer Sparkle loves more than dispensing justice in her golf cart, errr… official police vehicle. Except for maybe baby back ribs. She loves her some baby back baby back baby back ribs. That’s what Officer Sparkle is thinking about when a black Accord tears through the lot and parks in a handicapped spot right in front of the arena. Correction… it parks across two handicapped parking spots. The Accord lacks any sort of decal indicating it’s allowed in either one of those spots. Plus the young woman getting out doesn’t look like she has a single unhealthy bone in her body. She also doesn’t look like an evil commie bitch while dressed in a warm-up suit and having her hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail. But believe it… she’s an evil commie bitch. Sun Tzu has just grabbed her gym bag and slammed the car door when Officer Sparkle rolls up behind her.

Officer Sparkle: Excuse me, Miss!

The Artist of War looks at the policewoman and smiles sweetly.

Sun Tzu: Solly! No Engrish! Hee hee!

Officer Sparkle: Now don’t give me none of that! I saw you on TV just a few weeks and you talked right then!

Sun Tzu: Damn! No use trying to fool a master investigator like yourself. Now if you’ll pardon me, I got a match tonight.

Officer Sparkle: Now just hold your horses, child! You see that blue sign there?

She points to the handicapped parking sign.

Officer Sparkle: That means it’s for the handicapped.

Sun Tzu: Really? With that childish drawing, I thought it was designating parking for Americans with really huge posteriors. You know, like yourself.

Oh no she didn’t! Sure those baby back ribs went right to Officer Sparkle’s hips, but lots of men like that sort of thing. For instance, Rich Rollins loves a woman with a lot of junk in her trunk. If you could only see the magazines he keeps in his locker…

Officer Sparkle: You shouldn’t have gone there, you half-starved chopstick! I’m gonna love writing this ticket up!

As Officer Sparkle starts writing up the ticket, Sun Tzu moves her gym bag to her shoulder and walks up to the cart. She takes out her wallet and displays a badge.

Sun Tzu: You see what this is? It means I’m attached to the Chinese embassy. So I got a little something called diplomatic immunity.

Officer Sparkle: Diplowhatsit?

Sun Tzu: It means I don’t have to be bothered with your pathetic attempts at authority. In other words, this…

The Artist of War snatches the ticket pad from the officer’s hands. She gives it a nonchalant toss through the air and onto the concrete.

Sun Tzu: …means nothing to me. Now run along and find some jaywalkers to protect and serve.

As Sun Tzu walks off towards the arena, Officer Sparkle struggles to get out of her cart.

Officer Sparkle: That damn choptick… making get out and get my book! Gonna pepper spray that skinny bitch…

Tony Gamble stares out into the backstage entrance, a blank cold stare on his face.

"You really know how to pick 'em, Scarface."

'Scarface.' If it's one thing Tony knew, it was who was behind that little nickname. Sure enough, when he turned around he saw Lindsay Troy, resident PRIME tight-ass and proud of it, because being a tight ass is better than being a loose ass, approaching from the adjacent corridor.

Gamble: I'm really not in the mood.

Troy nodded slightly as she stopped in front of Gamble, affixing the last of her arm tape into place.

Troy: I was positive that you would have heard that plenty of times, but I never thought you'd be the one to say it.

Gamble sighs loudly.

Gamble: What do you want, Troy?

Troy: I'm disappointed by your lack of snappy comebacks. It's no fun when I'm the only one playing.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

Gamble: Whatever snappy comebacks I have, I'm not going to waste on you. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I have a lot on my plate right now. Seems no one likes me.

That brought a smile to her lips.

Troy: Couldn't agree with you more. But don't feel so down about it.

She gives Gamble a heavy pat on his cheek.

Troy: I'm sure your mother likes you. You've got a face only she could love.

Gamble: At least one of us has jokes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go check on Violet.

He moves to leave, but Troy's not done talking. She raises her voice a few decibels to return Gamble's attention to her.

Troy: You weren't the only one robbed last week, you know.

Gamble turns to look at her, no expression on his face.

Gamble: And your point is?

She gives Tony a crooked grin, her left lip curling up to emulate the scar on his face.

Troy: You're a smart boy. You'll figure it out.

Gamble: Like I said, I don't have time for your games. So unless you plan on helping me get back at them, leave me alone.

Troy (shrugging): Fine.

Gamble: Fine.

Troy: Fine.

Gamble: FINE!

In the background, the crowd roared as the opening strands of "Trampled" kicked in. Lindsay gave "The Grin" a little wave before bursting through the curtain.

Gamble: Yeah, well, I WAS GOING TO LEAVE FIRST!

Lindz’s Music hits the Sound system and the Washington faithful are glad to see her. A huge pyro display goes off and she comes out, walks down to the ring.

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen. The following contest is scheduled for one fall and it is a No Disqualification contest! Entering first, from Tampa Florida, weighing in at 170 pound, she is one half of YOUR tag team champions… the Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Trooooooooooy!

The Queen of the Ring is loosening up in the far right corner of the ring, tossing some phantom punches.

Nick: Lindsay Troy looks really determined tonight. She has no intention of letting Noble gain any ground on her at all.

Richard: Well, she is kinda hardcore… but not in the good way. Noble’s gotta take this one.

Nick: Really? Last time Noble was in a no-rules type setting was at Colossus against the Model Citizen… and everyone saw Noble lose that match.

Richard: Ye of little faith.

A low rumble starts over the sound system. And the house lights get progressively darker until plunging the entire arena into darkness. Then the bass line kicks in, white light glows in time with the music from behind the ReVolution set and Eve walks out to big-time heel heat. She points at the entrance way and as the very moment the guitars kick in four simultaneous bursts of pyro shoot from under the PRIME-A-Tron up into the ceiling, the set stops glowing and roving spotlights fill the arena and Johnny Noble walks out onto the stage.

I'm so cold and far away from home
You're so tired and so damn alone
It's darker and much harder to be me
So far away from my reality

I hate the way you look, I'm looking back
I hate the way I look, you're looking too
I think maybe I'm just falling, falling, falling

Vince Howard tries to announce the man’s entrance, but Johnny’s hometown Washington crowd is chanting so loud that Vince’s words are downed out.

Crowd: SELL-OUT! SELL-OUT! SELL-OUT! SELL-OUT! SELL-OUT! SELL-OUT!

And you kiss me like you know inside of me
And you watch me fight my own insanity
And I feel like I'm a villain Jesus said would never ever leave us
And I'm stronger now than I ever was before

Noble walks down to the ring wearing his new attire, long black trunks and black ring boots, cut-off gloves with bad-ass glasses. You know it. Johnny sees a "Why Johnny Why?" sign in the front row, he walks up, snatches the sign tears it up and sits at the kid that was holding it. Someone throws a drink, it misses, but security grab the kid and haul him out of the arena. Eve takes her spot at ringside and Noble gets in between the ropes, staring Troy down. He points at her and does a cut-throat motion. Troy smiles back and flips Johnny the bird as the crowd goes nuts in approval and normal lighting resumes.

Nick: Well, the hometown crowd is making it known that they don't like Johnny.

Richard: They think Noble’s a sell-out? What about guys like Wayne Gretzsky who put their name on any shoddy product to make a couple bucks! That’s selling out. Johnny’s just making a smart career move.

Nick: Some, including Troy, would say he’s set his goals too high with too short a deadline.

Richard: We’ll have to wait it out and see, won’t we?

Tommy Giles calls for the bell and the match is officially underway. The two competitors circle the ring, still scouting each other - neither wanting to make a wrong first move. Johnny knows that he’s booked himself into a corner. This match is Troy’s specialty and he’s new to this bad-ass heel thing. But nevertheless this is a great match to start off this new direction.

Troy cautiously steps forward, causing Noble to respond in kind, know he’d outdo her in a battle of strength, but Troy pulls back quickly, setting Johnny off balance, then she rushes in and jumps on his shoulders like a Hurricanrana, drops a couple punches and then follows through sending the big man crashing to the mat.

She leaps back to her feet with a roar of approval. Noble sits up and looks back at her, she waves him to come on back. Noble stands up and Troy tightens her ponytail. Noble charges the woman, who sidesteps him, but Noble, counting on it whips around and hits a Superkick like the one that Goldberg used to put Bret Hart out. He catches Troy square in the chin with it and she doesn’t fall, but she stumbles away holding her jaw. She checks and… yep… blood.

Richard: (Doing the wave) Woo! Did you see that! Back in the saddle again!

Nick: Yeah, the match is like 2 minutes old… it’s scheduled for 15.

Noble wastes no time, she’s younger and more agile, he needs to put this match away as soon as possible. He gets over there and sends the Queenie to the ropes. He lunges at her with a big Clothesline, she sides steps it and jumps up with a Reverse Neckbreaker, she doesn’t have enough momentum to pull him down, though, so he quickly reaches up and grabs her arm, she can still touch the mat, but she can’t get away, he turns around, bending the elbow joint awkwardly, she kicks up with a shot to the groin, Noble releases the hold and crumbles to the mat. Tommy Giles steps in as Troy favours her arm and asks her to keep it clean.

She ignores him, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it in this type of match so he steps aside after letting Noble get back to his feet. They circle the ring again, sizing each other up for the next confrontation. Eve catches Johnny eye and holds her hands up as though she about to flip the bird - Johnny nods. He looks up at Troy with a smile and then gives her the finger with both barrels, the crowd makes it clear that they disapprove.

Crowd: JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS!

Noble smiles, feeling the power surging through him, and charges at Troy, who hits a huge Spinning Heel Kick across the jaw of the big man causing him to stumble backward, as he is off balance she sees another offensive opportunity. Lindz jumps onto the second rope and springboards off with a Crossbody, Noble leans in, catches her, flips her up onto his shoulders and jumps backward landing a massive Samoan Drop, she recoils hard, but tries not the let on that it really hurt. Noble’s not done, turning over he starts laying in right fists with a side Headlock tightened on. Troy digs her fingernail into his eye and he is forced to let her go. She gets up quicker than Noble and starts kicking him about the head and shoulders as hard and often as she can before the man can rise and retaliate. Eve jumps in the ring without Troy noticing and cracks her over the head with a chair sending the Tag Champ careening to the mat. Troy shakes it off and turns to look at Eve with a glare that could kill someone, Eve just smirks as Troy decides the bitch has to die, but Noble has other ideas. He grabs Troy’s hair and whips her out of the ring over the top rope. The crowd, again, makes it clear that he is not the favourite.

Crowd: JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS! JOHN-NY SUCKS!

Eve says something in Johnny’s ear while Troy is down on the outside, he shakes his head ‘no’ but she insists. So he runs towards the rope and jumps over with a Somersault Plancha, but Troy rolls quickly out of the way, Noble lands hard, really hard. It was a bad decision.

The crowd roar in approval as Troy reaches under the ring and finds a barb-wire-wrapped 2x4. She takes big, full-swinging strikes at Noble, who puts his hands up to block and gets his fore-arms cut up because of it. Eve runs around to try and help, but gets a big face-full of barbs. The crowd roar in approval again as Eve falls to the ground. Lindz strolls over and gives Eve a kick to the gut while she’s dealing with the blood in her eyes.

Nick: No mercy from Troy here tonight!

Lindz unwraps the 2x4 and wraps up her triple-taped wrists instead. Then she jumps on an overturned Noble, locking in a brutal and bloody Crossface. Noble can’t find a way out, but he doesn’t need to… a fall cannot be registered outside the ring. After a good, long while and a tonne of blood… and a few chants… Noble stops struggling… or moving at all. Troy stands up and kick Noble in the head, it shuffles around a bit, but Noble, the man, doesn’t move. Troy gets up and gets into the ring as Eve rushes over to John. She looks a mess with blood, but she needs to get Noble back in the ring.

Meanwhile Troy is talking to Tommy Giles, their conversation is picked up by the camera mics.

Troy: Look, the old bastard’s unconscious. The match cannot continue. I can lift him into the ring to score the pin.

Giles is nodding along, he goes out to look at Noble, after a short examination he concludes that Noble’s unfit to continue.

Giles: Sorry, Eve. I’ve gotta call this one.

Eve is enraged. Tommy Giles gets back into the ring to call the match, he asks for Vince Howard to come over to ringside, but Eve rushes the ring! Troy is bracing for whatever she might try, but Troy is not the target. Eve leaps up and hits the Zebra with an Eve of Destruction (modified Fame Asser). Tommy Giles is out and Troy is pissed. She unwraps a layer of wrist tape on each arm and a pair of ninja stars fall to the mat. She quickly snatches one up and grabs Eve, etching at her face, drawing more blood Eve hits a couple shots to the gut of Troy to back her off, but Troy rushes in a PLANTS Eve!

Nick: Lindsay Troy just laid Eve out By Royal Decree!

After an impressive finisher on Eve Troy stands up to a short-order warning fro the crowd, she turns quickly and is hits with a massive Incredi-Plex!

Richard: Noble’s dropping for the cover!!~!~!11

Nick: But there’s no one to make the count, everyone else in the match is out!

Noble, thinking he’s the first person ever to do this grabs Giles hand and slams it down

Referee: ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

WINNER - JOHNNY NOBLE

Noble rolls off Troy who sits up, dazed, still unsure exactly what happened, and grabs Eve on the way out. She can barely walk, but Noble’s got her. The ref is just coming around. Troy is standing at ringside and the fans are booing as Hedley’s Villian comes on the sound system and Johnny celebrates 1 for 1 with his new manager.

Our illustrious (am I allowed to use that word, or is it copyrighted? Facey’d never have the sense to copyright it, it’ll be cool) Internet Champion strolls up to a locker room door and knocks thrice. The door is opened and Adam’s face drops slightly as the pretty face of Charity Manale greets him.

Adam: Is Jon-

Charity: Nope. He’s busy. Pre-match warm-up and so on. He needs total silence, rest and relaxation all night before his match. Period.

Adam: Ah, but if he knows it’s me – see I’m trying to-

Charity: No exceptions. There’s another door between me and him, before you ask. I’m here solely to ensure no-one disturbs him. Including fanatically obsessed creepy Scots who are near-as-dammit stalking him.

Adam: Bu-

Charity: Bye!

The door slams, hard, in his face leaving Adam ashen-faced on one side and Charity slightly creeped-out on the other. Winters, towelling his hair off, looks across the room and simply smiles at Charity’s swift dealings.

In a small room backstage, a large red flag spans a wall. And in front of that flag is Sun Tzu, dressed in her ring gear and ready for battle. She smirks directly into the camera.

Sun Tzu: Good evening, decadent, gutless capitalist refuse. I am Sun Tzu. And since the average American’s ignorance of world politics is only surpassed by his ignorance of personal hygiene, this…

She motions to the flag behind her.

Sun Tzu: …is the flag of the People’s Republic of China, the last remaining superpower of the world. I know you all like to call the US the "greatest country in the world." That’s so cute. Like a child wearing a towel tied to his neck and pretending to be a superhero. But it’s also so very wrong. This country has existed for barely two centuries. China has thrived for millennia. When you people were still living in caves and using anal rape for dispute resolution, my ancestors were creating a civilization that would change the history of the world. To put it in terms you MTV-addicted chimps can understand, China is David Bowie… America is Kevin Federline.

She chuckles at her own little joke.

Sun Tzu: But enough about history, time for the present. Tonight, I face one of the so-called "champions" of PRIME. His name is… is…

Off-camera voice: Adam.

Sun Tzu: Adam what?

Off-camera voice: That’s it. Just Adam.

Sun Tzu: You mean like Madonna or Shakira? Or did his family disown him for being an embarrassment? Now, I had been hoping to get to hurt an American, but I guess a Scotsman will do. Granted, Scotland isn’t a real country, it’s just England’s drunk and unemployed cousin. But he does hold a championship, the Internet championship. Why anyone would want to champion a bunch of doughy virgins living in their mothers’ basements while masturbating to faked photos of Natalie Portman nude is beyond me. But it remains a championship. And after I defeat… defeat…

Off-camera voice: Adam.

Sun Tzu: …Adam, this entire federation will be on notice. Last week, I cleared my throat. Tonight, I make a statement… for the people!

The camera cuts to the locker room backstage, where the resident Universal Champion/Inhuman Being holds breadless communion with the challenger to his supremacy.

Tchu: Damn. This is good stuff.

He examines the white wine in his glass, holding it up to the light before bringing it down and taking another sip.

Nova: Don’t I know it.

The Rising Star sits across from him, lounging in irreparably bad posture across one folding chair and propping his feet up on another, a wine glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Tchu: What a sight this is. The champ and the challenger, getting buzzed backstage when we aren’t booked for the show.

Nova: (nodding) I know. I can’t remember the last time the players in a highly-touted Universal Title match were on speaking terms, not attacking each other at every opportunity, much less friends. Shit, I don’t know if it’s ever happened.

The Inhuman Being grins.

Tchu: We are friends, aren’t we?

Nova blows smoke out of his nose and runs a hand through his hair.

Nova: Sonny Jim, if you gotta ask that, I may have to take back all that fancy jewelry and those clothes I bought ya.

The champ kicks at Nova, careful not to spill the wine.

Tchu: Fuck you.

The Rising Star makes a strange face and pushes his bandanna up, pulling it off his head and gripping it in his fist.

Nova: Whew, damn, got a bit of a headache. Bandanna feels tight as hell.

Tchu: Yeah, I don’t know, man. I’m feelin’ kinda…kinda lightheaded here. Almost drunk. But that’s…

Nova: Fucking impossible, d00d. I drink every day. I don’t feel a glass of wine…not like this.

Tchu: Well, fuck it, right? What are we, a couple a’ lightweights?!

The Uni contender snorts, obviously offended.

Nova: Maybe you are, Tchubert. I got skills, son. I drank Ernest Hemingway under the table and made his girlfriend while he drooled on the carpet, dig?

Tchu: Yeah? Well, I built the nastiest record in PRIME, won Jewel of the Crown, won the Universal Title once, and held the Tag straps, all while you were on sabbat-

Nova: Alright, Jesus. Mine was still wittier, dick. (Raising glass) To losing the strap to a more stomachable opponent than Clyde Walkins!

The Anti-PRIME responds in kind, clinking his glass with Nova’s.

Tchu: To almost breaking through the glass ceiling!

Nova & Tchu: Cheers!

They take another sip. Nova pulls the glass away, practically coughing.

Nova: Tasty as all hell…but the what the fuck is…is…

He spaces out for a moment, staring off into space.

Tchu: …is in this stuff?

CRASH!!

Nova’s glass shatters as it hits the floor of the private locker room. He slips out of the seat onto his ass on the floor.

Nova: Fucked…up.

The sound of a door opening barely penetrates the fog inside the Inhuman Being’s head, but he turns with cloudy eyes that are too numbed to register surprise as they lock on the figure of Vangelus Olsig in the doorway.

Olsig strolls in, pushing in front of him a long cart with two big bags on top of it. He glares at the Universal Champion disdainfully, but a smile creeps onto his face for the second time tonight. Not the last.

Vangelus Olsig: Looks like I missed the party. Bummer.

With that, his smile fades and he shoves the cart forward. It rolls across the floor, and the front right edge clips Nova in the side of the head as he struggles to stay on his knees. He collapses in a heap. Olsig walks over to Tchu, whose head is lolling against his chest as he remains in his chair.

Vangelus Olsig: Look at you now, you stupid bastard. If only you could see how stupid you look right now, you’d be fucking embarrassed. Nova has been rubbing off on you, and that’s about as much of an insult as I can deliver.

Olsig removes a capped needle from his jacket pocket.

Vangelus Olsig: I’m gonna tell you exactly how I did it, because you won’t remember anyway. I injected this liquid GHB through the cork in Nova’s wine into the bottle. Did you know they make liquid GHB? I personally didn’t, but you can find just about anything if you know where to look, or who to ask. I’m sure your new buddy Nova’s not unfamiliar with black markets. I myself know a few of the blacker ones. So nighty-night, Mr. Ward.

Tchu manages to lean forward ever-so-slightly, and Olsig backhands him hard across the face, knocking the already-groggy superstar unconscious.

Vangelus Olsig: Nighty-night.

Whistling "Crazy Train," the Prince of Delusion grabs one of the bags from the top of the cart. He unzips it, and rolls Nova over on top of it, shrouding the Rising Star in nylon before zipping the bag up over him. The effect resembles a body bag. Olsig hoists Nova’s form up and slides him onto the bottom shelf of the rolling cart. Olsig then grabs the other bag from the top of the cart and walks over to Tchu, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him forward into the bag. Tchu collapses to the floor, and Vangelus scoops up the bag and sets the Universal Champion on top of the cart, zipping the bag up through the middle.

Vangelus Olsig: Now where…ah!

He sees Nova’s keys sitting on the ground next to the chair formerly occupied by the Rising Star, and scoops them up. Strolling back over to the cart, he gives the lump of Nova’s form a stiff boot before pushing the cart out of the locker room.

Vangelus Olsig: We’re going for a ride, fellas.

Vince Howard: The following non-title match is scheduled for one fall…

A flurry of red pyrotechnics streaks into the sky. After the explosions die down, "Learn Chinese" by Jin can be heard.

'Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
When the pumps come out, ya'll gon' speak Chinese!

Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna wanna be Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
When the pumps go off, ya'll gon' speak Chinese!'

Vince: First out… hailing from Beijing in the People’s Republic of China… weighing in at 143 pounds… SUUUUUUUUN TZUUUUUUUU!!!

The Artist of War steps through the cloud of smoke at the top of the aisle. Looking focused, on target, and most likely a tad pissed off, Sun Tzu marches to the ring, ignoring the requests from the fans to return to her home country and/or to provide them with oral pleasure.

Richard: Hell of a chance for the rookie red here.

Nick: Indeed, Richard. A win over the reigning Internet champion would open a lot of eyes for Sun Tzu.

Sun Tzu leaps from the floor to the apron. She gives one look of contempt to the PRIME audience in Oklahoma City before catapulting over the top rope. Sun Tzu doesn’t bother to pose for or even acknowledge the existence of the fans in the arena. Instead, she goes to a corner and begins stretching. Her music fades and is replaces by that of her opposition. A searing guitar riff tears through the arena, signaling the arrival of PRIME's Scottish contingent.

Vince Howard: And her opponent… wrestling out of Glasgow, Scotland… he is the PRIME Internet champion… AAAAAAAAADAAAAAAM!!!

'One-two-three-four!'

The Number One Son strides out from behind the curtain at the count, title strap over his shoulder, and stalks his way down the ramp, hand slaps the whole way.

'Let's get something;
You are gonna be nothing...
And I am already Great'

After a quick roll into the ring he bounds up from turnbuckle to turnbuckle, shouting along with Arty Shepard's cries;

'You are gonna be nothing...
And I am so fucking Great!'

Adam hands the strap to the timekeeper and leans in his corner, tying his hair in a ponytail as the music fades down. Sun Tzu takes this chance to rush at him, aiming a kick right at his head! But just as quickly, Adam catches her leg and grounds her with a dragon screw! As the ref hastily signals for the bell to be rung to officially start the match, Adam maintains his hold on Sun Tzu’s leg and converts it into a half crab. Before the hold is applied completely, Sun Tzu quickly scrambles for the ropes. Adam releases to hold and backs away as Sun Tzu looks up at him with a mix of anger and astonishment.

Nick: Sun Tzu tried starting this off with a sneak attack like she did last week. But she just found out you don’t become a champion in PRIME without knowing all the tricks.

Richard: Or all the ring rats.

Snarling, Sun Tzu charges at Adam again, trying to nail him in the head with a spinning heel kick. But the Number One Son is able to dodge. He takes advantage of the split second Sun Tzu is off balance when she lands and executes a double leg takedown. He starts bending her legs for a Texas cloverleaf, but Sun Tzu is able to kick free and scrambles to the ropes. Adam gives her a smile and mockingly offers her a hand up.

Nick: That’s two submissions that Sun Tzu has barely escaped from!

Richard: I like Adam’s strategy of grabbing her legs.

Sun Tzu is on her feet and cursing in Cantonese. She kicks the bottom rope a few times in frustration as the PRIME fans chant "A-DAM! A-DAM!" Adam doesn’t let their approval or Sun Tzu’s tantrums throw off his concentration. He waits in the center of the ring for his opponent, never taking his eyes off of her. Sun Tzu circles him warily, looking apprehensive about tying up with the Internet champion.

Nick: Well, I’d almost say Sun Tzu was being a little yellow right now if I didn’t want lose my job and get sued.

Richard: Adam has nearly eight inches in height over her, Nick! With that reach advantage, I can understand if she doesn’t want to just rush in.

Eventually, Sun Tzu does move in and the pair locks up. Adam gains the advantage and locks on an arm wringer. He whips Sun Tzu to the ropes and leans forward to catch her with a back drop. But Sun Tzu counters by driving her knee into Adam’s forehead! She follows up with a series of palm thrusts and then a spinning back fist that staggers the Number One Son. A roundhouse kick takes him to the canvas and Sun Tzu goes for the cover…



One…



KICKOUT!



Nick: Way too early to consider Adam down and out.

Sun Tzu stays on the attack. She drops an elbow onto Adam, then runs to the ropes. She springboards off into a quebrada that hits Adam dead solid, hooking the leg and yelling at the ref to count…



One…




Tw-KICKOUT!




Richard: She’s wearing him down. After that wild brawl with ITO, Adam can’t be at one hundred percent.

After a couple kicks to Adam’s ribs, Sun Tzu steps through the ropes and onto the apron. She screams at Adam to rise. When he gets to his feet, Sun Tzu launches herself onto the top ropes then leaps into the air. She lands on Adam’s shoulders and leans back to rana him over… but Adam doesn’t budge. Instead he grabs her by the hips and lifts Sun Tzu back up into the air. Then the Internet champ drops to his knees and powerbombs his opponent to the canvas with authority!

Nick: My God! That impact loosened my fillings!

Adam doesn’t let up for a moment. He grabs Sun Tzu’s legs and turns her over, once again going for the Texas cloverleaf. But this time he has it cinched in! Pain is written on the face of Sun Tzu in big bold letters! As Adam bears down, the fans cheer him on with chants of "NUM-BER ONE! NUM-BER ONE!"

Nick: Things look bad for the self-procalimed Artist of War.

Richard: Nooooo! Think of all the little commie kids that look up to you, Sun Tzu!

Sun Tzu hates kids. But she also hates the idea of tapping out, even if it’s to a submission move locked on with the precision of Adam. So she reaches out as far a physically possible and just barely touches the bottom rope. The crowd is audibly disappointed as the ref orders Adam to release the cloverleaf, which he does with reluctance. He goes right back on the attack, easily lifting up his much smaller opponent and carrying her to the corner. Adam sits Sun Tzu on the top turnbuckle and climbs to the second rope. The Number One Son gives a wink to the fans before hooking Sun Tzu for a superplex. But when he tries to take her up, he gets a thumb to the eye! Sun Tzu gives Adam a hard shove and he tumbles to the canvas. She steps up to the top rope as Adam struggles to his feet while trying to clear his vision. But before he can recover, he gets caught in the kisser with a missile dropkick that sends him back to the mat! The crowd lets Sun Tzu have it with shouts of "TZU SUCKS! TZU SUCKS!" She responds with the Universal Gesture for "Up Yours."

Nick: Not really making friends here, is she, Richard?

Richard: There’s over a billion people in China compared to barely 300 million here. I don’t think she’s too worried about pissing of Americans, she’s got plenty of fans back home.

Grabbing Adam’s ponytail, Sun Tzu drags him to his feet and gives him a stiff shot with her forearm. She nails him again with a shot to the jaw. A third shot… blocked by Adam! He rocks her with a European uppercut! Sun Tzu responds in kind! As the pair hammer each other with forearms, the Ford Center roars with approval!

Richard: These Okies sure love a stand-up slugfest!

Yet another European uppercut from Adam has Sun Tzu reeling. Another has her almost off her feet. But a rake to the eyes turns the tide once more!

Nick: That wasn’t quite in the rule books.

Richard: He’s got over 120 pounds on her! Give the lady some slack!

A battered and wearied Sun Tzu stumbles to the corner and struggles to climb the ropes. She sees Adam still standing and blinded. With a devious smirk, the Chinese Air Force leaps off and nails the Number One Son with a flying crossbody! He falls to the canvas with Sun Tzu right on him!

Richard: And the Internet champion just crashed!

But Adam rolls with the momentum… only to have Sun Tzu do the same! She grabs hold of his tights out of the ref’s line of vision!




One…






Two…






THREE!!!





The fans are screaming in protest as the bell rings!

Vince Howard: Your winner… SUUUUUUUUN TZUUUUUUUU!!!

The victorious Sun Tzu quickly rolls out of the ring with a sneer on her face. Adam tries telling the ref about the tight-pulling, but realizes that the call is irreversible. The ringside fans yell insults and obscenities at Sun Tzu, she rubs her hand on the sweaty crotch of her shorts and flicks her fingers at them.

Nick: Uh… ew. But what can we expect from someone that steals a win like she just did? Adam was totally dominant until Mao’s little red bitch there started resorted to cheap shots and all-out cheating!

Richard: All’s fair in love and war, Nick! And Sun Tzu is the Artist of War!

It’s not safe to be a woman in modern society these days. Although the Western world is all for equal rights and opportunities, there are some situations where a female just cannot compete. When confronted by a man who has taken leave of his senses and rationality has become a stranger to him, nobody especially not a woman, should stand in front of him. Violet Rayne has found out the hard way that when it comes to physicality, the fairer sex cannot fight against someone who has seemingly no control over their actions. It’s a lesson learned but at what cost? Her yelling and crying can be heard echoing throughout the backstage area as she is gingerly lifted onto a gurney. Paramedics rush around the waiting ambulance, readying the vehicle for the fallen victims’ transportation. Scenes like this happen all the time, people shed blood on a weekly basis and for some worse things await them when they enter an arena. Yet the scene of Violet Rayne being forced to lie motionless, tears welling up in her eyes with anguished whimpers and cries spilling out of her mouth, hits home even harder.

Whispered words of reassurance come from a female paramedic standing at the left side of Violet’s head as the doors of the ambulance swing open. Two burly white uniform clad men take a hold of the stretcher and gently lift it up as they move slowly towards the vehicle. All the while voices chatter over the organised chaos in an attempt to calm Violet but at the same time hurry things along. Although barely audible because of the cacophony of sound, Rayne can be heard crying about her neck and not being able to feel anything. Even as she is loaded onto the ambulance her distress can still be heard as the doors crash shut. If only her assailant could see this, maybe he could realise the mistake he had made and see the line he had crossed? The sirens began to blare out as the ambulance started and sped away. Perhaps he could hear them and perhaps he would turn around before going down a path he couldn’t come back from.

"Such a shame."

Or maybe not. The cold and callous voice of a man changed, Paul Cain as he enters the scene. He stands watching as the ambulance can be seen driving away from the arena and down the road to the nearest hospital. His attire of the hakunas may be the same but the man wearing them is far different from the one that used to walk these corridors. A sports bag is slung over his right shoulder and his left hand is closed into a fist as he simply stares straight at where the chaos had ensued. He glances slowly down to the clenched hand which he gradually unfurls to reveal his wedding ring, the symbolic image of his conscience. For a moment there appears to be a mental battle as he struggles to comprehend his actions, his eyes closed tightly into a heavy frown. Then from out of nowhere, his reverie is broken by a trundling noise from the rear, moving forward. His eyes snap open as he turns to see a dishevelled older Mexican male pulling a wheeled garbage can behind him. The figure looks dejected, beaten and resigned to his life of drudgery.

"Hey, chico?"

Wearily the Trash Can Man looks up from his monotony and turns to Cain. His mouth opens, revealing very few teeth but before he can speak, Paul shakes his head and holds up his hand holding the ring between his finger and thumb. Visibly, Trash Can Man’s eyes light up as he spies the glistening gold of the jewellery in the wrestlers hand.

"Catch!"

With that, Cain tosses the wedding ring towards the minimal wage worker who watches in shock as it lands in front of him. Like a starving man who hasn’t seen food in days, he drops to his knees and desperately snatches the ring into his grubby hands. He holds it close to his chest and looks up defensively at Cain, waiting for a catch or something to happen. Paul simply nods to the Trash Can Man as he heads towards the parking lot and into the night.

"Get a new image with that."

And then he is gone, into the night, having said goodbye to his conscience.

Things are about to get ugly.

Nick: It's about that time, folks.

Richard: Yeah, a new episode of "Grey's Anatomy" is getting ready to broadcast on a channel we're not aloud to plug on the air! Go ahead, ladies and gentlemen. Run off to your ER Lite and stay there.

Nick: But they'd miss the next segment!

Richard: Which is?

Nick: The one where The Renegade finally signs his PRIME contract. In blood!

Richard: Oh. Well they might as well be watching some nice cleavage.

They might as well try to seduce Kate Walsh for all the good it'll do them. We're past the point of no return. You can't stop watching now.

The KeyArena begins to sizzle with expectation, waiting for the arrival of PRIME's newest megastar. A few scattered "You sold out!" chants drift from here and there, but by and by the masses are too excited to form any kind of coherent message. Instead they wait, listening for the tolling bell-like opening chords to a song known all too well by wrestling fans around the world.

"Born of a Broken Man" hits like an adrenaline rush. Every ass in every seat stands at attention for the one PRIMEate that no cage could ever contain.

My fears hunt me down
Captured in a memory
The frontier of loss
I try to escape across the street where
Jesus stripped bare
And raped the spirit he was supposed to nurture

In the name of my…
In the name of my…

Sporting a new bandanna so black it makes a Nigerian look pale, Rich "The Renegade" Rollins emerges from the pit and takes the stage, his face an unreadable mask of mixed emotions. The reaction from the Washington crowd is similar; some boo, some cheer, but in the end it just comes out as white noise. The sound radiates throughout the arena, out the door, up the street and straight over to the Space Needle where it is broadcast into the stratosphere. Some Russian astronaut actually turns to his fellow MIR rocketeer and declares (in Russian), "What the hell?"

Born of a broken man,
But not a broken man,
Born of a broken man,
Never a broken man

Dressed in a double-layered leather coat that pokes through the shorn sleeves of a denim jacket, Rollins stands quiet for a few seconds, soaking in his questionable reception. A blue tee-shirt peeks out from the open lip of his coat, one of those cheap Hot Topic types that displays a hunched over stick figure underneath the caption "I do my own stunts!" Finally satisfied, The Renegade begins his journey to the ring and a long-overdue date with destiny.

Nick: I still can't believe this, Rich. I mean… Rollins, here? In PRIME?!

Richard: That rat bastard kept me locked up in the kitchen deep-freeze for two hours! I really did catch a cold.

Nick: You poor baby.

Having reached the apron, The Renegade rolls onto the new stretch of canvas that he calls home, springing to his feet and pulling a mic from inside his coat in one fluid swoop. Running a finger across his throat, he wastes no time as Rage Against the Machine fades out.

The Renegade: I'm going to make this short and sweet. (he turns to face the stage) Angelo Deville, get your Guido-loving olive skinned ass out here. Now.

Nick: WOAH! Just like that?! I thought he was here to sign his PRIME contract!

Rollins pulls a document from the depths of his leather jacket and waves it for all to see.

The Renegade: I think you need to see this first-hand.

Nick: … oh. Well okay then.

The crowd's mindless sound barrier slackens for a second. They aren't even given the time for their excitement to become curiosity before a new sound hits.

Sympathy for the Devil by The Rolling Stones.

Richard: Ask and ye shall receive, my friend! I hope Deville RIPS YOUR ASS INTO KIBBLE THAT I WOULDN'T EVEN FEED MY DOG!

A callous simper paints the face of Angelo Deville as he appears beneath the PRIME-a-Tron, somehow looking even more smug than usual. Dressed to impress, he allows a moment for the camera crowd to take their shots, pandering to a million lenses all at once yet somehow never taking his eyes off The Renegade. Their pupils are locked, solid as iron; no amount of strobe-like fanboi flashbulbs can cut through the intensity that now exists between these two men, both iconic for their legendary lack of authoritative respect and boundless ambition.

Needless to say, the fans are still marking the fuck out as a stare-down of death ensues.

Summoning a microphone, The Deville begins.

Angelo Deville: What’s the matter, Rich?

A cocked brow, the hint of curiosity and concern . . . quickly squashed by a sneer.

Angelo Deville: Need someone literate to validate your shaky X?

Allowing himself a short chuckle, Deville pretends he’s about to get serious and opens his mouth to continue. A certain loudmouth in the ring beats him to the punch, however.

The Renegade: Thanks, but no. The ink was dry a good two weeks before I interrupted you and Snow’s piss-a-thon last week. Chet Worth held the pen for me.

The Deville blinks, looking for all the world as if he’d just been struck. Gawking at Rollins, he remains a statue for a good five-count, then slowly turns his head to survey the crowd, his eyes narrowed and emanating scepticism. When they finally return to Rollins, glaring impatiently back from the ring, the doubt has dissolved, and in its place burns damnation.

Angelo Deville: What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

The sharpness of the demand betrays that just this once, maybe, perhaps, Deville might actually be angry.

Angelo Deville: Do you hear this booing?

At his gesture, the crowd obediently boos.

Angelo Deville: That’s for you, motherfucker. You don’t interrupt me. You never interrupt me. If I’m speaking, I’m likely orating, and if I’m orating, I’m likely lecturing, and if I’m lecturing, you should definitely be keeping your mouth shut and learning, picking up each and every little scrap that your feeble mind can wrap itself around.

The booing intensifies, ushering a knowing nod from Deville, his point made.

Angelo Deville: Now as I was say—

The Renegade: Deville, shut up. Stop stalling and get your ass in the ring. I’m about to wipe that shit-eating Guido grin right off that cover boy face of yours.

A thunderous cheers erupts, forcing Deville to the edge of death with apoplexy. Wounded, he surveys the audience, taken aback. After an initial spike, they play along and mollify the tone. Shaking his head at Rollins, Deville holds up a warning finger.

Angelo Deville: The fuck you did.

Crowd: NO THE FUCK YOU DIDN’T!

Don’t worry, I’m not making that a perennial thing. >=)

Angelo Deville: I’m tempted to indulge you, Rich, really I am, but at the same time I have this overwhelming urge to just tell you to fuck yourself and laugh, ruining whatever your imbecilic plan is.

The Renegade: Sorta like your overwhelming urge to yammer on until old age takes us all?

Deville doesn’t even slow this time, or acknowledge in any way that Rollins spoke.

Angelo Deville: I mean . . . Does my absence make your minds grow dumber? Two weeks ago Snow pretends he doesn’t know who I am. Last week Worth comes out here and threatens me. And now this week you’re barking orders? Need I really remind everyone that I’m never the puppet? That I’m always the puppeteer?

Rollins rolls his eyes and motions jacking off, and again is no-sold by Deville.

Angelo Deville: What’s in that contract of yours, Richie? Is there a clause about touching me before our match at Great American Nightmare? You want some clarification on whether that simply speaks to violence, or if there’s a loophole so that you can still . . . y’know? Whatever the reason, if that is what you’re worried about, you can stop it this very second. Wanna know why?

Sighing, Rollins checks his watch. Everyone laughs.

Save Deville, of course. He’ll laugh in just a second.

Angelo Deville: Because that match . . . Will. Not. Happen.

Cue pandemonious booing. And the laughter of Deville, naturally; rich, cruel, and mocking.

Angelo Deville: What? Just because our gelatinous glob of an owner ambles down here and says it’s on, does not by any stretch of the imagination mean it’s on. Maybe with all his masturbating over your contract, he forgot about mine, where it states that he unequivocally does not have any authority to tell me when and with whom I will wrestle.

The boos continue unabated. The Deville grins.

Angelo Deville: Shit, my contract doesn’t even state that I have to wrestle, period.

Nick: What on earth is Deville talking about? All wrestlers are contracted to wrestle!

Richard: How dare you impugn Deville with the likes of the other ilk we employ?

Nick: You mean that ilk you’re constantly marking out for?

Richard: You’re beyond help, Nick. Deville will try, though. All you have to do is listen, and maybe you’ll learn.

Nick sighs.

Angelo Deville: Which brings me back to my eternal point.

Remember the dog? Look at the dog.

Angelo Deville: You don’t know what it is I’m up to and you’re absolutely powerless to figure it out, stop it, or in any way direct me. I never said that I was here to wrestle, and I’ve yet to wrestle since my return, so how do you know that’s even why I’m here?

Nick: What else would you be here for?

Richard: Shut! Up!

Angelo Deville: For all you know I have a partner in the back, and when I do wrestle it’ll be as a tag team. Shit, for all you know I might be here to manage someone.

Grinning at the sudden gear-shift by the crowd, going from all-out booing to expectant cheering, Deville turns toward backstage and gestures.

The lights die.

Nick: What?! Another return? And Deville to manage him? This is—

Then the lights come back on, illuminating Deville’s contemptuous laughter.

Angelo Deville: See? You know shit.

Oh, the booing.

Angelo Deville: Hell, for all you know I’m here to replace Chet Worth. The point is that only I know, only I will tell, and only I will determine when.

Deville holds up a hand to calm the masses, beckoning for just a moment to win back their pleasure.

Angelo Deville: But regardless of my official capacity within PRIME . . . Regardless of what my intentions are . . . Regardless of what I’m planning for Great American Nightmare . . . And regardless of your feckless posturing and demands . . . Right now, right here tonight, I’m walking down to that ring.

And so he begins, heralded once more by cheers.

Angelo Deville: And if you have the balls to stick around – if you don’t suddenly become too busy to show your face – well, let’s just suffice it to say that shit’s gonna hit the fan. Worth can try to stop me if he wants, but I guarantee here and now that if he does his teeth will become that fan.

Halfway down, he raises his finger to Rollins again, this time to admonish.

Angelo Deville: I see you’re getting more and more excited the closer I come, and I hate to burst your bubble when you’re so close to orgasm, but I don’t give a shit about your contract. I’m not coming down to look at it, sign it, or even to shove it back up your ass. I just have one question I want answered. I’ve asked it before, but somehow, despite all your press releases and your radio-shows-with-video and your "in-rings" about me, you’ve never addressed it.

Deville stops for dramatic effect at the bottom of the ramp, tilting his head as if to think of the perfect way to phrase the question.

Angelo Deville: Tell me Mr. Rollins, and be honest . . . Isn’t it somewhat hard to villify me with the same mouth you use to deep-throat my ever-so-delicious . . . reputation? The . . . reputation . . . you first so aptly described as "Holy shit! It’s like mine through a microscope!

The Renegade: Step a little closer and we'll see who God blessed with the bigger endowment, you arrogant fuck.

Rollins' remarks do nothing but push Deville's grin into a sneer. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, Deville shakes his head sadly.

Angelo Deville: You order me out here, then have the blind audacity to call me arrogant? Do you and Tchu share a script-writer or something? I know you feel some sad sense of entitlement after emulating my dominance of the tournament world, but seriously, when does it end? When does-

The Renegade: This isn't about you, you pretentious little bitch. Save the banter for someone who's willing to listen, because frankly Deville, my throat is getting dry.

Angelo Deville: As I said, maybe if you'd stop sucking m-

The Renegade: Deville, shut up. Stop stalling and get your ass in the ring. I'm about to wipe that shit-eating Guido grin right off that cover boy face of yours.

A slight irritation finally finds its way back onto Angelo Deville's face, turns to anger, and quickly resets itself. Now at the ring steps, Deville drops his microphone to his waist with a loose arm, ascending each step with an exclamatory wiping of his heels across the steel. Gripping the top rope, he slides effortlessly into the squared circle and pauses, leaving a good ten feet between himself and The Renegade.

Rollins smiles.

The Renegade: Tell me something, Deville.

Angelo Deville returns the smile in the form of a curled lip.

Angelo Deville: What would that be, my dear doppelganger?

Eating the distance between them in three broad strides, Rich Rollins brings himself within an inch of tasting Angelo Deville's sweat.

The Renegade: How does it feel to have to tilt you nose down so you can finally look a man in the eye for once?

That does it. Biting back a subdued bellow, Angelo Deville shoves Rich Rollins back a step. Swinging the legal document in front of him, The Renegade responds with a hearty tsk tsk.

The Renegade: It's right here, Angelo. (he indicates a passage on the page) My contract, same as yours. I do believe it states that you can be terminated at any time - for any reason - by one Mr. Chet Worth. Touch me again and I'll see your ass canned.

Deville barks a laugh.

Angelo Deville: Didn’t you listen to a damn word I said? Do you honestly believe that putrescent Philistine will so much as mention my name in the context of a reprimand? Over roughing you up? Never gonna happen Rollins, because where the man lacks in hygiene and fashion sense he makes up for in business smarts. He knows his assets. Me – I sell out venues. You? You just sell out.

A slight "oooo" settles in the crowd as Rich Rollins' cheek twitches. The curtain of confidence finally cracks, breaking open the seam of The Renegade's patience. Strangling the microphone, he practically spit's the words.

The Renegade: You don't know the first fucking thing about loyalty and respect, you sonofabitch! You-

Cut like a string before his tirade can even begin, an all-too familiar sound assaults Rich Rollins' ears as a new song suddenly blasts through the KeyArena. Stopping immediately, The Renegade eyes the stage in shock as both he and Angelo Deville direct their attention to the PRIME-a-Tron.

Standing there with his fists balled into stone mallets and his nostrils flaring white wildfire, a man never before seen on PRIME television greets an audience who are so stunned that even as "Established" continues to scream over the speaker system, nobody moves.

Glaring daggers at both the men standing in PRIME's ring is Steven Caldera, President of Global Championship Wrestling.

Nick: Oh… my… god…

Richard: He… he actually showed up?! He's not supposed to show up! Rollins was just kidding! We don't even give our talent complimentary tickets!

There is absolutely no hesitation in Steven Caldera's step. Decked out in a sharp business suit and tie, the owner of GCW stalks across the steel ramp and straight up to the ring. Rollins has regained his composure enough to scowl dangerously at his former employer; Deville paces quietly in the meantime, remaining neutral but not out of sight.

Climbing into the ring, Steven Caldera walks straight up to Rich Rollins and punches him in the face.

Nick: OH MY GOD!

Dropping his microphone, The Renegade staggers back a few steps, startled. Pulling his hand away from his nose, a small crimson smear decorates the side of his face. He just gawks at Caldera, staring blankly like someone who just woke up from a dream only to realize that he was never asleep to begin with.

Snatching Rollins' dropped mic, Steven Caldera explodes.

Steven Caldera: You selfish son of a bitch! I gave you everything! I made you into the biggest star this sport has ever seen - that they've ever seen, Rollins! - and this is how you repay me?!

Caldera throws his arm out, gesturing to the huge PRIME logo that adorns the PRIME-a-Tron. Heaving like a marathon runner, the GCW CEO swings his finger at The Renegade once more, taking a deep breath. Whatever he was preparing to say is lost in the response of the crowd, however. Yelled in perfect unison, every PRIMEate in attendance has finally found their voice:

"Shut-the-fuck-up!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) "Shut-the-fuck-up!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

Unflustered, Steven Caldera stabs his finger through the air again, aimed directly at Rollins' heart.

Steven Caldera: When you were drowning in the idiocy of Nathan Krotzer and his decaying CWU, who gave you a home?

"Shut-the-fuck-up!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

Steven Caldera: When your name had about as much heat as an Icebabe promo, who saw you through two World title reigns?

"Shut-the-fuck-up!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

Steven Caldera: When you were standing trial for murder, who threw down two million of his own hard-earned dollars so that you could spend your last free night in a decent bed instead of on a broken down cot?

"Shut-the-fuck-up!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

Steven Caldera: But most importantly Rich Rollins, just when in the hell did you decide that The Renegade was bigger than professional wrestling?

Silencing the obnoxious hockey chant with a wave of his hand, The Renegade presses his chest into Steven Caldera, speaking into his own microphone.

The Renegade: You want your money back, Steve? Is that it? Well, since we're obviously not pullin' any punches tonight … (he touches his nose, gingerly) … let's just get real honest with each other, how 'bout it? That two million and the millions on top of it you use to pad your precious wrestling program are only there because I made it for you. Was it you, Steven Caldera, who headlined pay-per-views? Was it you who wrestled in three whole fucking tournaments because I begged you to help get GCW out in the open? Fuck it, Steve… was it you, Mr. Wrestling Multimedia, who pissed off Seymour Almasy enough to show up and boost your ratings?

Grabbing the microphone for himself, The Renegade snarls in Caldera's face.

The Renegade: I'm done doing your bitch work, Steven. I goaded Almasy into signing a GCW contract, and you fired him anyway. I brought both the Infinite Gauntlet and Global title crowns into your ring. I won GTT5 waiving the banner of your company. I even tried to put your golden boy Mike Hardy over, but we all know how many waves that made. If I was the flint to Hardy's tender, he was more moist than Eva Vanlorne's vagina during this very promo. In short, there was nothing hot about it.

Caldera flinches, but his lips tighten until they're ghost white. They begin to circle, dancing with one another in the center of the ring as Angelo Deville watches on, sneering.

The Renegade: You never looked at the big picture, Steve. Ever since you were yay-high (he indicates his knee) you were always struggling to see beyond that big Shylock nose of yours, only thinking a step or two ahead of the competition. But I know you, Steven. I know you all too well, and the proof is in the pudding. See, you came down here just like I knewyou would, totally clueless as to what the fuck you just stepped into. Even as I stand here explaining it to you, making sure you can finally see the big neon sign, the whole fucking big picture, you don’t even realize that you’re standing in the most obvious trap ever set by man. Or should I say… men?

Rollins’ eyes flare, boring holes straight through Steven Caldera’s irises. The arena is otherwise so silent that the first few gasps are sharp and distinct.

The Renegade: Whaddaya say, Deville?

Grinning broadly, Angelo Deville looks at Rich Rollins. Rich Rollins mirrors his look.

As one, they both turn to Steven Caldera.

Nick: Oh… oh god!

Richard: Stop saying that!

Angelo Deville: "Surprise."

Realizing his mistake, Steven Caldera tries to run, but it was already too late ten minutes ago. Caught in the middle of the two most dominant entities to ever set foot in a wrestling ring, the owner of Global Championship Wrestling mouths a not-so-silent curse. "Son of a b-"

Without mercy or forgiveness, Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins strike Steven Caldera down.

Deville catches Caldera's arm as the GCW figurehead tries to make a pre-emptive strike on Rollins, holding him firmly. Sizing up his wide-eyed prey, The Renegade returns the favor and plants a five-knuckled fist right between the man's eyes, jerking him out of Deville's grasp and onto the canvas. The two GTT Champions begin stomping the writhing wrestling promoter, fueling an outrageously overwhelming roar that engulfs the entire arena. Caldera tries to reach for the ropes, but Angelo Deville stomps the hand back in its place.

Nick: Good lord, they're killing him! They're absolutely killing Steven Caldera! Somebody, stop this!

Richard: He brought it on himself, Nick! That stupid son of a bitch thought he could just waltz in here and take his cash cow back to the GCW pasture, but I think he just learned the price of his stupidity! Rollins is in PRIME now, and there's no going back!

Nick: But, does this mean…? Are Rollins and Deville…?

The implications behind this statement take a moment to register in Richard's brain. Finally, he gets it.

Richard: Oh dear god.

Ripping his jacket off, The Renegade climbs on Caldera's back and wraps the thing around his head, arching his ex-boss' neck back in a savage rendition of the age-old camel clutch. Deville takes a few steps back into the ropes for momentum and comes bounding across the ring, planting the squirming ball of Caldera's face with a brutal full-tilt dropkick. Releasing the GCW President, The Renegade makes a gesture to The Deville and grins.

Nick: Oh for Christ's sake! This was all a setup! They had it rigged from the beginning!

Richard: We are sooooooooooooooo fucked.

Scooping up Steven Caldera's legs, Angelo Deville flips the man over and places the sole of one boot square on his crotch. Stepping down, the Devil's Don falls to his back as he uses Caldera's knees and legs as leverage, locking in The Soprano with chilling accuracy. Steven Caldera's screams might be muffled underneath Rollins' coat, but they still sound shrill enough to shatter glass.

And, as the severe beating of Steven Caldera continues before a cheering PRIME crowd, we go to commercial.

No, wait, I'm sorry. We don't do that.

Instead, the lights go out.

Richard: What the Hell? I was enjoying this beat down!

Nick: Of course you would!

Richard: He's the douche that runs some other company! What do *I*, a PRIME commentator, care if Rollins and Deville leave him half-dead?

Sounds of the struggle can be heard even in the inky blackness. And then, nothing…nothing save for a new voice, rising above the silence.

"…you should have killed me when you had the chance, Richard…"

Richard: Oh dear God! Cousin Jeremy's come for me! Nick! You've got to hide me! QUICK!

And with that, the lights come back on. Laying on the mat is a microphone, at the feet of the fourth man in the ring. The fourth man holds a chair in capable hands, staring straight into the eyes of Angelo Deville, who thinks better of attempting to charge an armed man and slides free of the squared circle

Richard Rollins, though, is not so fortunate. To him, the voice is impossible. It cannot be what he thinks it is, so he simply drives another stomp home to his former boss' head, unaware of the danger.

Until the reaction starts, cheers and boos coming together to form a gigantic mass of sound.

Then, and only then, does Rollins know what's coming.

Nick: That's…!

*CRACK!*

The sound of steel on skull echoes throughout the arena, as Rollins drops courtesy of a thunderous shot to the back of the skull. A semi-conscious Steven Caldera gazes up at his savior…and a look of shock promptly takes over the businessman's face.

Richard: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT FAGGOT DOING IN PRIME?! DON'T EVEN TELL ME….

Rollins weakly rolls to the floor before his assailant can get another shot in. Landing on his side, Rollins pulls himself up with the guardrail, spitting at the man in the ring, who dodges the wad of phlegm and shakes his head.

A man who just might be the only person on Earth right now who hates Rich Rollins more than Steven Caldera does.

Nick: SEYMOUR ALMASY'S ON REVOLUTION 108!

Richard: GODDAMNIT ALL! IT WAS GOING SO WELL! FIRST DEVILLE! THEN SNOW! THEN ROLLINS! WHY DID WE HAVE TO RUIN IT WITH RPG FAG! I SWEAR, CHET WORTH, YOU DESERVE TO DIE FOR THIS!

Nick: SHOVE IT! Almasy's the reigning PTC Global Champion, and has held the honor three times! He has held championships wherever he's gone, and I for one think he'd make a PHENOMENAL addition to PRIME, but we don't even know why the Hell he's here. Last anyone saw of him, he was being FIRED on GCW's PPV by the guy he just saved from Rollins and Deville!

Richard: All the games have gone to his head, Nick! He doesn't know what he's doing! Just because he's Mr. PTC doesn't mean he can waltz in here and take Rollins' head off!

The Final Fantasy, currently a free agent, stoops to pick up his microphone, enjoying the pointed, rather displeased stares from the raging Renegade and the dour Deville. Caldera has managed to pull himself to a sitting position in one of the corners, just in time to listen to his former employee.

Seymour Almasy: So here I am. PRIME. The big time in PTC, or so I've been told for the past few years. I guess the big question is, what exactly am I doing here? What is Seymour Almasy's purpose tonight on ReVolution 108? What is it?

Crowd: WHAT?!

Almasy almost drops his microphone, having unwittingly backed into the fans' very favorite game. Seymour shoots a withering look at the man who fired him, who shoots one right back. On the floor, Deville smirks devilishly, and shakes his head as if to say "don't you dare".

Almasy: Oh come on now. Surely you don't expect me to give into this crap, do you? I'm not that mobster on the floor. For one thing, I've actually had tournament SUCCESS since GTT3. Angelo, well…alright folks, if you want to do the damned game, let's do it right now!

A demon's gleam lights in the Final Fantasy's eye, as he raises the microphone to his lips, staring down at the Cadillac of Wrestling.

Seymour Almasy: You lost to…Dave Hurst.

Crowd: WHAT?!

Nick: Oh dear…this can't end well.

Seymour Almasy: EDH.

Crowd: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: The guy with a duck!

Crowd: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: A RUBBER DUCK!

Crowd: WHAT?

Seymour Almasy: YOU JOBBED TO A DUCK!

Crowd: WHAT?

Seymour Almasy: And not even Plucky!

Crowd: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: JUST A STUPID RUBBER DUCK!

On the floor, both Deville and Rollins give mock applause for Seymour's half-assed attempt to work the crowd. Angelo nudges Rollins and points at Almasy as if at some gutter pimp who’d just berated his moral clarity, while Steven Caldera simply sighs and wonders who he pissed off to deserve this.

Seymour Almasy: But enough about mallards. No, I came here because of THAT asshole over there in the red bandana. I hear after I got canned by the man in the suit now sitting in the corner, he came in and took my spot at Dangerous Games.

Cheap boo for the mention of another company's PPV.

Seymour Almasy: And then, he shows up here on PRIME. Do you have any idea what you started in GTT5, Rich? Do you?

Rollins nods, mouthing something that looks suspiciously like "fucking your now-dead wife".

Seymour Almasy: Very funny. Fact is, you have no clue.

Crowd: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: …

Everyone laughs at Almasy's stymieing at the hands of the witticism of the PRIME crowd. They laugh, that is, until Seymour does the unthinkable.

The inconceivable.

The unimaginable.

Seymour Almasy: …you know what? Fuck this place. I wish I was at Fresh!

Nick: …

Richard: …

Angelo Deville: …

Steven Caldera: …

The Renegade: …

Crowd: …

Popcorn Vendor In The Third Row: …

All: ….what?

Seymour Almasy: You heard me. Fresh! AWC, you know?

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: Atlantic Wrestling Club.

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: The place Facey didn't blow up in!

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: They have Aimz.

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: A very nice young lady.

By now, the booing has intensified, and backstage, Chet Worth has already pushed the panic button, a.k.a. the button that he pushes if somehow, some way, someone praising AWC manages to get on PRIME television.

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: They also have Garbage Bag Johnny.

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: And Captain Suleimon.

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: I'd rather work for them!

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: IT'S AWC!

All: WHAT?!

Seymour Almasy: A W FUCKING C--OOOOFF!

Two security guards tackle Almasy promptly, trying to dislodge the microphone from his hands while they begin to carry him away to the applause of the now rather agitated crowd.

Nick: Folks, I'm sorry for that…no one deserves to have to hear AWC praised so vociferously. Obviously Mr. Almasy's firing from that other place has had a negative effect on his mental psyche.

Richard: Wow, you actually agreed with me, you MUST be pissed.

Rolling free of the ring, Steven Caldera avoids Rollins and Deville long enough to make his way up the ramp. He is battered and bruised, but needless to say, he now has a lot to think about as he leaves ReVolution 108, with Seymour's final defiant cry of "DO IT FOR HYDE!" echoing before he too disappears. This leaves Rich Rollins and Angelo Deville, looking at one another in a combination of amusement, confusion, and disgust.

The scene cuts backstage where we find Jason Snow, who apparently has taken time out of preparing for his match against Ethan Knight, and has found a television. He has seen the whole thing - it was all an elaborate scheme. Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins... allies!?

As unthinkable as it may be, pictures don't lie.

A janitor appears in the background, sweeping the backstage floor. He is an older man - average looking. He stops behind Snow and tilts his head to the side, seeing what has just occurred down in the ring. With a shake of his head and a laugh, he speaks...

Janitor: Boy, looks like you need to find yourself a partner.

Normally, Jason Snow would go off on a man for speaking out of turn, but in this case, he only narrows his eyes. We get just a glimpse of the man behind the delusional antics and ridiculous words. He knows he needs a partner. But who could possibly be the right man for the job?

The scene fades to black and we head into a commercial.

Back from commercial, the PRIME fans in attendance are standing already, waiting for the next match.

Nick: What a revelation we have just witnessed here on Revolution. Angelo Deville, Rich Rollins... allies!? I -... Richard, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think it’s possible to underestimate how devastating this union can be for all of PRIME. We’re talking about two of the most feared men in -

Richard: Devastating? What are you talking about!? This is unquestionably the greatest night in the history of Revolution! The Renegade... The Deville!

Nick: Well, it all went down at Steven Caldera’s expense, but a deeper question is, what does this mean for Jason Snow? What is he walking into at The Great American Nightmare? As far as I can tell, if he doesn’t find a partner, he’s walking into... well, a nightmare!

Richard: Like it matters! Tell me, Nick, who - who could Snow possibly find as a partner to contend with the likes of Rich Rollins and Angelo Deville?

Nick: Well, I don’t know, that’s -...

"Laid to Rest" by Lamb of God

Nick is cut off mid-sentence as the opening guitar pounds through the arena soundsystem. Within seconds, it changes to a buzzsaw riff, and the fans rise to their feet in a chorus of boos as Ethan Knight appears at the top of the entrance ramp. He holds his head low, absorbing the music with his body, until finally it breaks into the first verse, and Knight starts making his way to the ring.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, weighing in at one hundred, ninety-four pounds... out of Chicago, Illinois, and representing The Covenant... he is "The Infinite..." ... He is, Ethaaaaaaan Kniiiiiiiight!!!

As Knight enters the ring, the song breaks into its gut-scream chorus...

Console yourself! You’re better alone!
Destroy yourself! See who gives a fuck!
Absorb yourself! You’re better alone!
Destroy yourself!

Knight paces in a circle around the ring waiting for his opponent. His music fades in sync with the audience’s jeers.

Richard: Ethan Knight looks ready!

Nick: He’d better be ready.

Richard: Are you kidding!? Blessed are the damned, Nick!


And then everything goes black...

"Right Next Door to Hell" by Guns N’ Roses

As soon as they recognize the bass line, the audience shifts gears from "anticipatory lull" to "major mark out." The usual strobe light appears at the top of the entrance ramp, dark blue, just bright enough to reveal a lone figure standing beneath the PRIME-a-tron.

Nick: We’re looking at a man with a major problem to solve heading into The Great American Nightmare.

Richard: There’s no solution to the combined pwnage of The Deville and The Renegade! Nick, we’re looking at a dead man!

With the machine-gun belted first verse of the song, strobe-Snow breaks out of his pose and stalks toward the ring, where Ethan Knight waits in the dark. He moves swiftly by his adoring fans without acknowledging them, and perhaps that’s what they like most about him.

Vince Howard: And his opponent! Weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds... from New Brunswick, Canada, and making his in-ring debut with PRIME... he is the "Original Villain!" He is... Jaaasssoooooooon Snnnoooooooow!

Just walking through the town
Can you believe this heat?
Another empty house,
another dead-end street
I’m going to rest my bones, sit for a spell
This side of heaven, this close to hell

Nick: Jason Snow might be closer to hell right now than he could ever have known coming into Revolution. He’s walking into The Great American Nightmare up against two of the most reputed superstars in the history of our sport!

The lights come up as Snow walks up the ringside steps to the ring. He waits there for a moment, staring down Ethan Knight. Knight, at the opposite corner of the ring, leans in, ready to fight - ready to pounce.

...

Where’s the bell?

The match should have started already.


Nick: Uuuuh... I don’t know exactly what the delay is here... we’ve got both competitors in the ring; the introductions have been made.

Richard: How long have I been saying we need to fire the ring crew? Ring the damn bell already!

Nick: I don’t... wait a minute... there’s no referee out there! Where’s the referee?

Indeed, there’s no referee present. Vince Howard seems to be explaining the situation to both parties in the ring, though Jason Snow brushes him off with a threatening glare.

Nick: We’ve got a camera heading back to the referee’s locker room as we speak and... wait, here we go.

The scene cuts backstage to the exterior of the referee’s locker room where a car is parked directly in front of the door. The door, opening outward rather than in, is crashing over and over into the side of the black Chevy Malibou. The shot closes in on the front windshield, where we see a sticker that reads "Delta Rentals."

Nick: A rental car? Who could that be and how the hell did they get that in here?

"I Am" by Godsmack

Nick: No!

Richard: Yes!

I am your spoken truth
I am the lies in you
I’m going to make you shine
in everything you do!

Tony "The Grin" Gamble appears beneath the PRIME-a-tron, his trademark grin smeared on his face. But no one notices that. Everyone in the arena is looking at the same thing.

Tony Gamble is wearing zebra stripes.

Nick: I assure you, folks, this is not sanctioned! There is no way Tony Gamble will be allowed to officiate this match!

Richard: Why not? He’s the only one that bothered to show up.

Nick: They... you’re hopeless Richard!

Richard: >=)

Nick: Tony Gamble has been trying to impress Angelo Deville for weeks now! There’s no way he can be unbiased in this match!

Richard: Don’t question The Grin’s integrity like that, Nick! He’s doing everyone a favor by coming down here and volunteering his time while the referees are indisposed!

Tony Gamble saunters down to the ring, looking awfully proud of himself. The audience, despite what you may have heard, are not idiots and realize what’s going on here. They boo him relentlessly - not that he cares.

He gets to the ring and steps in, standing between Jason Snow and Ethan Knight, looking as if this charade is going to be allowed to continue, going so far as patting Vince Howard on the back and gesturing for the time keeper to ring the bell.

Nothing happens.

But Jason Snow is holding a microphone and he doesn’t look happy.

He paces a small line, back and forth, in front of Tony Gamble while glaring menacingly at him. Gamble only smirks, waiting for Jason Snow’s inevitable verbal onslaught.

Jason Snow: Peasant, I know the life of a referee is meaningless and it’s hard to keep yourself from cutting your damn wrists every night... but when you see Jason Snow standing in the center of a wrestling ring, you haul your fat ass out from the back and prepare yourself to officiate the biggest damn ass-kicking you’ve ever seen! Lateness is not acceptable!

With that, Snow tosses the microphone out of the ring, and turns his attention back to his opponent at the opposite corner. Even Tony Gamble looks confused.

Nick: Wait a minute! Snow didn’t recognize Gamble! He thinks he’s a real referee!

Richard: This is great!

Nick: Someone has to tell him! If he doesn’t protest then there’s no reason for the match not to...

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Under the watchful eye of The Grin, the match begins, and within a second, Ethan Knight springs into his attack, catching Jason Snow with three right hands before Snow has time to react.

Nick: I can’t believe this is allowed to continue!


Richard: Shut up, Nick! I’m watching the match!

With Snow on his heels, Knight hits the near ropes and catches him with a short, flying clothesline that knocks him off his feet.

Nick: Maybe Snow is showing a little bit of ring rust here.

Richard: Or maybe Ethan Knight’s about to kick his superior ass!

Nick: This is a big change for Snow. He’s not used to being the bigger man in there, but like most everyone, he has a significant size advantage over Ethan Knight.

Back in the ring, Snow is on his feet again and shaking off the cobwebs, but Ethan Knight doesn’t give him time to recover. Within seconds, he’s cracking Snow in the jaw with forearm after forearm, forcing Snow back to the ropes until finally, Snow seems to regain his senses. He blocks one forearm by grabbing Knight’s right arm, and in the same motion, flings the smaller man into the turnbuckle.

Knight looks disoriented, but before Snow can attack he nails him with an elbow to the jaw. Snow is shaken by the shot and steps away to recuperate, but that’s a major mistake against Ethan Knight. With Snow facing the other way, Knight hops effortlessly to the top turnbuckle. And when Snow turns around...

Hurricuranna!

Snow is dazed on the mat. Perhaps Nick was right, and it is ring-rust. Whatever the case, Knight picks him up by the hair and sends him into the ropes. On the rebound, Knight looks for a swinging neckbreaker, but is denied when Snow turns it smoothly into a fisherman’s suplex.

Nick: Looks like Snow’s finding his timing... Gamble’s making the count...

ONE!

...

...

...

Knight kicks out, but it doesn’t appear that Gamble was ever planning to hit "two" anyway.

Nick: It’s going to be a long night for Jason Snow.



Snow gives Gamble a glare, but he still doesn’t quite seem to grasp the situation. Instead, he goes back to the business at hand and begins delivering boots to Ethan Knight’s ribs. Knight, on his hands and knees, tries to crawl out of harm’s way, but that only encourages Snow to stand him up and deliver a devastating short-arm clothesline. Ethan Knight spins completely head over heels in the air before coming crashing back down to the mat once again.

With his opponent down, Snow doesn’t waste any time hitting the ropes and dropping a violent elbow into Knight’s throat, making the smaller man sit straight up and gasp for breath. Always the opportunist, Snow hits the ropes again, but this time when he gets to the seated Knight, he delivers an unorthodox sliding clothesline that flattens the smaller man once more.

Nick: Ethan Knight is used to being in this position, but the kid’s got a lot of fight in him.

Snow goes for the pin...

Nothing...

When Snow looks up, Tony Gamble isn’t even in the ring! He’s leaning on the barricade on the arena floor, talking to a breathtaking young lady in the front row.

Jason Snow is livid! He pounds his fist into the mat and starts toward Gamble. But he underestimates Ethan Knight’s resiliency, which has proven time and time again to be a deadly mistake. In the blink of an eye, Ethan Knight is up and charging Snow from behind; he actually runs past Snow and to the ropes, using them to slingshot himself into a crossbody block!

In a flash, Tony Gamble is in the ring and making the count.

ONE!
TWO!
THR-

Snow pushes Knight off and sits up, taking a moment to glare suspiciously at Gamble.

Nick: I think Snow is finally figuring out that something’s up here.

Before we have time to consider that, the audience breaks into a chorus of boos. The camera shifts to the top of the entrance ramp and we find Angelo Deville and Rich "The Renegade" Rollins watching ominously on.

Nick: This is the last thing we need out here right now!

Richard: Are you kidding? These guys are always welcome! You’re looking at the saviors of PRIME!


Nick: You used to say that about Hoyt Williams!

Back in the ring, Snow has taken notice of the threat looming at the top of the ramp, and again, Ethan Knight takes advantage. He catches Snow with a unique variation of a neckbreaker and then quickly follows up with a somersault legdrop. Snow rolls onto his stomach a moment after the impact while Ethan Knight goes for the ropes. He climbs the turnbuckle and then...

450 Splash!

At the top of the ramp, Deville and Rollins applaud lightly while Knight goes for the cover in the ring.

Gamble, ever the diligent ref, makes an exaggerated slide across the ring.

ONE!
TWO!
THR-

Somehow, Snow kicks out despite the lightning fast pin. He sits up groggily and burns a hole through Gamble with his eyes, and then checks back up to the top of the ramp.

Back to Gamble.

Back to the ramp.

Back to Gamble.

Finally, Snow puts two and two together and fully grasps his dire situation.

... And then Ethan Knight cleans his clocks with a low drop-kick.

Tony Gamble gets excited. With Angelo Deville watching from the top of the ramp, he dramatically encourages Ethan Knight to go for the pin. Even without a microphone, we hear him say "he’s finished! Cover him! Cover him!" But Ethan Knight has too much flash for that.

He picks Snow up for a proper finish.

Richard: We’re going to get a Cyclone Neckbreaker! ‘04 baby!

Knight hoists Snow up and springboards his legs off the ropes, but before he can land the maneuver, Snow acrobatically flips out of it, landing behind Knight. He regains his balance just as Knight turns around and then...

Snake Eyes!!!

The super kick cracks Ethan Knight directly in the jaw so hard that its easily heard above the noise of the crowd. Knight staggers in bewilderment for a few steps before he loses his legs and falls flat on his back. With his old instincts returning to him, Snow takes a step in for the pin, but then reconsiders it, looking over his shoulder at Tony Gamble and his smug little grin...

...

Snake Eyes!!!

The shot catches Gamble hard enough to send him spilling over the top rope and onto the concrete floor below. He lies there groggily for a moment before awkwardly signaling the nearby timekeeper for the bell.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match, by way of disqualification, "The Infinite!" Ethaaaaan Kniiiiiiight!

With Gamble dazed and confused on the outside, and Vince Howard to afraid to approach the ring, there’s no one to raise Ethan Knight’s hand. He’s still stunned from the vicious shot he took just before the match’s end.

Jason Snow leans against the ropes, still catching his breath, locked in a stare down with the menacing figures standing at the top of the ramp. Rich Rollins, with a smirk, holds up two fingers for Snow to see.

Two weeks until The Great American Nightmare.

Two weeks for Jason Snow to find a partner.

The scene fades to black for a commercial break.

The A-List box is no more. The camera shows its current state and while there are no physical signs of decay, the hustle and bustle of nights past is gone. Sure, there are a couple sycophantic wannabes still hanging out. Like all good things, the time has come for one member to be possibly dead or maybe just stoned or something and the other to go to jail.

And the last member? Chandler Tsonda? He walks through the door, right on cue. He’s dressed to the nines, wearing what looks like a new pair of Gucci sunglasses. On his left: Eleanor Kannon-Hall. Alpha manager of PRIME. On his right shoulder: the 5-Star belt. On his face: several dollops of one hundred percent sexy.

Chandler Tsonda: HELLO WORLD!

The proclamation, a loud an obnoxious one, is barely noticed by the handful of people. They’re most just around for the drinks and on the off chance that Danny comes back and needs bit roles for his next movie.

Chandler Tsonda: I said…HELLO WORLD!

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Erm, like, I think you might want to wait for the beep and leave the world a message or text them or something.

The Model Citizen takes his customary seat (on the premier couch, of course), with Ellie in tow, shaking her head at those loitering in the presence of one so regal as her beau.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Yikes, Chan, it looks like someone vacuumed all the fetch out of the room.

Chandler Tsonda: Indeed, muffin. The douchebag levels appear to have spiked in the wake of my conquering the rest of the group.

Now in this alternate reality, there is no one to check the ego of Tsonda; there’s no one to let him know that the group’s breakup is due to him in only the slightest way possible. Ellie, instead, decides to entertain herself by looking around the room and cringing at various imaginary things.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Like, it’s all quiet and boring in here. The ginger and the little guy are gone. And that guy who smells like an ashtray that tried to have sex with my handbag. It’s almost, like, ya know, we’re on our own.

The 5-Star champion looks around the room, pondering what has become of the once unstoppable A-List.

Chandler Tsonda: I could pay some actors to dress like them and sort of hang around on the outskirts of our conversations. Would that make you feel better?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Yeah, and we should totally pay them to do really wacky stuff and then we can just, like, laugh and go: oh that’s so A-List.

Chandler Tsonda: You might be missing the point here, darling. We’re better off now. We can focus entirely on my belt. (looking at belt) Isn’t that right, friend?

5-Star Belt: Please believe, bitch.

No, but seriously, that didn’t happen. Everyone knows that championship belts don’t use swear words. They’re far more cultured than that.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: What are we gonna do then? Clearly, we can’t just waste the first half of every night, like, getting ready for the match.

Chandler Tsonda: Never have, never will. My suggestion would be that we remind people exactly where the backstage party is at in PRIME.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Ohmigosh! Can it please be a golf pros and tennis hoes party? Puh-leeeeeeeese, Chan?

The champion’s face betrays the fact that he’s not going near that request with a ten-foot stick, but he pulls off the diplomatic response well.

Chandler Tsonda: That’s…an idea. We’ll just see how things turn out. In the mean time, we’ve got an hour to kill. Wanna go try and convince some ring workers to fight each other for my shoes?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Like, affirmative!

The A-List skybox? A shell of its former glory. Its primary two inhabitants? Blissfully oblivious.

"You've been trying pretty hard to get my attention."

Tony Gamble pulls the referee shirt up over his head, coming face to face with the Cadillac man himself; Angelo Deville.

Angelo Deville: So should I whip it out now, or would you rather I buy you dinner first?

The Grin smiles, finally having the audience he has been searching for.

Tony Gamble: Do I look like one of the feeble minded fools that walks around back here looking for someone to give a hand job too, hoping just to have an essence of their being spewed on me?

The Devil's Don smirks, nodding as he does.

Angelo Deville: The splitting image. So if you don't mind, let's make this quick.

Gamble throws up his arms.

Tony Gamble: Hold on! I don't know what you thought I had in mind, but I don't swing that way. So whatever you planned on doing to me, or expected me to do to you, you've got the wrong idea.

Angelo Deville: Do I now?

The Cadillac of wrestling makes his way closer to Gamble, reaching into his pants as he walks.

Angelo Deville: You see, I was under the impression that you wanted to work with me. Thing is, I need to know if you're willing to do whatever it takes to stand by my side. It won't take long either.

Gamble turns away as Angelo pulls his hand out.

Angelo Deville: So are you going to prove it to me, or should I just leave?

Tony turns.

Tony Gamble: Like I said, I'm no-

The Devilish One is dangling it right in front of Gamble's face.

Tony Gamble: What's that?

The paper in Deville's hand is too close to his face to make out what it is.

Angelo Deville: A contract. You want to prove your worth to me, sign this and meet me in the ring next week. We'll see how much you really want to prove your worth to me.

Tony Gamble: You got a pen?

Tony snatches the paper from his hand, and never notices the right hand that strikes him on the left side of his jaw – busting his lip in the process.

Angelo Deville: Sign it with that.

Nick: And now, it’s time for our main event here on ReVolution 10--

As if on cue to interrupt Nick, the PRIMETron whirls to life, with the "ASK MR. ITO" logo appearing, prompting some cheers from the Seattle (and thus mostly pro Mr. Silver even if he did turn on them a lot tonight) crowd. With that, the overdone ITO voiceover begins.

V/O: Ask Mr. Ito will not be shown at this time.

Nick: Well, isn’t that just a shame…

V/O: We are interrupting that program for an important news announcement!

A giant red X appears over the ASK MR. ITO logo, only to be replaced by an "IMPORTANT NEWS BULLETIN FROM KENJIRO ITO" logo.

Nick: …what did I ever do to deserve this, God? I’ve been a good man.

Richard: YAHOOOOOO!!!

V/O: The following announcement is the opinion of me, Kenjiro Ito. It is in no way the opinion of PRIME, even though it should be. There now, can I start talking yet? I swear to Ito, Mr. Silver’s going to fire you if you keep up this incompetence! Who cares if we get sued? He’ll just hire Johnny Cochran--what, he’s dead? Goddamnit, now I see why you’re all so careful. Okay, okay, I get it, my opinion, not PRIME’s. Good. Now can I talk? Yes, good, ON WE GO!

Nick: Oh dear God, no.

Richard: Yes! We all know who this is! That dulcet tone! That lack of respect for stupid employees! It can only be one man….KENNNNJIIIIRROOOO IIIIIIITTTOOOOOO!

Nick: How much do he and Silver pay you, Richard?

Richard: Not that much. I’m a cheap, cheap whore who marks out for booze. See?

The commentator holds up a sign, indeed saying "Will Mark For Booze". As Nick shakes his head disgustedly, the scene goes back up to the PRIMETron, where Kenjiro Ito now appears in all of his glory. In one hand, he holds a copy of the most recent edition of Playboy magazine. In the other, he holds a copy of a company which won’t be named’s most recent magazine.

ITO: The faces, names, and trademarks on these magazines have been blurred out for legal reasons because PRIME’s legal department is made up of law school jack offs, but you know whose on these magazines. First off, we have Trailer Park Trash girl in a thong…

ITO holds the magazine up, revealing that he has written down from each letter in the AWC logo "Always Wanting Cock", with an arrow drawn to the female subject of the cover.

Nick: Well, THAT’s mature…

Richard: BAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT’S HILARIOUS! PWN ON, ITO-SAN! PWN ON!

Next, he raises the copy of the Playboy, which is surprisingly unmarked…save for what appears to be a sticky substance dripping from the corner of the magazine.

Nick: …

Richard: …

ITO: And here we have something WORTH looking at….AN ASIAN CHICK! When are you silly Americans going to realize that Asian women are naturally hotter than your silicone stuffed sticks are? Not to say that I don’t make silicone stuffed sticks love the cock too, but, you know.

Nick: …that magazine’s still dripping what I think it is, right?

Richard: Why yes Nick, yes it is. You should be honored that you get see the seed of Kenjiro Ito. It is an honor that very few people receive.

Nick: …IT’S THE MAN’S SEMEN, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! AND IT’S ON AIR, BEING SENT TO MILLIONS OF HOMES! WE ARE *SO* IN THE SHIT!

Richard: It’s not our fault. FX is supposed to censor shit when it goes wrong.

Nick: *sigh* This is absolutely ridiculous. Can someone PLEASE beat the shit out this moron? Please?

Richard: ITO, or me?

Nick: Both, preferably.

ITO: Now, I hear that Lindsay Troy has her panties all in a twist, as she has posted a statement on the OFFICIAL PRIME website basically reading something to the effect of the following.

From his pocket, ITO whips out what appears to be a pre-prepared written statement. Clearing his throat, the Bringer of the Ice Age begins to read.

ITO: Waahh, wahhh, wahhh, I’ve been wrestling forever and no one cares about me! But whenever some girl takes her clothes off, they become famous and make more money than I ever will! Why can’t anyone pay attention to me? All I want is attention, but I’ll never get it because I’m a stupid whiny bitch who can’t keep her mouth shut long enough to be attractive!

Richard: Preach on, my Asian brother!

Nick: …Troy’s going to kill him.

ITO: Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, why not just come out and say it? You’ve wanted to pose for Playboy for years, but the facts are simple: HEFF DOESN’T WANT YOUR AMAZONIAN ASS! But don’t worry, Lindsay! There are tons of nasty fetishists who like overly tall bodybuilding freaks of females like you! And you can find them! Just go to Craigslist! You don’t have to thank me, Lindsay. Just remember that when you finally find a man who you don’t have to chloroform before you have sex with…poor, POOR Joey Melton…that it was all thanks to your ol’ pal ITO!

Nick: …absolutely and utterly maim him…

Richard: Lighten up! God, you’re just like Lindsay: you both have too much sand in your va--

For the first time in ages, a hard right handed smack returns to the commentator’s booth of a fed with Prime in its name.

ITO: So, in short, fuck Lindsay Troy…but not with your cock. That would be nasty, and possibly unsafe. I meant it in the proverbial sense. So, anyway, why am I out here? It’s simple. Ladies and gentlemen, I have come to one conclusion after reading about this controversy, and carefully studying the evidence…verrrry carefully, I might add.

Nick: …this is probably going to get us kicked off the air…

ITO: MORE FEMALE WRESTLERS NEED TO POSE FOR MEN’S MAGAZINES!

And, predictably, the primarily male crowd cheers, while their girlfriends and other females in the crowd roll their eyes at the single minded focus that is the male libido.

Richard: WOOOHOOOOOO! DAMN RIGHT!

ITO: Now, since PRIME’s a fucking sausage fest…well, except for Sun Tzu, who can practice her art on my war any Itodamned time she wants, this call goes out to all of you poor women forced to wrestle for inferior promotions that I won’t even name for reasons of not wanting to give them publicity. Let’s face facts: NO ONE CARES ABOUT HOW YOU WRESTLE IN THE RING! THIS ISN’T JAPAN! If you wanted a real wrestling career, you’d be in a joshi fed making roughly $50 a match. But you’re here, in America, SO SHOW SOME BOOBAGE! IT’S NOT DIFFICULT, AND YOU’LL MAKE A SHITLOAD OF MONEY! THE FEMALE AMERICAN DREAM IS BEING HOT ENOUGH TO POSE FOR PLAYBOY! Go on! Live, prosper, and be naked on the cover of Playboy! Or half-naked in Maxim, or FHM! I’ll take what I can get! Unless of course you’re an Amazon like Lindsay Troy, in which case you should go and get hit by a car so I never have to look at you again.

Nick: Fans, I’m sorry that we hired this moron. I’m sorry that we continue to let him speak on the air. I’m sorry that--

Richard: I’m sorry that my broadcast colleague is too much of a fag to want to see hot athletic chicks naked!

Nick: …die. Please. For the love of God.

ITO: So, female wrestlers in PTC, I have just one thing to say to you. I came across it on a web comic I was reading while some Seattle slut was busy giving me the old rusty trombone--

Nick: Can you even SAY that on TV?!

ITO: --and in short, the message is this.

With a demon’s gleam in his eye, ITO-san folds the piece of paper, puts it back in his pocket, and gives his final words.

ITO: TITS OR GTFO!

Mercifully, the PRIMETron goes black, leaving a sharply divided audience, Richard in absolute convulsions of laughter, and Nick pale at the thought of all of the lawsuits about to roll in.

On that cheerful note, we cut to a commercial from an advertiser who is probably getting ready to stop advertising on ReVolution as we speak.

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for our MAIN EVENT, scheduled fro one fall, and it is for the PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!!! Introducing first, to be accompanied by CHARITY MANALE... weighing in at 229 pounds... JONNNNNATHON WINTERSSSSS!!!!!

"LIFE IS A WATERFALL,
WE'RE ONE WITH THE RIVER,
AND ONE AGAIN AFTER THE FALL..."

Into the dimmed arena steps Jonathon Winters, Charity Manale at his side, offering words of encouragement.

"SWIMMING THROUGH THE VOID WE HEAR THE WORD,
WE LOST OURSELVES,
BUT WILL WE FIND IT ALL?"

The cameraman on the aisle zooms in close on the icy stare of Winters, his focus not even switching onto the intrusion, but instead focussing only on the ring.

The newly-formed duo continued their potent stride down towards the ring, before Winters slides in under the bottom rope, leaving Charity to make her own way up the steps, then through the ropes.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Even before the 5-Star champion's theme starts, the crowd jeer the silence.

And then Eleanor Kannon-Hall has the curtain held back for her. Elegantly striding out onto the stage, Ellie slides the pink gradiant-lensed sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, striking a pose as she looks through the camera. Then, her sleek hips jolt to the left, then right, setting off a chain of pyro along either side of the stage, letting loose ear drum-rupturing explosions at each end, masking the intro of "The Worm" by Audioslave.

With the 5-Star title strapped around his waist, Chandler Tsonda saunters out through the pyro smoke, obliging Eleanor's awaiting arm to lead her down the aisle. As Ellie directs security, Tsonda blinkers himself to the abuse being hurled over the barriers, before the A-List duo reach the foot of the aisle.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, to be accompanied by ELEANOR KANNON-HALL... from San Diego, California via Hanoi, Vietnam... weighing in at 195 pounds... HE IS THE PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION... THE SULTAN OF STYLE... THE MODEL CITIZEN... THE VIET VIPER... CHANNNNNDLER TSONNNNNDAAAAA!!!!!

After hopping up onto the apron, Tsonda waits as Ellie heads up the steps. As the referee warns Winters to stay back, and for Charity to exit the ring, Tsonda finally steps through the ropes as Ellie wisely remains on the apron, rubbing the shoulders of her charge as he aims a cocky grin towards his challenger.

Thomas Giles takes the belt from Tsonda and displays it to the crowd, the VietViper and Ellie eager to point out that it won't be changing hands, while Winters does his best to blank their mind games, instead testing out the ropes.

As the bell rings, the energetic duo begin to circle, each taking turns at creeping in closer, teasing a lock-up. Neither wanting to make an early error, they settle into a stalemate, each wanting to burst out of the blocks, but restricting themselves to a quick slide in to scout out grabbing a leg. For 20 seconds, their eyes lock, trying to read one another's expressions, until Tsonda breaks off, looking out towards the hard-cam. Holding up a hand towards Winters, signalling a break in the proceedings, Tsonda retreats back to his corner, seemingly not too happy with his manager.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The fans whistle and jeer as the 5-Star champion and Eleanor exchange angry words, Tsonda gesturing towards his hair, before she whips a can of hairspray out of her handbag and fixes the mild tufting on the left hand side of Tsonda's styled hairdo. Not quite believing what he's seeing, Winters holds his arms out to referee Thomas Giles, who just shrugs. Fuming at the antics, Charity goes to march round the ring, but Giles warns her back to her corner.

With the match officially underway, the challenger sees no reason to stand around with hands on hips, and rushes the corner. Shoving Tsonda in the ass with his boot, Winters sends the champion lunging out through the ropes, startling Ellie, who inadvertently delivers a face full of hairspray to her charge. Blinded, the VietViper flaps his arms out as Winters drags him back into a roll-up, while Ellie panics at ringside.

"ONE!

TW-NO!"

Tsonda bursts out of the cover, rubbing his eyes and yelling at Ellie for Evian. Despite lacking the best of throwing arms, she tosses her bottle of water in, only for a blurry-eyed champion to fumble it, straight into the hands of Winters. As Chandler pats around on the canvas looking for the bottle, Winters clears his throat, then takes a large glug... before spraying it into the face of the 5-Star champion. Despite having received the eye bath he desired, Tsonda seems none-too-happy as he gifts the PRIME fans a free lesson in Vietnamese expletives.

On opposite sides of the ring, the respective managers offer up a contrast as a slight smile crosses the lips of the composed Charity, while a flustered Ellie apologises to her charge.

Snapping back into focus, Winters throws himself into the ropes, rebounding at speed to mow the VietViper down, just as his vision clears enough to see the sole of the challenger's boot thrust into his face. Scrambling up, the startled Tsonda grabs his face, only for Winters to weave a trio of rights through his arms, then follow up with a European Uppercut just as his guard is lowered. Almost losing his balance as he staggers backwards, Tsonda drops back into the corner, and in the blink of an eye, the focussed challenger is back on him. To the delight of the crowd, and despair of Eleanor, Winters unloads with vicious knife-edged chops on the champion, unrelenting even as the wincing Model Citizen starts to slip down the buckles.

Trying to escape the flurry of chops and regain his composure, Tsonda slithers out through the ropes, only for Winters to quickly drop and hasten his exit with a Dropkick.

As Tsonda thumps down against the mats, Ellie rushes over to check on her charge. With the VietViper seemingly holding a grudge over the blinding, the duo trade even more words... before Ellie suddenly makes a quick dash away. It doesn't take Tsonda long to realise she's vacating the boundaries of Harm's Way, something he can't manage as Winters crashes down into him with a slingshot Plancha much to the delight of Charity Manale.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Never having exactly been taken with Winters, the fans rise to their feet and cheer him along nonetheless, although more out of their disgust towards Tsonda than affection for his challenger.

Not wanting the startled Tsonda to crawl away, Winters grabs a handful of the 5-Star champions hair, dragging him to his feet. Ignoring the referee's call to bring things back to the ring, Winters instead flings the VietViper away from the squared circle, sending his crashing into the safety barricade. Trying to stay on his feet, Tsonda drapes his arms over the barrier, leaving his chest open to another string of lacerating chops from Winters. Wanting a quick way back into the match, Tsonda goes to jab his thumb into Winters' eye, but his focussed challenger knocks the offending arm out of the air, before taking him down with an STO, sending the champion crashing against the barrier once more.

Afraid for the safety of the 5-Star title, Ellie starts to lecture the referee, telling him he should have called it a count-out already... almost prompting Charity to pop out the claws.

Not wanting to throw away an opportunity through a mistake of his own, Winters rolls the groggy Tsonda back into the ring to break the count, before springing eagerly up onto the apron. With his internal radar knocked off-kilter, Tsonda spins in the wrong direction as Eleanor screams Winters' location at him, allowing the challenger to springboard off the top rope and clear almost 2/3rds of the ring before driving the Model Citizen's face into the canvas with a Bulldog.

As Tsonda bounces over onto his back, Winters hooks the far leg tightly.

"ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!"

Shooting an arm up, Tsonda breaks the pinfall, only for Winters to capture the limb.

Struggling to secure the Fujiwara Armbar on the squirming Tsonda, Winters tries to shift his weight over the slippery VietViper, allowing the 5-Star champion to make a lunge for the ropes, just reaching it with his fingertips. Using all of his 5 count, Winters keeps the hold locked on in whatever form he can, even as Chandler uses the cables to drag himself up. Reaching 5, Thomas Giles orders Winters to break the hold, interjecting himself to lever the duo apart... allowing Tsonda to go low with a Backheel Kick.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Even the frosty exterior of Winters can't hide the discomfort as the heel of Tsonda's boot is ploughed into his groin, while Charity wails at the referee to pay more attention... prompting Ellie to shoot her a mocking wave.

Flashing the cocky smile of a man who knows he just got away with it, Tsonda loosens his arm back up, before grabbing Winters by the hair and dragging him back to the ropes. Eager to return the favour from earlier, the VietViper rakes Winters' eyes across the top rope, plastic coating friction-burning the challenger’s sight away.

As Winters stoops down, rubbing both his scorched eyes, Tsonda shows off his agility by rushing the challenger, then vaulting over him to pull Winters down into a Sunset Flip.

"ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!"

Not needing his sight to hear the count, Winters bursts out, only for Tsonda to then spin through on the mat. With Winter's legs draped over his shoulders, Tsonda doubles up Winters, then flips over into a bridge.

"ONE!

TW-NO!"

Wise enough to know that even a failed pin attempt is one that will frustrate his opponent, Tsonda again uses Winters kicking out to transition into another pin while the defences are down. Spinning around Winters' arm, Tsonda then rolls him down into La Majistral.


"ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!"

Once again the determined Winters bursts out, but Tsonda keeps hold of the arm, spinning through gracefully as he rises to add even more torque to the joint. Every time Winters goes to battle back, Tsonda gives the limb a short yank, fending him off. Then, just as Winters begins to grind his teeth through the pain, Tsonda ducks around, tying Winters' own arm around his neck, before sitting out to score an impressive Cut-Throat Ace Crusher. Sitting up, Tsonda blows a kiss to Charity, trying to rile her up on her return to management.

"TSON-DA-SUCKS! TSON-DA-SUCKS! TSON-DA-SUCKS!

Holding his neck and shoulder, Winters tries to pull himself right back up, only for Tsonda to smash into the hurt areas with a Dropkick. Spinning away from Winters, Tsonda pokes his heel back into the challenger, ensuring he's in place, before landing across Winters' chest with a picture-perfect Standing Moonsault.

"ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!"

Bursting out of the pin attempt, Winters again pads his eyes, the sting from the rope-burns lingering.

Never one to shy away from exploiting a wounded opponent, Tsonda jabs his thumb into Winters’ eye as he stands, only to get a lecture from the official. But, unfortunately, as Thomas Giles gives the VietViper a ticking off, Tsonda presses the sole of his boot down into Winters face, then again rakes the eyes as the innocent expression remains on his face. As Ellie taunts Charity from across the ring, Tsonda drags Winters up by the hair, before scoring with a kick to the side. As Winters' body contorts to absorb the blow, Tsonda leaps up, spinning around to score with a jumping Backheel Kick to the stooping Winters' jaw.

Nailing a picture-perfect landing, Tsonda takes a moment to pose, like a gymnast having just completed the perfect dismount, but only Ellie obliges with applause. Seeing her actions draw a reaction from Charity, Ellie turns it up a few notches, throwing in some "WHOOOO!"s and trying to start a cheer with some ringside fans.

Seeing Winters is still struggling with his sight, the confident Model Citizen hops out between the ropes, and climbs to the top turnbuckle. After taking a moment to shoot his best profile at the ringside cameras, Tsonda leaps off the top rope and catches a rising Winters in the chest with a Side Kick, sending the challenger tumbling backwards. Holding out his arms to the less-than-impressed crowd, Tsonda manages to mix enough disparaging intent into his grin to draw his loudest jeers yet.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Strolling towards the adjacent buckle, Tsonda springs to the top, then perches ready for a rising Winters. Battling blurring vision, Winters drags himself up, but as he stumbles towards the corner, he's mown down by a Spinning Heel Kick as Tsonda flings himself off the tope once again. Still packing enough cockiness to execute a kip-up in getting back to his feet, Tsonda cocks an eyebrow as he looks to the next turnbuckle.

With Ellie playing the ever-enthusiastic cheerleader, Tsonda bounds towards the corner and manages to leap straight onto the buckle in a showy display of athletic prowess.

Turning away from the ring, Tsonda gestures to his toned physique and chiselled features, inviting the tirade of abuse that follows. Having created a blanket of noise to dull yet another of Winters' senses, the VietViper launches himself off into a Corkscrew Moonsault, wiping out his dazed challenger.

Sitting up beside Winters, Tsonda shoots a quick wink to Ellie to show that all his going well, while beside him, Winters tries to gather his senses. Rolling backwards onto his feet, Tsonda points to the first buckle he flew off, then starts to mockingly count around the ring, leaving his index finger resting on the 4th. As the two managers continue their duel, Ellie counts 4 off on her fingers, while Charity seems amazed she got past 3. Nudging Winters into position with his boot, Tsonda strides to the corner, then hops onto the middle ropes, then the top, before flying gracefully off with a Triple Jump Moonsault...

...only to catch both of his challenger's knees to his stomach.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The fans rise as Tsonda bounces up nearly 6 feet off the ground, grabbing his ribs before doubling over as he touches back down on the canvas.

As Tsonda wheezes, Winters shakes the cobwebs loose, his vision finally clearing up. Winters rises first, his shadow being cast over Tsonda prompting the VietViper to battle the pain from his stomach and climb to his feet... only for Winters' boot to smash into his ribs. Unloading on the champion with a string of harsh forearms, Winters exacts his revenge, before yanking the Model Citizen's head down into a European Uppercut. A dazed Tsonda takes a swing back, only for Winters to catch the arm, then heave the champion up, then drop him back down into a Gutbuster.

With the champion winded, Winters stoops down and lifts him up across his shoulders, then drops down to his knees to again jar the ribs. Keeping Tsonda up, the challenger rises to his feet once more, then pushes Tsonda up off his shoulders, dropping onto his back and raising his knees to once again drive them into the plummeting Tsonda's stomach.

Bouncing off Winters' knees and back to his feet, a pained Tsonda tries to contort his body to ease the pain, a task he can't manage in the time it takes Winters to almost burst right through him with an explosive Spear. Applause from Charity greets him, as the fans give her a respite from the "SLUT!" chants as they've picked Winters as their man to back.

Instead, they reserve it fro Ellie.

"SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!"

Folding Tsonda over, Winters pins him down to the canvas, eyes closed, awaiting the 3 count.

"ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!"

But, just as Giles' hand is about to slap down one last time, Tsonda somehow bursts out, his face betraying the pain the effort caused.

Thinking fast, Winters uses Tsonda's exertion to lock in a grounded Abdominal Stretch, looking as if he wants to rip the muscles from the champion's ribcage. As the agonised champion squirms, trying to escape the hold, Ellie beckons him towards the ropes, doing her best to both attract Tsonda and distract Winters. Desperately, Tsonda probes a foot out towards the bottom rope, where Eleanor not-so-subtly tries to push the cable out towards his toes.

Not wanting the VietViper to get a rope break, Winters switches holds into a Crucifix, rolling the champion's shoulders down onto the mat.

"ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!"

Again, a pained Tsonda leaves it to the last split-second to kick out.

Sitting up, Winters shakes his head, having thought he'd done enough to put the remaining A-Lister away. Hopping up, Winters focus remains fixed on Tsonda, only for Ellie to climb up onto the apron, trying to buy her charge a few seconds to recover. Hardly one to buy into such schemes, Winters pulls Tsonda up, nods to Ellie, then whips the champion harshly into the ropes. Seeing the Model Citizen hurtling towards her, Ellie lets out a yelp as she bails from the apron, letting Tsonda bounce back towards Winters.

Lifting the onrushing VietViper up, Winters goes to spin and drive him down with a Spinebuster, but the wily champion hooks his head, turning it into a vicious Tornado DDT.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

With both men down on the mat, Ellie starts to slap the canvas, trying to get Tsonda blacking out the pain from his ribs. Grabbing the back of his neck, Winters still manages to rise first, but as he stalks Tsonda, the VietViper snakes up from the canvas to connect with a Pump Kick to the jaw, snapping Winters' head back. Letting his cockiness overtake him, Tsonda goes for a kip-up, but the strain leaves him barely able to stay on his feet as the pain shoots all around his torso.

Eager to capitalise on the showiness of the champion, Winters goes to behead him with a Superkick, only for Chandler to swiftly duck under his foot. Before Winters can spin back around, Tsonda hooks his head, then drops down to one knee, driving the point of the joint into the back of Winters' neck. Grimacing as he reaches across to hook the leg, Tsonda covers Winters while Ellie screams at the referee to do his job and make the count.

"ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!"

Winters manages to kick out, but instantly grabs the back of his neck.

Eager to zero in on the weak point, Tsonda hops up and nails a harsh kick to the back of the neck, then another, then a third. Despite giving up a bit of his normal mobility, Tsonda rebounds off the ropes at half speed, before scoring with a rolling Necksnap.

As Tsonda stops rolling back up at one knee, Winters crawls to the sanctuary of the corner. With Ellie urging her charge on to another successful defence, Chandler rushes Winters, but is met with a dipped shoulder that lifts Tsonda up over the ropes and onto the apron. Refusing to allow his momentum-blessed challenger back into the match, Tsonda grabs a handful of Winters' hair and yanks his head back into the turnbuckle. Then, to a thunderous bout of jeering, Tsonda hooks his head and climbs the ropes, before flipping down into the Runway Vault.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

With Ellie bouncing on the spot and lavishing her charge with applause, Tsonda hooks the near leg and leans back across the motionless Winters, counting off the fall on his fingers.

"TSON-DA-SUCKS! TSON-DA-SUCKS! TSON-DA-SUCKS!

"ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!"

But, just as Tsonda counts off the three, the referee calls out a rope-break, having spotted Winters' foot just about resting on the bottom cable.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

After a few seconds of looking at Winters' defiant foot in disbelief, Tsonda snaps, rolling the challenger over and stomping mercilessly away at the neck of his challenger. Ellie's vicious side urges on the beating, before Tsonda finally ceases, the aura of serenity returning to him. Grabbing Winters by the arms, Tsonda drags him out of the corner, almost measuring him from the corner.

Letting Winters know in no uncertain terms that it was now over, the VietViper steps out through the ropes and begins to climb the ladder to the top. Then, straightening himself up on the top turnbuckle, Tsonda composes himself, before diving off with a Swandive Headbutt to the back if Winters' neck... but the 'high risk' part of 'high risk' explains itself for anyone who was confused, as Winters rolls to his left, leaving Tsonda's head ploughing into the canvas.

Grabbing his splitting skull, Tsonda staggers back up, mainly out of instinct.

Seizing his chance to dethrone the A-Lister, Winters does his best to shrug off the pain in his neck as he unloads with a flurry of rights and lefts,, slipping in the odd kick to the hurt ribs. With Tsonda swaying back and forth, Winters tries to topple him with a Bionic Elbow, before snapping the Model Citizen's head back with a Rolling Forearm, completing the overwhelming odds. Out on his feet, Tsonda stumbles backwards, then collapses, only for the ropes to catch him and toss the champion back towards Winters...

Ellie covers her eyes.

Charity crosses her fingers.

...who proceeds to behead him with the Indifference Maker.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Again, Tsonda's head is snapped back, shutting off the lights and leaving him toppling back, spreading out flat on the canvas. Dropping down onto Tsonda, Winters hooks the leg, eyes locked on Thomas Giles' hand.

"ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!"

Back to back main-events + Back to back wins = New Manager = New 5-Star Champion.

"Aerials" starts back up as Winters drops back seated against the ropes, a slight grin of smug confidence adorning his face. Before Thomas Giles can even ask for the belt, Charity swipes it from the table, and hops up the steps.

Vince Howard: Your winner... and NEW PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION... JONATHON WINNNNNNNNTERSSSSSS!!!

Coming back to with the arena lights blinding him, Tsonda is pulled from the ring by a heaving Ellie, who shoots Charity a scowl that could halt a stampede of Rhinos. Or Kimbusa after hearing there's an all-you-can-eat. As his eyes rest on the gold, the win seems all the more real for Winters, a feeling topped-off by his arm being raised by the official, while Charity raises the other.

Shaking the cobwebs loose, Tsonda doesn't exactly take his loss on the shin, instead lunging for a cameraman as he goes in for a close-up, before kicking away at the cables. Turning back to the ring, Tsonda points to a victorious Winters, jawing away to tell him he'll get his rematch, while Ellie and Charity stare-down like a couple of howling alley-cats.

Winters moves to a corner and stands on the bottom turnbuckle. He holds his new 5-Star Championship over his head keeping the egotistical smile on his face. Charity turns from where Ellie and Tsonda were standing and proceeds to applaud her newest client.

Taking a little longer that usual to exit the ring after his win, Winters’ music was about to loop. But when the loop was about to kick in, the music suddenly stopped and the video on the Wal-tron died out.

Charity looks towards the entrance and shakes her head. She moves over to Vince Howard and demands a microphone.

Charity: I thought we solved this problem after last week? Didn’t someone get fired over shit like this? How dare you screw things up now, just when Jonathon wins his first 5-Star Championship!

Winters gives her a knowing look, almost saying not to get him involved in her silly rant.

Charity: Now I demand you, play the right damn music!

Just like last week, Undercover Slut plays briefly in the arena, winning a chant from the packed to the rafters audience.

Crowd: SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!

Getting a little frustrated, Charity stomps around the ring a little as Winters tries to make her stop. He doesn’t put forth much effort though so she almost turns to complete bitch mode.

Suddenly, darkness envelops the arena and…

"Walk On Water" by Ozzy Osbourne.

Richard: This is just like last week. Really why does this have to happen again.

Charity throws her arms into the air as Winters motions for her to leave the ring with him to end the charade. As they reach the ropes, Red and Silver spotlights begin to swirl around in the crowd and two of them center on Charity and the new 5-Star Champion.

Nick: What the hell is that?

A figure emerges through the curtain into the darkness of the entrance way. The crowd gets to their feet in anticipation. But when a spotlight comes to rest on the figure, the crowd moans in disappointment.

Richard: A police officer?

Nick: Well folks, it looks like our night has come to a close. Forgive us for the technical difficulties but we will see you next week on…

The crowd suddenly explodes into a mixture of cheers and boos, both groups trying to drown each other out.

Richard: LOOK! Behind him!

Appearing through the curtain is a larger figure, strolling ever so slowly through the darkness and finally entering into the spotlight focused on the police officer. Standing beside one of Oklahoma City’s finest was a figure wearing a large smile…

… and a pair of sunglasses.

Nick: This building is being rocked to its foundation!

Richard: Yeah and these idiots can’t make up their mind.

The crowd is literally split down the middle with positive reactions mixing all to well with negative. Meanwhile, Charity is standing in the ring with a look of pure shock tattooed on her flawless face. Jonathon Winters is just looking over at her, perhaps thinking it was all a set up. The music then died out and the Police Officer watching the man with the microphone.

Killean Sirrajin: Winters, you have just bought yourself a fuckin’ PANTS load of trouble!

The packed house roars in quite a fair amount of approval, which is quite different from when this man was last seen at Colossus III. But don’t think for one moment that the haters have just disappeared. They are just as loud.

Winters just scoffs at Killean’s comment and Charity stands, looking up at the stage like she has just seen a ghost.

Killean Sirrajin: You won the 5-Star Championship… good for you!

/sarcasm

Killean Sirrajin: But what am I doing here? Well regardless of being accompanied by a member of the local police…

Killean turns with a smirk of partial disgust flashing right at the officer, who just stands stoic with his hands crossed in front of him.

Killean Sirrajin: … and despite having a fuckin’ leash attached to my ankle, I received a phone call that told me I should come to Oklahoma for Revolution this week if at all possible. What no one knew, is that I have been released under this damn bracelet and I have to be accompanied by useless mannequins like this one. But I also received something I wanted very bad. I got my work exemption. But oh, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you darling…

Killean steps his left foot forward and straightens his arm towards the ring, palm up. Follwing that path to the ring, Charity is standing right there, still looking rather perturbed that she knew nothing of Killean’s return.

Killean Sirrajin: Then again, that makes us even doesn’t it? I mean, just because something happened after ReVolution went off the air last week, doesn’t mean I won’t find out about it. What’d you think? I don’t have connections here still? I don’t still mean something here? I am the MOTHER FUCKIN’ MESSIAH around here bitch! So don’t think you can hide your business from me!

The crowd begins a more favorable applause for the returning superstar. Charity has a little bit of a worried expression on her face but the surprise is Winters. He honestly thought that once Killean set foot on the stage, he was being set up for a double cross. But the look on the face of Charity softened his own. He leans over and whispers to Charity.

"You honestly knew nothing about this?"

Charity shakes her head no slowly, not taking her eyes off Sirrajin. Winters realizes finally that Charity is not really there to double cross him.

Killean Sirrajin: So really, why would you keep everything from me when you were at home with me this past week? Is it because you have worked your way down the food chain in PRIME since I couldn’t be here and are embarrassed? Perhaps you’re greasing his fuckin’ knob backstage? I could believe that because from what the female fans think, he ain’t exactly hard on their eyes.

Charity opens her mouth in disgust, looking back over at Winters who just shrugs.

Killean Sirrajin: No matter though, because it makes me ill to think I was even in the same room with you this past week, sharing a bed while last Thursday after the show you probably took a Winters snow storm all over your damn face!

Nick: Ouch!

Richard: How could he tear into her like this? Their relationship is a working relationship only. Purely professional.

Charity raises the microphone to her lips, but Killean quickly stops her before she can get a single syllable out.

Killean Sirrajin: SHUT THE FUCK UP! This is my time now!

Plenty of the crowd cheers, but about half are sitting in silence, not really knowing what to do. Should they cheer for the man who had been the most hated person in PRIME before he left? Should they boo the man who is laying into Charity, a person whom they all dislike in the first place? The crowd was completely torn.

Meanwhile, Winters moves closer to Charity, knowing now that she needed help and this wasn’t some big plan that would cave in on him.

Killean Sirrajin: I’ll end this now as I have an immediate flight to catch. Winters, wrong place at the wrong time you unlucky bastard. I know first hand she gives great head but will it really be worth it when you lose your manhood in front of thousands in the arenas and millions watching everywhere? You’re collateral damage, that’s it.

He then points directly at Charity, who just stands perfectly still and drops her mic to the canvas, effectively guaranteeing there won’t be a rebuttal.

Killean Sirrajin: And you… hell, you can come home this week if you like. Rest assured that your shit will be packed and by the front door tomorrow. Or maybe I should let you stay and experience what I’ll undeniably make a living hell for you. Either way, since Winters is the collateral damage, he owes me. And I am perfectly willing to break knee caps to insure I collect towards the debt. You’d better fuckin’ believe it!

The demo version of "Walk on Water" plays again to a fair bit of positive reaction as Killean is accompanied through the curtain by the officer. However, the announcers are just as confused on what to say as the fans.

Nick: What did I just see?

Richard: You saw… well I’ll just say that I still love his attitude, but he just belted Charity across the face in a verbal manner. There is no denying her prowess as a manager so he should have let up a little. Hell, I don’t know anymore!

"Wake up…wake up, d00d…"

Tchu’s eyes open slowly, at first rendering only blurs of color for him. He feels himself bound at the ankles and wrists, and his body is sliding ever-so-slightly around, certain insecure, wherever he is.

But it’s the permanent stench of reefer that tells him that he’s on the FUNK SHUTTLE. His eyes adjust further, and he turns his left to the left, finding himself more than comfortably close to a very bound and still-hazy Nova who, despite the crusted blooded on his cheek and this whole bewildering situation, flashes him a wink.

Vangelus Olsig: (voice distant coming from the front of the bus) Are my little soldiers waking up from their power naps? Good. We don’t have far.

Tchu: What…the fuck is going on, man?

Nova: Well, using my powers of inductive reasoning, I was able to ascertain that we are both bound on the floor in the back of my school bus, with…*cough*…Cocksmooch the Clown piloting this beast to God-Knows-Where.

Tchu: And the general principle you were able to draw out of that?

Nova: We’ve been fucking kidnapped.

The Inhuman Being sighs loudly and rolls back over. Gotta think. Surely there’s a way out of this one. Surely…

Vangelus Olsig: Are you guys familiar with the North Canadian river? It’s one of the largest waterways in the U.S., running from Southern Colorado across the Midwestern United States…that includes Oklahoma City, in case you were wondering.

Tchu: What the fuck is he babbling about?

Nova: I don’t know. Maybe he just gets a boner for geography.

Tchu: Somehow I doubt that.

Suddenly, Olsig throws on the brakes, and his captives fly forward, hitting the support bars of a bench set without the protection of arms or legs out. Nova hits the deck again, coughing in the dust of the dirty floor, and Tchu lands beside him.

Vangelus Olsig: No whispering back there…c’mon, I’m sharing with you guys and you’re having a private conversation. Why can’t all three of us be friends? Why is it always Nova and Tchu, and then me on the outside?

The FUNK SHUTTLE lurches forward again, and Nova rolls with it, clanking his head on a bench post. Tchu manages to push a knee out and stop himself from getting a faceful of seat. He does, however, spit out some dirt and grime that’s now covering half of his face.

Tchu: Ya know, maybe this isn’t a good time, but you don’t keep your ride very clean…

Nova: I honestly never imagined myself in this position, or I might have swept a few more times. Next time, Ward…always next time.

Tchu: I hope not.

VRRRROOOOOMMM!!!

Nova: We’re speeding up.

Vangelus Olsig: (yelling over the roar of the engine) WELL, IT APPEARS OUR TIME TOGETHER, WHILE UNFORTUNATELY LIMITED, IS COMING TO A CLOSE! THIS IS MY STOP!

Tchu: What the fuck?!

Olsig climbs out of the driver’s seat and stands, although the bus doesn’t slow down.

Vangelus Olsig: OKAY, JUST SO YOU KNOW, THERE’S A BRIDGE UP AHEAD AND WE ARE NOT HEADED FOR IT, SO IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WIND UP IN THE DRINK, YOU MIGHT CONSIDER PLANS OF ESCAPE! GOOD LUCK!

Nova: WAIT!! WAIT, OLS-

But in a flash, the doors of the FUNK SHUTTLE are open and the Prince of Delusion disappears out of them.

Nova: FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

Tchu: Okay…okay, shit…we need to get this back door open, man…on the count of three, we roll backwards and give it a solid ass kick!

Nova: Right! One…two…THREE!!

They roll backwards together, but Tchu’s foot slips and he doesn’t land a solid hit.

Tchu: FUCK! Sorry, man!

Nova: It’s okay, it’s okay! Again! One…two…THREE!!

Again both men roll backwards over their heads and four booted feet crash into the frame of the emergency door.

CLANK!!

Luckily the bus is old and slightly decrepit, and the emergency door swings open, revealing a dirt track steadily moving under the dangling legs of the PRIME superstars.

Nova: Fuck me…

Tchu: No time, man! GO!!

Time stops for a moment as Nova and Tchu hang suspended in air, still bound at the hands and feet…

…then impact. They roll and roll for yards before coming to a halt. Neither move as the bus continues on towards a stiff embankment. Coughing, Nova neck cranes and his eyes catch the beloved FUNK SHUTTLE as it careens over the edge of the cliff, down, down, down…

CRAAAAASSSHHH!!!

…

BOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!

The explosion barely reaches over the cliff’s edge, but the smoke cloud billows into the air. The glow of the flames reflects wildly in the blue eyes of the Rising Star, eyes glowing on a dirty blackened face.

Nova: Shit…

His head falls back to the earth, and for a moment all he can think about is the summer of last year, riding across the country in the FUNK SHUTTLE with Azala Zameer, still 5-Star Champion and making Brandon Youngblood’s life miserable.

Things had gotten a little more complicated since then.

Tchu: Ugghhh…Nova…ya dead?

Nova: Nah, mon.

The Inhuman Being grunts with pain as he rolls over several feet to where Nova lies.

Tchu: What the fuck just happened?

Nova: Best not to dwell on it. I have a lighter and a joint in my breast pocket and I’ll need your help if we’re going to spark it.

The Rising Star digs his face into the pocket and retrieves the spliff, holding it in his teeth.

Nova: Hake tha yoin in yuhr ouf!

Tchu: What? No way, man. The personal space around my head extends for like ten feet if you’re a guy.

Nova drops the joint onto his chest and glares at the Universal Champion.

Nova: My school bus is burning. Take the joint in your mouth.

He grabs the joint back up in his mouth, and despite the fact that they’re apparently several miles from anywhere, Tchu looks around to make sure no one is watching them. He takes the joint by mouth from Nova and holds it there awkwardly.

Tchu: Huhwee uh.

Nova nods and sticks his face back in his pocket, coming up this time with a lighter.

Nova: Hoe sill.

Tchu: WHA?!

Nova: HOE SILL!!

The Rising Star gets close and uses his upper lip push down on the all-American Bic lighter, sparking a flame that roasts the end of the joint. Nova drops the lighter back into his pocket.

Nova: Now inhale rapidly.

Tchu: WHA?!

Nova: Dood, it’s gonna go out, and I don’t want to do that again. I’m gonna catch my fucking beard on fire.

The Anti-PRIME glares at Nova as he puffs on the joint. Nova stares at him for a moment, and then grimaces.

Nova: Shit! There’s no way to pass it to me, is there?

Tchu spits out the joint on the ground, fed up. And stoned.

Tchu: NO!

They sit in silence for a moment, both turned to face the glow of the fires emanating from the remains of the FUNK SHUTTLE.

Tchu: That, uh…that’s a tough break about your school bus, man.

Nova’s eyes are transfixed on the smoke cloud, and never leave it.

Nova: Yup. I’m gonna kill him.

Silence…the sounds of flickering flames and insects in the night.

Tchu: Yup.