Stop Talking. Now.

And now, the show is going to kick off with a bang. The fans filling up the arena in St. Paul, Minnesota went batshit and the dyslexic people went shitbat as the camera pans to a focused Jason Snow. Last week, he had to deal with shit being flung at him from all angles. Pitted in his first match in over three years to a very game Ethan Knight was bad enough. Having Tony Gamble refereeing your match? Worse.

Having two of your current and highly notorious adversaries exposing a hidden partnership that borders on the nigh-unstoppable? That was just tough noogies right there.

But Snow didn’t care. Everyone and everything was grime beneath his boot. All prizes in the sport of professional wrestling were his for the taking. Some consider him to live in his own little world, but hey. Don’t we all? Well, not to Snow’s degree, but he found a place in the hearts of millions. And tonight, they’d cheer him on again when he took on Universal Title contender Vangelus Olsig.

None of that was a factor right now. At least he had his peace.

???: HEY, SNOW! JASON SNOW?! HEY, YOU IN HERE?!?!

Well, irony sure is a bitch.

Snow snaps his head toward the door and sets his eyes upon the man currently standing in front of him - an intruder. The look turns quickly to a suspicious glare, but the intruder seems oblivious to this. And the intruder? Some know him as a man in his own little world, too, where he amassed over fifty or so titles from lands far and wide. Some also know him as the guy that has a penchant for making rather dubious claims about owning PRIME for years.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME? Meet Snow.

Snow? Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME.

Annnnnnnnd begin.

Snow: Do you not know that many-an ass have been kicked for far lesser crimes than stepping uninvited into my dressing room, peasant?

Snow looks Sonny Silver up and down, noting his upscale attire.

Snow: Just what kind of janitor are you anyway?

Waving off the obvious joke, Sonny adjusts the tie hanging off his neck while taking an opportunity to show off his brown Armani suit.

Silver: Well, the numbers for the company have been great, so I thought Pedro, Juan, Hector, Victor, and Jesus could use an extra nickel in their salary. But that’s neither here or there. Right now, Snow… some of my talent have a huge problem.


He pauses for Snow to reply, but the leather-clad egomaniac only glares at Sonny in silence. Sonny clears his throat, and continues what will most likely be a long-winded speech.

Silver: Snow, my dear Canadian Rastafarian singer, we’ve got a huge problem. You see, some dumbass claiming to be the owner of that faggot-ass indy federation appeared on my show WITHOUT my expressed written consent. Therefore, he went on to get jumped by a guy whose claim to fame is dressing up like the biker from the Village People and spinning Rage Against The Machine records and a guy that hasn’t drawn a picture, let alone an audience since 2003. Then they got trampled by a guy that put over…

He stops to shudder.

Silver: AWC. If that fucking midget thinks he’s going to mention another federation AND put them over on MY broadcasts without my permission, he’s wrong. I’ll sue his bitch-ass for slander. Our PPV could beat the hell out of anything THAT place has? Untouchable? It’s only called Untouchable because nobody wants to be caught dead going near an AWC PPV… They let men in thongs appear in magazines.

By now, Snow completely ignores Sonny and goes back to tying his boots up. Nevertheless, Silver… continues. I’m so sorry.

Silver: It also seems that in the midst of all this madness, I shall have to capitalize on it. At The Great American Nightmare, there shall be no Triple Threat match. It will be Angelo Deville teaming up with that other dude, Henry Rollins or some shit, against Jason Snow and a partner of his choosing… as long as it’s not your gay partner. I can’t have gays on my shows…

Snow looks up with curious eyes, having caught the last part of Silver’s speech. He mutters to himself...

Snow: Yes... I too do not like the homosexual species...

Silver scratches his chin and goes on.

Silver: Wait… shit… Killean’s still on the roster. I gotta fix that… Anyway, now, under the circumstances, what I would do here is make myself the tag team partner for you at GAN and single-handedly own those collective douchebags. Alas, my hands are tied. I have chosen to enter Stiff-Fest ’06 to school Hessian, Oxios, and Stewart in the fine art of hitting things until they stop twitching and die. Plus, as the owner of PRIME, it’s a little suspicious if the guy that owns the place decides that he’s gonna book himself into a match with three not-quite-as-over-but-still-popular-as-fuck-for-some-reason guys.

By now, Snow has enough of this crap. He suddenly bolts up to his feet and takes a moment to look Sonny in the eye.
Snow: Enough of this peasant. Just make sure there are sandwiches and refreshments ready upon my return. But be warned, should I return to find this dressing room without sandwiches and refreshments, I will find you. Now, back to work!

The Original Villain – making extra sure to push his shoulder into Sonny’s own – storms out of the room before stopping at the doorway and firing one last glare over his shoulder. He mutters to himself...

Snow: Plebes... always in their own little world.

And on that note, he leaves a disenfranchised Sonny to stand alone in the locker room. Silver looks at his surroundings and fumes quietly.

Silver: Somebody needs to tell that guy the world doesn’t revolve around him… revolves around me. You douche.

On that note, the scene fades elsewhere.

"I'm just going to be blunt...antics that even remotely resemble those in which you pulled last week will not fly here in PRIME."

Those were the words of Owner, Chet Worth, as he approached the former Intense Champion in the middle of the corridor, but those very words were seemingly falling on deaf ears. Instead of adhering to the warnings of his boss, Olsig continued to fiddle with the gum in his mouth while making "jacking off" gestures to signal his complete disregard for anything and everything that Chet Worth had to say.

Chet Worth: You can make all of the gestures you won't, Olsig, but it'd be wise for you to realize just how close you are to getting on my bad side.

His sarcastic reply came as...

Vangelus Olsig: Yikes...I'm scared.

Olsig chuckled to himself leaving Chet Worth to simply shake his head in annoyance while bracing himself to make his anti-dramatic exit. Just then, however, an imaginary light bulb found it's way above the owners head, causing him to turn around in order to address the bratty teen once more.

Chet Worth: Oh, and before I forget. You're scheduled to face Jason Snow tonight, right?

Vangelus Olsig: mmmhmmm.

Chet Worth: Shouldn't you be getting prepared?

Vangelus Olsig: The match isn't until later tonight, genius.

Chet Worth: No no...It was later tonight. In act of good judgement, I decided to swap your match with Nova's.

Vangelus Olsig: Meaning?

Chet Worth: Meaning you've got a full commercial break to get out there and fight...genius.

Chet Worth takes the time to pleasure himself with a chuckle of his own before turning and walking away, leaving a flabbergasted Vangelus Olsig behind.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and will be contested under the official PRIME rules and regulations.

Richard: We have rules?

Vince Howard: Introducing the contestants...first to my left, standing in at Six feet and One inch...he hails from parts unknown and tips the scale at 232 pounds. He is a world renown PCW legend and the self-proclaimed "Original Villian". I present to you at this time, JAAAAASSSSSSOOOOOON SNOW!!!!

The fans erupt with a chorus of cheers for Jason Snow who receives them with opening arms and a shaking of his head.

Vince Howard: And his opponent...Also standing in at Six feet and One inch...he hails out of Bogota, Columbia and tips the scale at 223 pounds. He holds the record for the longest championship reign in PRIME's illustrious history and is the self proclaimed "Prince of Delusion". Ladies and Gentleman at this time I present to you, the former Intense Champion....VAAAAANGELUS OLLLLLSIG!!

Olsig meets the complete opposite from the fans who drown him with a chorus of boos. Having become accustomed to it, however, Olsig maintains a straight force, keeping his eyes glued unto those of Jason Snow, while also still shaken by the complete change in this match's placement.

Nick: As Vince Howard exits the ring, we find ourselves ready to get this thing on and cracking.

Richard: Don't say that again, please.

Nick: Theres the bell and here we go!

The two competitors clash in the center of the ring with a full onslaught of lefts and rights. Like animals, they tear into the other's skulls with ferocious shots until, leaving each other bruised and battered even at this early round of the match. Finally, Olsig extends forward and snatches a hand full of Snow's hair before yanking the legends head down, smashing it into the lifted knee of the former Intense Champion. This shot nearly sends Snow to the mat, but Olsig maintains his grip and sends another knee lift into the face of Snow, this time releasing him as he falls to the mat holding the bridge of his nose which shows a small hint of blood.

Richard: This early in the match and we're already seeing signs of blood. I LOVE IT!

Nick: Vangelus Olsig is a ruthless competitor inside of the ring, even during the absence of weapons.

With Snow on all fours, Olsig takes a few steps back before charging forward and sending a straight kick directly into the midsection of Snow which nearly lifts him off of the mat. Snow rolls over to the ring ropes in pain, seeking their aid in lifting him to his feet. He manages to reach one knee, but nothing more as Olsig immediately forces his neck against the rugged ring rope, strattling the rope with his hands while pinning his knee into the back of Snow's neck, forcing the ring rope to choke Snow. The referee reaches a count of three before Olsig finally releases.

Nick: Look at Olsig completely decipher his opponent here. This man is as dangerous as they come.

Richard: He spent an entire year headlining the Intense Division...I'm sure he learned a thing or two.

The former Intense Champion isn't letting up, however, as he grabs a chunk full of Snow's hair once more and continuously scrapes the front of Snow's face against the rugged ring rope, causing red bruises to form across the face of Snow. Snow falls flat on his back near the corner of the ring, opening the door for Olsig to place his boot dead in the center of his neck and illegally choke the life out of the PCW legend. The referee steps in and takes physical action, pulling Olsig off of Snow and giving him fair warning that such conduct would not be accepted.

Olsig breaks away from the referee and reaches down, yanking Snow up and pushing him into the corner of the ring. Vangelus sends three nice shoulder thrusts into the midsection of Snow before taking a few steps backwards and charging forward, looking for a spear. Showing that time hasn't played a factor on his in-ring ability, Snow lifts his legs into the air causing Vangelus to catch nothing but the solid steel ring post. Snow swiftly flips forward and catches Olsig inside of a sunset flip out of the corner of the ring. The ref makes the quick count...

ONE!

TWO!

But the former Intense Champion kicks out.

Nick: So close! Jason Snow has gained momentum here, but it simply wasn't enough to put out the former Intense Champion.

Richard: A gun to the head would barely be enough to put out Olsig.

Shocked by the sudden shift in momentum, Olsig immediately pushes himself to his feet and yanks up the slower Snow before Irish whipping him into the ring ropes. Olsig lets his anxiousness get the best of him, however, as he ducks to early allowing Snow to grab hold of his head and quickly counter the move into a swinging DDT dead in the center of the ring! The fans explode as Snow kips up to his feet, runs to the corner of the ring, leaps unto the top turnbuckle, and leaps off with a high impact leg drop!

Nick: Snow has taken it to the air! He's looking to go toe-to-toe, here, with the usual high flying Olsig and he's doing a great job of it!

Richard: Suck up.

Snow contemplates going for the cover, but realizes that i surely wouldn't be enough to put out arguably the most hardcore being in PRIME. So instead, he lifts up Olsig and snapmares him into the center of the ring before sending a straight kick into the back of Olsig that connects with such impact that it rings throughout the arena and causes even the ref to cringe. Olsig stays in a sitted position, holding his aching back which allows Snow the time to bounce off of the ring ropes and charge in front of Olsig, catching him with another straight kick...this time catching him square in the face!!

Richard: My Gawd!

Nick: Jason Snow nearly beheaded Vangelus Olsig with that shot!

Snow wants to make the cover, but that small voice inside of him is still telling him that Olsig isn't done for. He wisely listens to that small voice and decides to progress the attack which leads him to bounce off of the ring ropes and connect with a high angle knee drop, Ric Flair style. What started out as a small sip of blood from the nose of Olsig (courtesy of that kick) was now a full-scale rush, a site that while certainly used to, Olsig did not really want to see, or feel for that matter.

Richard: Vangelus Olsig is bleeding!

Nick: Yeah, it's unusual because he is usually the one causing the rush of blood...not the one receiving it!

With Olsig rolling around the ring like a scolded animal, Snow seeks to take advantage of his weakened foe. He waltzes over and yanks the Universal Title contender to his feet, locking on a face lock and lifting him up in a suplex position. Instead of bringing him down, however, Snow walks over and places Olsig in a sitting position on the top turnbuckle. Snow climbs up as well and leaps unto the shoulders of Olsig, looking for a hurricanrana, but Olsig thinks fast and catches Snow on his shoulders and holds him there until he reaches a vertical base on the very top turnbuckle.

With that, Olsig leaps off with a powerbomb, but amazingly, Snow counters with a hurricanrana in mid-air that sends both men crashing to the mat in a heap! That was obvious the very move Snow was waiting for, as well as the fans because as soon as it occurred, the place went crazy. With thousands of passionate fans behind him, Snow crawled over and draped his arm over the seemingly stunned Vangelus Olsig.

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR-...NOOOOO!

The champ kicks out! Snow slaps the mat in anger.

Nick: Jason Snow is finding out first hand just how difficult it truly is to put out the former Intense Champion, Vangelus Olsig.

Snow pushes himself to one knee and begins to question the referees count, allowing Olsig the time to use the ropes to pull himself to his feet. Snow ceases his discussion with the ref and instead focuses his attention upon his opponent. With Olsig leaning on the ring rope, Snow charges forward looking for some sort of attack, but thinking quick on his feet, Olsig lifts up his legs while holding on to the ropes and wraps them around the neck of Snow before flipping backwards over the top ring rope sending Snow over the rope as well and crashing unto the arena floor with a impactful hurricanrana!

The landing looks to have shaken up Snow a bit, but he brushes off the pain and pushes himself to his feet once more. Olsig uses the ring rope to do the same as he reaches his feet on the ring apron. With Snow in a groggy, yet vertical base, Olsig springboards unto the top ring rope and leaps off with a moonsault that catches Snow perfectly and sends both men crashing to the arena floor with Olsig landing on top of Snow, causing his landing to be padded and less painful.

Richard: What a move! That's why he's one of my favorites.

Nick: And you call me a suck up.

It doesn't happen immediately, but Olsig manages to reach his feet. He doesn't seem to keen on wasting precious time, so he immediately finds himself yanking up the veteran by his hair and ramming him face first into the steel ring post. Jason crumbles to one knee in pain as Olsig braces himself before delivering an earth-shattering shining wizard that sends the legend crashing to the arena floor in a heap.

Olsig smiles as he watches Snow struggle for a method of survival. This smile also serves as fuel to Olsig's fire, leading him to pick up Snow and lift him up before dropping him neck first across the ring barricade. Snow snaps backwards unto the arena floor, smacking it with a sick thud. With Snow on his back on the arena floor, Olsig drops a leg for good measure before lifting Snow up and sliding him back inside of the ring. Olsig follows suit.

Nick: Vangelus Olsig has bought the momentum once more and is beginning to take it to Snow here.

Richard: I give this thing two more minutes before it's over.

Instead of closing in immediately on the attack, Olsig ascends the top turnbuckle and waits for Snow to approach his feet. Snow struggles, but manages to do just that, opening the door for Olsig to leap off of the top turnbuckle with a cross body, but out of nowhere Snow leaps up and counters it by dropkicking Olsig in mid-air. A wave of cheers rock the arena as the momentum swings greatly in the favor of Snow.

The chants and stomps of his fans fuel Snow to push himself to his feet and fight on in this battle. He yanks Olsig up and rocks him with three hard right hands that back Olsig into the ropes. Olsig leans against the ropes in exhaustion, but Snow isn't letting up much. He whips Olsig into the opposite rope and delivers on the rebound with a nice spinning heel kick.

Nick: SNOW HAS CAUGHT FIRE! WHAT A SPINNING HEEL KICK!

Richard: Wow, Nick...way to make a totally usual move seem so dramatic.

The fans are exploding with chants of "SNOW! SNOW!" which leaves Snow wanting to give them even more. He runs over to the turnbuckle and ascends to the top before leaping off with what looks to be a modified frog splash. We'll never know, however, because once he leaps, Vangelus lifts up a leg that catches Snow dead in the cheek in mid-air thus sending him to the mat in a heap. This, of course, kills all of the crowd momentum.

Shaking off the pain, Olsig pushes himself to his feet and pulls Snow along with him. He throws a big right hand, but Snow ducks it leaving Olsig to smack the referee! Once Olsig turns around, Snow decks him with a right hand of his own. Olsig stumbles to the center of the ring holding his jaw giving Snow the chance to charge forward, looking for a clothesline, but Olsig ducks it and follows up with a blatant, straight kick square into the balls of the PCW alumni.

Nick: Now that was just dirty. This Vangelus Olsig cares about no one but himself.

Richard: How can you say that, Nick? Theres far more worse things he could've done there.

Snow bends over in immense pain, Allowing Olsig to place Snow's head in between his legs and lift him up, looking to nail the crucifix (Outsider's Edge).

Suddenly, a loud round of cheers emerges from the the fans as both Nova and Tchu run down to the ring, Nova with a steel pipe in hand and Tchu with a steel chain in hand.

Nick: Hold the phone, we've got company!

Olsig immediately drops Snow to the mat and looks to counter the attack of the two allies, but once they slide inside of the ring there's nothing he can do. Nova takes a baseball swing and smacks Olsig directly in the mid-section, causing to to fall to one knee in immense pain.

With Olsig on his knees, Tchu walks over and begins to choke him ferociously with the steel chain all the while Nova yells out derogative terms towards the former Intense Champion. The fans are completely loving the site of Vangelus Olsig being completely dismantled by Tchu and Nova, especially after his antics last week.

Richard: THIS ISN'T RIGHT...SOMEONE GET THOSE TWO OUT OF THERE!!

Nova takes a few steps backwards and decks Olsig in the face with the pipe while Tchu chokes him. The impact causes Tchu to let go of the choke hold before delivering a few chain whips into the mid-section of Olsig, further opening him up until blood begins to flow from his mouth. Nova sees that the ref is reviving and immediately grabs Tchu as the two make their exit.

Richard: WHAT THE FU-...THIS ISN'T RIGHT I TELL YOU!

Nick: I say it's a fitting result for the stunt Olsig pulled last week!

Snow pushes himself to his feet still holding his sack as he tries to figure out what happened to Olsig. He doesn't take too much time, however, and instead lifts up Olsig and decks him with his trademark "Snake Eyes" (superkick). He makes the quick cover as the fans count along with the recovering referee...

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!!

Richard: NOOOO!

And that's it. Jason Snow defeats Vangelus Olsig thanks to Tchu and Nova who walk both walk backwards up the ramp, side-by-side with sick grins on their faces all the while EMT's rush the ring in order to cart Olsig out of the arena.

Nick: Tchu and Nova surely did a number on Vangelus Olsig...he looks to be in bad shape.

Richard: I still can't believe those two would sink so low! Look at Vangelus Olsig...he's bleeding from the mouth for the love of Hoyt!

Nick: Fans, EMT's are carting Vangelus Olsig away, but when we return we've got a jam-packed night full of action. Stay tuned!

"NO JUSTICE! NO PEACE!"
"NO JUSTICE! NO PEACE!"
"NO JUSTICE! NO PEACE!"

As promised, the National Organization of Women was out in full force at ReVolution 109. Carrying signs saying things such as "IT-NO" and "PRIME Example of Sexism", between ten and fifteen protesters marched outside the arena. Sure, most of the people were already in the arena, but their presence was still felt by all those entering and exiting the arena.

Watching the chanting protestors with what had to be a migraine was Chet Worth, the man in charge of the promotion. He knew first hand how bad negative publicity could be. He’d been at the center of it himself a few months back.

Chet Worth: Where the Hell is he?

His current source of ire was that the man who this protest was centered on wasn’t even here yet. Sure, Kenjiro ITO wasn’t due to compete for a while yet, but it was the principle of this thing. This wasn’t the double dubya ee. PRIME did shit properly.

Of course, NOW a long, white limousine pulled up. As it came to a stop, Worth knew who he was dealing with. Hands on hips, he waited for the chauffeur to open the door, and for the man inside to step out.

Immediately, the women protesters broke out in a chorus of jeers. The limo passenger lifted his shades to look at them for a moment, shook his head, and then began to take a few steps towards the arena.

Kenjiro ITO had arrived, and his venom was about to be trained on the most obvious target.

ITO: What the fuck is this shit? Oh, I know! The National Carpet Munching Convention’s in town! Hi, ladies! You all sharing a hotel room?

Chet Worth: ITO. Here. Now.

The Bringer of the Ice Age cocked his head to one side, looking away from the buzzing protesters to the man who mattered. ITO walked up to Chet, and extended a hand. When Worth didn’t accept it, ITO took hold of Worth’s hand, fitted into his own, and then shook.

ITO: Mr. Worth! Good to see you. Listen, you don’t have to thank me. I know how grateful you are to Mr. Silver and myself for saving your shows after Rollins and Deville and Snow and RPG fags tank the ratings in thirty minute long boring-ass segments.

Chet Worth: Actually, that seg was our highest rated last week. But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re bringing a lot of negative publicity to PRIME that, to be absolutely honest, we don’t need. Look, I know you like to speak your mind, you like to drop a lot of four letter words. That’s fine, we can censor that. But cut out the sexist stuff. We can’t have groups like this showing up every show.

ITO sighed, deeply, looking back over his shoulder at the protest, then back to Chet.

ITO: So, just because these people are being a bunch of dykes, I can’t say whatever the fuck I want? I thought this was America! Land of the free, home of the overweight people! You know, all that patriotic shit!

Chet Worth: More or less, yes. It’s nothing against you, but I’ve got a company to run. The fact that I think you’re a waste of life doesn’t enter into my decisions, because, I’ll admit it…you draw ratings because people want to see you get your ass kicked. Now, just go in the back way, get to your locker room, and go get ready for your match. You’ve got a shot at the PRIME Internet Championship tonight.

ITO: Damn right I do. And after I win it, I’m going to come back out here with that belt and wave it in the face of all of these bitches who want to cramp my style. Shit, all I said was that I wanted pretty women to take their clothes off! What guy DOESN’T think that…well, what guy except Killean. We all know Charity left him for Winters because he loves the cock. Why do you think he went to jail? FREE COCK!

Worth rolls his eyes, looking at the Asian star with a dubious look on his face.

Chet Worth: You’ve done enough yapping tonight, already. As a matter of fact…if you say another word tonight…

ITO: What are you gonna do, fine me? Suspend me? Oh no, not that! Anything but that!

The sarcasm in ITO-san’s voice could fell a redwood. Worth shakes his head ‘no’.

Chet Worth: Nope. Better idea. We’ve got the Jewel in the Crown tournament coming up in a few weeks. If one word comes out of your mouth from this moment forward until the end of the night, you’re not going to be in it. Now, have a nice night.

For a few moments, Kenjiro ITO is silent. The anger on his face is evident, but there is nothing he can do. He merely marched off, stomping heavily.

For the first time, the Bad Will Ambassador had been silenced.

Sympathy for the Devil by The Rolling Stones

Nick: It's been more than a month since he again reared his ugly head, but this match will officially mark The Deville's return to the ring!

Richard: What? He's down here every week.

Nick: Yeah, to talk. Tonight he has to wrestle. Unless he moonlighted somewhere underground behind our backs, this is his first match since losing to Chandler Tsonda last year in GTT5.

Richard: You better just quiet down, Nick. You don't know what you're talking about.

A pair of henchmen-looking-motherfuckers in fedoras are suddenly surrounding Nick as Deville swaggers out from the back. Nick tries to protest, but the only ears his pleas find belong to Richard; his mic mysteriously went dead. As the two men drag Nick away, Richard comforts him by letting him know his mother is in good hands.

Richard: Oh yeah, bitches.

The fans, remembering well the prowess of The Devil's Don, cheer heartily as he saunters down to the ring like a cucumber, which is to say with every woman in attendance and watching at home thinking especially naughty thoughts about what to do with him.

Vince Howard: This next match is scheduled for one fall! And comes with the promise of no more sex or mother jokes!

Richard: Speak for yourself, Howard.

. . . Must . . . resist . . .

Richard: And maybe your mom, since her mouth is full.

Sorry. Sorry.

Vince Howard: Introducing first! From Parts Un--

The sharp slap of the back of Deville's hand upside Howard's head stops the introduction short, prompting a bit of confusion from Howard. Naturally, Deville has his own microphone.

Angelo Deville: You think I need you to introduce me? People know who I am, paunchy.

The Deville slaps Howard playfully on the gut before shooing him from the ring. Howard leaves, mumbling something about crazy people and schizophrenia.

Angelo Deville: And my opponent!

The music dies, then picks right back up again with I am by Godsmack. Deville cringes.

Angelo Deville: Coming to comp me straight from Las Vegas, Nevada!

Smirking, a bit apprehensive but hiding it well, Gamble saunters out onto the stage much as Deville did, shining in his new duds.

Angelo Deville: He stands knee-high to a grasshopper and weighed in tonight at like a buck-oh-five!

The smirk fades, disappears, and is replaced by a scowl as Deville goes on.

Angelo Deville: He is the heir to The HIT's misfortune! Dumber than a Youngblood gimmick! And he really, really needs to work his fucking calves!

Shaking his head, balling up his hands, Gamble storms down to the ring and slides in.

Angelo Deville: Tony! "The Gimp"! Gamble!

The Grin gets right up into Deville's face, showing there's no fear, and Deville flashes his namesake, tossing the microphone into the crowd as the sound system once again falls silent. Under the expectant cheering of the crowd, Deville tilts his head to the side as if to study his prey.

Angelo Deville: What the hell do you think you're doing?

Tony Gamble: I'm gonna kick your ass, Deville.

The Deville rubs his chin, grin intensifying.

Angelo Deville: Is that so?

Gamble nods, then shoves Deville to make his point as the bell rings. The Devil's Don chuckles.

Angelo Deville: How quaint. I thought you wanted me to take you under my wing, to tutor you . . .

The crowd, unable to hear the exchange for their own caterwauling, begins to boo at the standoff.

Tony Gamble: Yeah . . . I thought you said in order to do that I had to kick your ass. So here I am.

Shaking his head, Deville closes the distance and loops an arm around Gamble's shoulders.

Angelo Deville: Ah, my poor, deluded student. I never said that you'd have to kick my ass. Shit, we both know that's impossible. What I said, dear Gamble, is that you had to meet me in the ring. I don't recall clarifying beyond that.

Richard: What's going on here? Choke him, Deville! Choke him out!

Gamble scrunches up his face, confusion paramount once more.

Tony Gamble: So . . . What are you saying? You're already gonna help me?

Angelo Deville: I'm helping you right now, friend. That's why you're out here. That was step one. Step two . . .

The Deville points to the canvas at their feet.

Angelo Deville: Lay down and don't move.

Tony Gamble: Huh?

Angelo Deville: You're gonna lay down, and I'm gonna pin you, and then I'll help. Experience has taught me that this nonsense always gets in the way sooner or later, this need to establish superiority, so we're going to get it out of the way right here and now.

Brow furrowed, Gamble looks down as the boos intensify, the fans realizing what's going on. Richard seems to have clued in too. Nick has also returned, but by the glazed look in his eyes, it's quite possible he received a lobotomy.

Richard: Get your ass on the mat, Tony! It's the best thing for you!

Tony Gamble: I don't . . . I thought . . .

Angelo Deville: Either you lay the fuck down, or not only am I going to beat you to a puddle and lay you the fuck out, and still pin you, but The Renegade and I? Oh, the fucking beatings you'll receive. You might think you'll learn something from that, and I'd have to agree that you will, but I don't think developing a taste for pureed food is quite what you had in mind.

Tony Gamble: Thi--

Angelo Deville: On the fucking mat!

Deville points again, getting right into Gamble's face to dominate him. Trembling with anger, with doubt, Gamble looks around at the crowd, who tell him unmistakably to punch Deville in his fat mouth.

Angelo Deville: I'm not gonna tell you again, Mr. Gamble.

The moment stretches out, The Grin torn, until finally, ever so slowly, his knees begin to buckle. Shaking his head, Gamble takes a knee and puts his hand on the mat, pauses, then flips himself over, clenching his eyes shut. Boos fill the building.

The Deville grins.

Angelo Deville: See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?

Gamble tries to tune out the sound, but as well try to ignore the air as Deville's shit-talking. He can't believe he's just laying down, but if it's the only way . . . Trying to shut out thought, he waits for The Deville's bulk to settle on him, waits for wrestling's equivalent of rape.

The thoughts won't stop, however, barraging his mind incessantly. He tries to talk himself calm, tries to convince himself it won't be so bad. A spike of anger wedges into the submission, but he quickly squashes it, telling himself to just let it happen, that it won't be so bad. Telling himself to bide his time.

He waits for Deville's hand, or foot, or whatever it is The Devilish One plans to pin him with, fighting against every fibre of his being.

But it never comes. Instead, there's a sharp slapping noise right in his ear, and his right cheek turns very hot. Snapping his eyes open, he glares up at Deville, enraged.

The Deville sneers down at him.

Angelo Deville: Get up.

Gamble blinks.

Angelo Deville: Don't make me slap you again. Get the fuck up.

Gamble's left cheek immediately turns red, flushing with anger and embarrassment to match the stain on his right. He glares at Deville for another moment, then does a neat kip-up, turning to get into Deville's face but finding him already there.

Angelo Deville: Lesson number one . . .

The Deville raises a finger between their faces, staring past it into Gamble's eyes.

Angelo Deville: Never, under any circumstances, for anyone, lay down.

Gamble opens his mouth to protest, but Deville is brushing past him. Dumping himself over the top rope, Deville begins making his way up the ramp. The ref begins counting him out, but after a moment Gamble shakes the shock clear and follows Deville, forcing the no contest.

The PRIME Five-Star championship title rests delicately upon the immaculate black velvet placemat; it’s gold gleaming, reflecting both the locker room and the camera lighting majestically. The belt is placed upon the varnished wooden bench across from its new owner; Jonathan Winters, as he glares at his news prize intently.

Some could speculate that he’s glaring at the belt in bewilderment and he’s simply in awe at the undeniable prestige the title clearly represents, but they’re wrong. And, what’s more, they’re also brainless half-wits who have no idea precisely who they direct their idle speculations at.

"No." The voice was raised above normal levels and contained unmistakable stern undertones. It’s also clearly the voice of Jonathan Winters’ recent associate, Charity Manale. "The new Prime Five-Star champion is not available to answer any questions at the present time. However, he will comment on his success during the coming weeks. Thank you all, for your time."

The locker room door bursts open and a few camera flashes escape beyond her frame, before she slams the door shut, upon the vultures on the other side of the wooden parting. She leans against the door, immediately upon gaining entrance, and allows a deep sigh.

It does not pry Winters’ attention away from the gold that is so rightfully his.

"Good god," Charity exclaims, pushing herself up from the door. "Those reporters and journalists want blood out there..."

Winters considers the thought for moment. When the hell did dirt sheet writers and Internet columnists become known as ‘reporters’ and ‘journalists’? Fuck...I really haven’t given an interview in a really long time...

"Reporters?" Winters questions, never taking his eyes of the belt. He did that only the once before, when he had the PRIME Internet champion, and it was promptly stolen by that no good Tony Gamble. Fucker! "What the hell do they want?"

"You’re the new PRIME Five-Star champion," She tells him. "They obviously want a few words from you..."

Winters shakes his head. "Bullshit!"

Charity glares at him, her confused expression visible for all to see. "What?"

"Those guys don’t come to me anymore," Winters explains. "I haven’t done an interview for as long as I can remember." Winters decides to leave out the part about only actually being able to remember the past two years of his life. A wise move. Generalising about such grand statements is often far more impressive than cold, hard numbers. Not that he’s trying to impress anyone...

Charity's eyes widen. "That’s crazy!" She draws closer, manoeuvring directly in between him and his championship belt. "How the hell did you get this far without giving an interview? Trash talking is arguably the biggest part of the business."

Winters rolls his eyes and leans backward, resting his back against the wall. "That’s not a point of view I subscribe to..."

"Well you should," Charity says, "it could get you places that maintaining your stoic silence will not."

"I have a car for that," Winters replies, his words dipped in a thick coating of sarcasm. "Besides, I’m already the PRIME Five-Star champion. I’ve got this far without it..."

Charity nods, conceding the point, but her enthusiasm in doing so tells Winters that she has another line of argument to throw at him. He’s ready for it, or so he thought.

"You may be the champion, but your name isn’t the name on everybody’s lips right now," Charity explains. "They’re talking about the likes of Angelo Deville, Jason Snow, Rich Rollins, hell, they’re even talking about the Illustrious Face-Eater..."

Winters develops a confused expression, his brown deeply furrowed. "Didn‘t he explode?"

"Yeah," Charity confirms. "Precisely. He exploded in the ring and now they’re talking about him..."

"So, for people to talk about me, you want me to explode?" Winters questions.

Charity sighs. "You’re missing the point..."

Winters shakes his head. "I’m really not." He stands from the bench and scoops up his title from it’s velvet mooring. "Besides, even before we had this ridiculous conversation, I’ve already planned to address a few issues from last week. For now, that will have to be enough to keep the vultures at bay."

Charity’s expression morphs to one of concern. "This is about Sirrajin’s appearance last week isn’t it?"

Winters glares at her and remains silent. She already knows the answer.

"I didn’t know he was going to be there last week," She explains. "I was as surprised as you..."

Winters looks away this time, but still remains silent regardless.

"You trust me," she begins, "don’t you?"

This time, Winters cannot remain silent. "Do you really expect me to?"

Charity looks down at her feet, playing nervously with her hands. The air has turned sour and that isn’t likely to let up anytime soon.

Unable to restrain him any longer Charity has to let Winters go as Adam and ITO wrap up their brawl and deal with the referee. He tears off round the corridors, Charity struggling not only to keep up with him in her heels but also to keep her breath.

Charity: Don’t… do anything… stupid!

At that Winters stops dead and turns round to face her and she slows down.

Winters: Stupid?! After what he did out there, how can anything I do seem stupid in comparison?

Charity: You know… I didn’t mean it… like that.

He sighs and shakes his head; still unable to believe the stunt the Scot had just pulled off. His performance was hardly ‘more Winters than Winters’ but it was an accurate enough imitation of him to be recognisable. The final straw was the physical changes Adam had made – creepy by itself, but combined with the stalking that had preceded it left no other way to describe it than just plain wrong.

Charity: You’ve told him to leave you alone before, and it’s not worked. I told him to leave you alone, and he ignored me. What can you do about it? What are you going to do when you see him? At least have a plan, rather than just pouncing at him.

Winters: What if my plan is just to pounce on him?

Charity: You seriously think that would help? Given how much he idolises you, he’d probably take it as some weird compliment.

Winters’ eye sparkles as Charity says ‘idolises’, and he can’t help but smile slyly.

Winters: Wait here, I’ll go deal with him – I have a better plan now.

Before she can protest he’s off again, headed for the curtain. He reaches it just as Adam walks through, the stony exterior breaking into a wide grin at the sight of his hero.

Adam: Jon!

Winters cringes – only one other person had ever called him Jon, and that was Buddy Kingfisher. He stifled a shudder and tried to return the smile as best he could.

Adam: Did you see that shite there? I was this close–

He holds his right thumb and forefinger up, a quarter inch apart.

Adam: –to cracking out the Indifference Maker and wrappin’ it up.

He shakes his head ruefully, thankfully missing the grimace of horror on Winters face. Winters composes himself again though, and puts the smile back on.

Winters: Really? I would’ve thought that Original Sin would’ve work better – you were wearing him down for sleepers, right?

Adam looks at him suspiciously as he hoists the Internet Championship belt back up on his shoulder.

Winters: Seriously, it’s a damn fine move and I don’t see any of mine that would’ve worked any better.

Adam: See, Jon – I really don’t think that; all I needed was a power move to knock him to the mat.

Winters: Well, what’s wrong with Wrath? You’d been working his throat.

Adam: …

Winters relaxes a little, letting his shoulders slouch down a bit.

Winters: You’re a damn fine wrestler, Adam – you proved that out there by taking on someone else’s whole style, and still nearly winning it. What could you have done if you’d not had to keep reminding yourself how to act?

Adam: But–

Winters: But you beat me, using your style and your moves. I’m not the benchmark for the Internet division – whoever holds that is.

He nods to the strap resting over Adam’s shoulder. Adam glances at it, then back to Winters.

Winters: You beat me, fairly, in the middle of the ring. Why do you still think I’m better than you at being Internet Champion? My reign ended weeks ago – it doesn’t need prolonged.

Adam looks down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. Winters walks across and slaps a hand on the Scot’s shoulder.

Winters: You’re a good wrestler, go and make that Championship your own.

He smiles again, it looks a lot more genuine this time, then heads off back round to Charity. Adam simply stands staring at the floor before he slowly starts unwrapping the black tape from round his wrists, letting it fall to the floor.

Somewhere amongst the lofty lollygaggers getting ready to plunge the depths of Camp Snoopy’s Log Jam Express, a faint hush grips the heart of children, seizes the paternal instincts of their parents and renders every shopper in the Minnesota Mall of America completely speechless. An inexorable unease upsets a million stomachs. Cups of coffee turn cold and iced lattés melt by the heat of the rising tide. Flowers wilt away from the sun, unable to bear the darkness to come.

They knew it was coming. They just didn’t know it was going to be now.

Please allow me to introduce myself…

As Sympathy for the Devil hits the Xcel Energy Center, the crowd sparks like an overcharged battery. Thousands of voices cry out against the presence of the man who makes his way onto the stage, resplendent in a lordly three-piece pinstripe fit only for the Devil’s Don. Basking in the infernal heat of the great mob, Angelo Deville pauses on the stage and listens as The Rolling Stones serenades itself into silence.

Deville summons a microphone, but does not speak. Instead, he smiles.

Born of a Broken Man by Rage Against the Machine.

Striding out to meet his crowing comrade, Rich "The Renegade" Rollins takes his place on the stage, standing next to Angelo Deville with a sinister sort of glean radiating in the furnace of his eyes. Whipping back the tail of his denim trench coat, Rich Rollins gives a little tug on the front of his red bandanna and begins walking to the ring.

Nick: Satan save a seat in Hell, ladies and gentlemen. We are witnessing what is perhaps the most frightening duo in the history of professional wrestling-

Richard: Possibly? You need to get your head checked, Nick! This is monumental! This is the greatest thing to ever happen in the history of EVER~!

Sifting through the deafening jeers that assault them from every angle, Rich Rollins and Angelo Deville make their way to ringside with a casual sort of swagger, tossing a few choice words right back at the crazed masses. Slapping back a hand that dared to mar the surface of his shoulder, Angelo Deville continues on his merry murderous way, seemingly unfazed by the unusual hostility of the crowd.

They slip into the ring like serpents, crowning the canvas with their presence of command. Snapping at a ringside technician, The Renegade snatches a mic from the air and turns to face Deville, his sneer contagious. They stand there for a moment, milking the crowd for everything they got, goading a response so wicked that it makes weak men beg to crawl back into the womb.

Finally ready, both Rollins and Deville make a unified turn to face their audience.

The Renegade: We’re two halves of the same bad apple, folks. You know the one… it got Adam and Eve kicked out of the best damn garden party God ever threw.

Angelo Deville: And it almost killed that black-haired bitch who hung out with seven surly midgets.

The Renegade: We’re the paparazzi to your Princess Diana.

Angelo Deville: The ham sandwich to your Mama Cass.

The Renegade: Dare I say… the stingray to your Steve Irwin?

Too far. Too fucking far. But despite the heinous outcry from fifteen thousand strong, The Deville and The Renegade are far from finished.

Cocking his head with malevolent glee, Angelo Deville aims an accusatory finger at the stage.

Angelo Deville: You should have known better than to listen to that delusory song of self-glorification that resonates through your puerile brain like a bad Top 40 hit, Jason Snow. The world has passed you by. The very business (a grand gesture, encompassing the entire arena) has forgotten your very existence, favoring a new breed of athlete who would much rather dig up your dead legacy just to have someplace to take a piss than shake your calloused hand. We’re not the future, motherfucker. We are the now.

Having been pacing the ring like a caged animal, Rich Rollins bristles with contempt, looking about two seconds away from a full-frontal grab-you-by-the-ears-and-shake-it-til-it-breaks conniption.

Make that one second.

The Renegade: Go ahead and bring out your bush league fuckbuddy, Snow. I know he’s back there, admiring that shiny Global title as he masturbates to his own reflection, so stop wasting our goddamn time. In case you’re listening Seymour, I can’t fuckin’ wait until Great American Nightmare rears its ugly head. I just want you to know, you won’t even get the chance to lose my Global title in GTT6. It’s hard to make a date when you don’t have a motherfucking pulse.

Right on cue, the pulse of the arena itself changes, and it sounds an awful lot like Right Next Door to Hell by Guns and Roses.

But now their fun is over - Jason Snow is standing at the top of the ramp. One by one, PRIME fans turn their attention to him, and then they rise to their feet.  This is it, they know; Jason Snow is about to reveal his partner for his match at the Great American Nightmare.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t stay at the top of the ramp long - he starts stalking toward the ring in what can only be described as reckless abandon. Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins are waiting there like sharks in a swimming pool.

Nevertheless, Snow hits the ring with determination smeared on his face, without his usual assault-on-the-senses entrance lights.

He paces the ring in front of Deville and Rollins, and when he is finally tossed a microphone, he wastes no time.

Snow: All week long, damn it - all week long! Everywhere I go, the only thing I hear is - "Great one, what are you going to do!?  What are you going to do at the Great American Nightmare?  Angela Deville!  Rich ‘The Retardegade’ Rollins! What are you going to do!?"

Snow pauses his speech, but not his feet, continuing to stalk a wide oval track in the ring.  Rollins and Deville wait patiently on the other side.

Jason Snow: So I thought to my superior-self, ‘Perhaps there’s more to these two grimy bastards than meets the eye.  Maybe - just maybe - they’re more than a small special ed class on recess.’  So I looked into it... and do you know what I found out.

Snow stops directly in front of Deville and Rollins.

Snow: I found out that each of you somehow managed to win a GTT tournament... And since I, as well, have won a GTT tournament, that means there are three GTT winners standing right here in this ring tonight.

Rollins and Deville exchange looks of amused confusion.

Rich Rollins: Hang on a minute, "Mr. Greatness."  Exactly which GTT did you win?

Snow fixes him with an ice cold glare before pointing a finger in his face and answering.

Snow: GTT6!  Now shut your mouth and pay attention.

Snow starts his pacing again, moving like some rare jungle cat that’s circling its pray, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Snow: So if there are three GTT winners in this ring, I suppose it only makes sense that my partner is also a GTT winner.

Richard: Well, that certainly narrows the list down.

Nick: Is he talking about who I think he’s talking about!?  This is huge!

The audience is going crazy, with chants of "Doc C" rising up sloppily from each corner of the arena.  Snow lets them have their fun before continuing.

Snow: As it happens, my partner is a man who, though far inferior to me, will forever be tied to me in my golden pages of wrestling history.  This is a man who I’ve squared off against many times, and beaten the living hell out of, might I add...

Nick: That doesn’t sound like Doctor Curiosity.

Richard: We’re listening to a man who claims to have already won GTT6.

Snow stops pacing once more, directly in front of Rollins and Deville.

Snow: At the Great American Nightmare, my partner will be a peasant who went through PWA with me... went through PCW2 with me... was left in my superior dust in PCW...

Nick: He can’t mean...

Suddenly, the arena plunges into darkness, and in that darkness, Jason Snow reveals the secret we’ve been waiting all week to hear...

"Vampir Nosferatu!"

Nick: Oh my God!

The opening of "Paint it Black" begins to play throughout the arena, and stunned members of the audience wait for the lights to come back up to see if this truly is, indeed, Vampir Nosferatu.  They don’t have to wait long. When the lights slowly fade back to their full intensity, one eager PRIME camera man excitedly finds a large, ominous figure in the rafters above the ring; his camera shaking from the adrenalin pumping through his body.

Nick: Is that him!?  It can’t be!

And yet it appears to be true.  The figure above the arena walks his beam impossibly cat-like, despite his massive frame.  From the distance, it is nearly impossible to make him out clearly, but we can see a skull-shaped mask hiding his face, and a black cloak over his figure.

In the ring, Rollins and Deville have their eyes turned upward in awe. Jason Snow’s only reaction is a cold, sadistic grin.

And then for the second time, as "Paint it Black" fades, we are engulfed in darkness.

Nick: Who would have ever guessed that Jason Snow’s partner would be Vampir Nosferatu!?

The lights come back again, not in a slow fade as they did last time, but rather, accompanied by an enormous pyrotechnic explosion high above the ring.

And Vampir Nosfteratu is impossibly standing next to Jason Snow.

Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins look understandably concerned.  Vampir Nosferatu towers over all three men in the ring, cloaked in black and behind his skull mask.

There is a microphone in his hand...

...

...and yet, he doesn’t speak...

The silence goes on so long that it ends up in confusion.  Deville and Rollins exchange smirks on their side of the ring, while Snow simply looks frustrated.

Snow: Damn it, Vampir! I went through the time and effort to learn your name and introduce you!  You could at least say something!

But Vampir Nosferatu says nothing.  He simply stares in the direction of Deville and Rollins in a cold, ominous silence.

Snow looks even more frustrated.

Snow: Damn it, Vampir!  Either say something now, or by G-reatness I’ll be forced to kick the undead hell out of you one more time to save you from looking like a nightmarish jack ass!

Vampir Nosferatu’s head snaps toward Snow, and then after a glance back at Rollins and Deville, he leans over and whispers something into Snow’s ear. Snow takes it in, scowling.

Snow: Deal? What deal!?

With body language just as frustrated as Jason Snow’s, Vampir Nosferatu reluctantly raises the microphone to the mouth of his mask and points an accusing finger at Snow.

Vampir: That wasn’t part of the deal and you know it!

Snow shakes his head and mutters to himself (and the microphone), while reaching inside his leather jacket...

Snow: Oh for the love of greatness...

From inside his jacket, Snow produces what appear to be a set of cue cards. With disgust painted on his face, he hands them to Vampir.

Did we just see a skull mask light up with joy?

Vampir clears his throat...

Vampir: From yesterday to a hundred years ago, [I] [live] in the world and walk among [you]. [I] enjoy the finest things in life, including beautiful women, well-aged wine, and the finest classical composers. [I] [have] no guilt – [I] [have] no need of it.  Neither good, nor bad, neither angel nor devil, [I] [am] a man, [I] [am] a vampire... And this is [my] story...

Credit:
http://www.amazon.com/Vampire-Confessions-Strangest-Desires-Fawcett/dp/0449146383

The crowd seems confused.

Nick: Folks, I can assure you, that is not the real Vampir Nosferatu.

Richard: I don’t know about that, Nick.  He does sound an awful lot like him... He just needs a little motivation, you know?

Nick: You mean someone to write out his script so he actually has something worthwhile to say?

Richard: Exactly.

The man who may, or may not, be Vampir Nosferatu goes on to the next cue card and continues reading...

Vampir: Alone, I walk the shadows and the nether regions of your world, cascaded in darkness, fueled only by my lust for blood, my utter inferiority, and my envy of Jason Snow.  And by Greatness, Jason Snow is a vastly superior being; not I, nor any you can ever hope to be nearly as Superi...

Vampir cuts the speech short, stares at his cue cards, and then snaps a sideways glare toward Snow.  He tosses the cue cards away and folds his arms defiantly across his chest, refusing to say anymore.

Snow: By G-reatness, if you want anything done, you’ve got to do it...

Snake Eyes!!!

Snow: ...yourself.

The man who may, or may not, be Vampir Nosferatu snaps upright upon impact and then collapses in a heap, rolling out of the ring to never be seen again.

Inside the ring, Jason Snow is stalking the ring again, but now he doesn’t take his eyes off Deville and Rollins.

Snow: Damn it, I’ve had just about enough of this and I’ve had just about enough of you.  To hell with partners, to hell with contracts, and to hell with the Great American Nightmare - if you want to fuck with the Supreme one, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than two possible retards to do the jo-

The Renegade: You'll be doing the job at the Great American Nightmare, so just hurry up and bring HIM out h-

DA-DAH DAHHHHHHHH
DU-DUH DUHHHHHHHH

The Renegade: -ere.

Nick: There's no mistaking that theme! That's "Otherworld"!

Richard: Please. We all know you only give two shits about Final Fantasy so you can perv over the Cosplays.

Dropping casually back against the ropes, Jason Snow watches the smirk on Rollins' face narrow out, while his grows. As the thunderous riffs that open Otherworld distort the Xcel Energy Centre's sound systems, the lights cut off in the blink of an eye... something that only serves to heighten the expectations of the crowd. Then, a lone white spotlight comes on, illuminating a portion of the stage, where HE stands. White pyro explodes either side of the stage, while ghostly images of Aeons float across the PRIME-a-Tron screens behind the smoke.

Nick: He's unmistakable, he's the Final Fantasy, he's the PTC Global Champion... he's Seymour Almasy!

Richard: He's also a bloody liar! He's been saying all week that he isn't coming back to PRIME, because he knew that Rollins and Deville would knock the HP right out of him, disfigure him so badly his face would never make another gil again in his life, and then shove his MP so far up his ass that it sends him into overdrive!

Nick: He's also the master of deception! He spent months under the moniker of Emoticon.

Richard: If I looked like a half'n'half ladyboy, I'd go the mask route too.

Bathed in the light, Almasy stands, decked out in full Yevon robes, a hood covering all but the tips of his long, white hair. In the ring, Rollins scuffs his feet against the canvas, dragging them back like a bull awaiting its charge... in contrast to his ally, Deville, who seems to find it all a bit comical. As the PRIME fans reach over the aisle's barriers to say they've touched the PTC Global champion, the robed Almasy strides down the aisle, spotlight following.

The Renegade raises the mic to his lips, but pauses before speaking, realising he won't be heard above the sonic onslaught of the fans and Almasy's rousing theme.

Go into the sand, and the dust, and the sky,
Go now, there's no better plan, than to do or to die,
Free me, pray to the faith in the face of the light,
Feed me, fill me with sin, and get ready to fight...

Seizing on a lull in the theme, Snow beats Rollins to the draw.

Snow: You see, I didn't need to find a partner, my partner found me the second he saw you two together in this ring.

With the spotlight still the only thing illuminating ringside, Almasy heads up the steps, then steps into the ring where Snow drops seated onto the middle rope. "Otherworld" then fades out, leaving just the applause of the PRIME fans filling out the Xcel Energy Centre. Stood on the halo of Almasy's light, Deville and Rollins watch on as the gauntlet-clad hands on the Final Fantasy grab his robe's hood, then fling it back to reveal...

Nick: What the...

Richard: ...hell?

...Blaine Blair.

Blaine Blair: Er… PAIN! Or, something…

To a collective gasp from the fans, PRIME’s former-downtrodden intern stands, draped in Yevon robes, and with a long, white wig almost sliding off his head. Deville and Rollins look to one another, then to Blaine... and then to Snow, who can be seen smirking through the fake Final Fantasy's spotlight.

Snow: He also told me to say... what was it now? Oh, yeah... he's behind you.

Light then floods back into the Xcel Energy Centre, leaving Deville and Rollins having to rub their eyes to adjust... before rubbing them again as they see who's standing there waiting as they turn. They don’t quite believe it.

Nick: It's...

Richard: It can't be...

Nick: It is!

Richard: Oh no it isn't...



Angelo Deville: ...Kannon?

The Renegade: Kannon?

Richard: KANNON?

Nick: KANNON!

With Deville stood frozen, as if the Barbados native were Medusa, Kannon reacts to Rollins' surge forward with a boot to the ribs. Capitalising upon the doubled-over Renegade, Kannon clamps him in a standing head-scissors, lifts him up, grapevines the leg, then DRILLS him head-first into the canvas with the Hallmark.

Nick: Angelo Deville hasn't blinked, hasn't moved an inch! Over a year ago, he paid one million of his own dollars to bait that man right there out of retirement, having already secured the managerial services of his wife!

Richard: And a few extra 'services' if you listen to some...

Snow: What's the matter, Angie? Waiting for an introduction?

Seeing the Devil's Don petrified, in the physical sense, Snow goes to behead him with a Snake Eyes, but the Deville's self-preservation instincts kick in, and he manages to dodge the foot, bailing out of the ring in the process. Ignoring Rollins, who rolls under the ropes and drops down onto the mats beside him, Deville's stare locks right onto Kannon.

Wide eyes of shock narrow into spite.

Angelo Deville: I... I... I FUCKING BOUGHT YOU!

After a few deep breaths ease his fuming, Deville raises the mic back to his snarling lips, only for Kannon to cut him off as Snow tosses him a stick.

Kannon: You get to talk when you finally shit out that thesaurus you swallowed as a kid.

Nick: Angelo Deville looks like he's just seen a ghost!

Richard: Just wait a week... after the Great American Nightmare he'll be seeing two.

Kannon: How long ago was it when I first met you, Angelo? Four, five years? When Nelson first introduced us, he called you the next Xavier Kannon... and not long after, that's what I called you, too. I wanted you to fill my shoes in this business, inherit my spot, so I MADE you. I created the monster. I told everyone in this business, everywhere in this business, that you'd arrived, that you were the new 'man'. You were made in my image. But, you see, there was a flaw, Angie... my image used to be that of a pompous, weasely fucking prick.

The look on Snow's face reads: so you did a pretty good copy then.

Kannon: Last year, I took your million dollars to come out of retirement and give you the rematch you demanded. I stepped back into the fire one more time, so you could get whatever it was that was still eating you up inside out of your system, so you could brush that chip of your shoulder. Just like I had when we first met, when you defeated me, I wanted you to follow in my footsteps... only you stayed exactly the same man, deep down, didn't you?

In stony silence, Deville simply stares right into Kannon's eyes.

Kannon: So at the Great American Nightmare, I'll stand side-by-side with Snow, and give you one more match, one last chance at salvation. And it won't even cost you a cent, this one's on me. You'll swagger in the same old you, but when you walk out... I'm making sure it won't be as the same man. I'm about to make you all over again, Angie.

Lowering the mic, Kannon just stares right back through Deville as "Rock is Dead" blasts out around the arena.

Nick: Xavier Kannon is back in PRIME, fighting alongside Snow at the Great American Nightmare... and he just put the Devil's Don on notice!

Richard: Someone get Deville's Lawyers out here to sort this. Deville paid for Kannon's last match, so he can't just come back out over a year later and dare to speak that way to the CADILLAC OF WRESTLING!

Nick: He's trying to do the right thing by Angelo Deville! He realises he created a monster that's gotten out of control, and now he's come back to stop it once and for all.

As a groggy Rollins pulls himself up, he and Snow jaw back and forth, their words lost in Kannon's Marilyn Manson theme, but their respective partners remain silent, their stares cancelling one another out, betraying nothing.

Vince Howard: The following is our opening contest, and 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 Howard: Introducing first… she hails from Beijing in the People’s Republic of China… weighing in at 143 pounds… SUUUUUUUUN TZUUUUUUUU!!!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

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.

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.

The lights then cut out in the arena, and a stormy sky appears on the video screen.

As thunder booms over the speakers and lightning lights up the darkened clouds on-screen, a voice can be heard speaking in soft, reverberating tones.

"Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time…for y’all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe; but I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all…or drown in my own shit."

As soft guitar strings float over the loudspeakers, signalling the introduction to Funkadelic’s "Maggot Brain," the stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the guitar of Eddie Hazel begins to scream, the field of stars comes together to form the word "NOVA."

Vince Howard: And her opponent... weighing in at 253 pounds... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVAAAAA!!!

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp, where Nova is knelt. The smoke from his cigarette wafts iridescently above his head. The spotlight follows him to the ring, where he rolls under the bottom rope before standing and thrusting his arms into the air, while the referee removes the cigarette that droops between his lips.

The lights come up.

As the bell rings, the duo begin to circle one another, with Nova seeming a little more hesitant that his opponent... understandable with the biggest match of his career just a week away. Closing in, Sun Tzu sends a probing kick out to Nova's left leg, only connecting with a glancing blow as the Rising Star wisely backs out of harm's way. Seeing her opponent, the #1 contender to the PRIME Universal Title, back away from her, the Artist of War takes advantage and surges forward, trying to catch him off balance.

A Shotei tries to flatten the features of Nova's bearded face, but he just about manages to weave his head out of the palm's path, but can do nothing about the kick that almost buckles his left leg as it lands plush on the side of the joint. Not sure how to deal with such an opponent, Nova isn't given much time to thing as Tzu follows up with a pair of forearm smashes to the face, before a spinning back kick crunches into the side of his ribs.

Having wasted no time in earning the hatred of the fans, Sun Tzu is subjected to a barrage of abuse as she continues to chip away at Nova, who's still in mourning for the loss of the Funk Shuttle.

A jumping snap kick impacts of the chest, a spinning back fist cracks against the side of the skull, a snap kick crunches the knee joint, a fierce chop slashes into the chest... all from Sun Tzu. With Nova backed against the ropes, the referee calls for a break, but the Artist of War fails to agree with him, and instead sends another chop Nova's way, trying to lacerate his torso. Grinding his teeth, Nova decides not to rely on the referee to force a break, and instead fires back with a hard right hand that catches Sun Tzu off-guard.

Really in no mood to be slapped around, the Rising Star fires off another trio, each of which sends the reeling Tzu staggering backwards, before he lands a leaping Backheel Dropkick that drops her to the canvas. Holding her mouth, a furious Tzu scrambles up, only for the no-nonsense Nova to be there as she rises, flinging her overhead with a T-Bone Suplex. Holding her back, Tzu is against quick to rise, but Nova is again just as quick to send her right back down with a charging Clothesline.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Knowing he needs to be at 100% for the Great American Nightmare, Nova hurriedly covers Tzu, hooking the far leg tightly.

"ONE!

T-NO!"

But while covering the Artist of War so early may have been ambitious, it's also dangerous, as Tzu manages to ensnare his hooking arm with her legs.

Trying to pull the prone limb into an Armbar before Nova even knows what's happening, Tzu locks her feet, trying to grab Nova's wrist... but her plan was sensed early by the Rising Star. Shifting his weight, Nova manages to hook Sun Tzu's head, and begins to rise to his feet. With the Artist of War across his shoulders, still fighting to drop into a hanging Armbar, Nova darts forward and leaps into a front somersault, crushing his opponent between his shoulders and the canvas.

Riding the momentum of the roll, Nova leaps up onto the middle rope, then hops to the top turnbuckle.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Urging the fans to up the volume, Nova steadies himself for launch... only to watch Sun Tzu kip-up below him, then fling a kick up at the top rope, sending Nova dropping buds-first onto the top turnbuckle. As a wincing Nova slumps forward, the PRIME crowd again jeer the newest Asian sensation to grace their roster. After a quick stretch to sooth the aches Nova dished out, Sun hops to the middle rope, then launches herself up to swat Nova back down to the ring with an Enziguri kick to the back of the head.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

As Nova flips down to crash-land on his back, Tzu grabs the ropes and swings back down to her feet... then delivers a brutal rushing kick to the back of the Rising Star's head as he sits up.

Holding the back of his skull, Nova rolls away from his vicious opponent, trying the climb back to his feet. But, as the Universal Title challenger manages to stand, Sun Tzu rebounds off the ropes and flings herself into a front somersault, pinning though 360 to land a brutal Roaring Elbow to the back of Nova's head. With Nova's lights not quite switched off, but the dimmer switch certainly turned down, Nova drops forward onto his knees, allowing the Artist of War to step over his shoulders and lock her feet, securing the Forbidden City Lock.

An almost shell-shocked Nova, not having expected the onslaught he'd receive from Sun Tzu, battles the muscle strain, trying to break out of the potent hold. With what mobility he has in his arms, Nova urges the PRIME fans to up their volume, fuelling him with their adoration. As the crowd clap and stamp their feet, Tzu grows more and more agitated, sniping back at some of the ringside fans as she tries to apply the hold even tighter.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Feeling Nova start to prise the hold apart, a sneering Sun Tzu unhooks her feet, then surges forward to plough Nova head-first into the canvas, deflating his support.

Rolling the Rising Star over, Sun Tzu covers, grinding an elbow rather than the traditional forearm into his face as the referee slides down.

"ONE!

TW-NO!"

Looking insulted at not getting closer to a three count, Tzu pulls Nova up by the beard, then yanks his face down into her knee.

With Nova's legs weakened by the blow, Tzu takes the chance to apply a Dragon Sleeper... then drop down with her knees tucked up, trying to bend Nova's spine back at a sick angle. Just to add to the pain, she keeps the Dragon Sleeper applied, keeping her knees grinding into Nova's back.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Nova's arm thrash out as he feels vertebrae grate against each other, his spine being bent to an unnatural angle. Again, the fans rise up in support of their Rising Star, using every decibel of noise they can muster to help him break free. Where before the support her opponent was gifted agitated her, now Sun Tzu simply smiles, realising how many spirits she'll crush when he finally passes out. In desperation, Nova flings his arms backwards, trying to catch the Artist of War with a lucky blow.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Knowing what he'll be fighting for in just 7 days time, Nova refuses to quit, screwing his face up to contain the pain.

Then, as Tzu tucks her legs up even tighter, Nova plants his feet on the canvas, and pushes off, rolling back off Sun Tzu's knees, and back onto his feet. But the pain dealt out to his back takes its toll, and Nova is immediately sent staggering back to the support of the ropes as he grabs his spine.

Fuming that Nova would dare to escape her hold, Tzu goes to behead him with a Yakuza Kick... only for Nova to catch her leg.

Before Sun Tzu can think of another way to inflict pain on the Rising Star, Nova spins away from the ropes, then flings Sun Tzu overhead with a Cradle Suplex. Still struggling to loosen his body back up, Nova uses the ropes to pull himself up, while a rising Sun Tzu grabs her own back, that furious look still etched onto her face. Knowing he'll need to fight through the pain, Nova staggers over to Sun Tzu, who in turn rushes him... only to get caught with a boot to the ribs. Almost instinctively, Nova locks her arms in a butterfly, then heaves the Artist of War up into an elevated Double-Underhook DDT.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

As Sun Tzu bounces off the canvas and onto her back, Nova covers, still looking wary of what she can do from the ground.

"ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!"

Sun Tzu kicks out, and as Nova expected, immediately tries to counter her opponent with a submission... but her counter is countered.

Grabbing her left arm, Nova traps it between his thighs, then hooks his fingers across her face, locking in the Horizontal Face-Pull Neck-Stretch Inverted Hurt-Plex Lock Bomb... or as it's better know, a Crossface. For the first time in PRIME history, the fans feel sympathy for the canvas as Sun Tzu thrashes her feet, kicking seven shades of shit out of it. Repaying everything she'd dished out to him, Nova pulls back hard on the hold, but as his fingers start to unfurl, Tzu catches one between her teeth.

Despite the referee's warning, Tzu continues to bite at the finger until the hold is released.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Shaking his had to try and dull the sting, Nova looks on with spite at a rising, pained Sun Tzu... before, to the delight of the ReV crowd, slapping her as hard as he can across the face. But while it pleased the fans, it sends Sun Tzu to a whole new level of pissed-off, and she makes that emotion physical by rocking Nova with a brutal kick to the chest.

With both Sun Tzu and the fans expecting to see a wincing Nova collapse to his knees with broken ribs, they're instead met with the sight of an enraged Nova standing tall, rigid body shaking, yelling at Tzu to take her best shot again. Thumping a fist against his chest, Nova gives Tzu a target, and like a red rag to a bull, she takes it. But, as she fires off the kick, Nova steps in and hooks her leg, catching the Artist of War off-guard with the Falling Star, driving her weight down through her shoulders.

"NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA! NO-VA!"

Just managing to keep the high-angled move locked in, Nova bridges.

"ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!"

Just as Nova and the PRIME crowd think he's put the Artist of War away, Tzu bursts out, then wisely rolls to the outside.

Not appreciating the smart tactic, the PRIME fans again jeer the woman from the People's Republic of China... distracting her enough for Nova to slingshot himself over the top rope and wipe her out.

Both bodies drop to the mats, Nova bouncing off them and into the safety barrier. As Sun holds her neck, Nova reaches for his back, both not looking in too good a shape after the high-risk move. As the referee starts counting, both participants begin to drag themselves up, but as Nova reaches his feet, something trips him.

The fans at ringside try to attract the attention of the referee as an arm reaches out from under the ring, snaring his feet. Trying to kick his legs free, Nova ignores Sun Tzu, who punishes him for it with a brutal kick to the head, visibly weakening Nova's fight. Another kick to the head follows as the fans at ringside jeer their lungs out, only for Sun Tzu to deliver a third... then hop up to score a double-stomp between Nova's shoulder blades.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

With a sick smile across her lips, Tzu pulls Nova's headband down around his neck, using it as a collar to lead him back into the ring. Then, with the referee's attention turned back to between the ropes, the sinister smirk of Vangelus Olsig emerges from under the ring apron.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Looking pleased with his handiwork, Olsig slithers up and watches the in-ring action, where a kneeling Nova almost has his skull caved in by a Yakuza Kick from the Artist of War. Just to rile the PRIME fans even further, Olsig offers a round of applause for the Chinese Woman, before almost inviting her up onto the top rope t finish him off. Wanting to know why Olsig is at ringside, the referee breaks away from the action, then orders him to the back... to which Olsig accepts with open arms, backing up the aisle.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Springing to the top rope, Tzu shoots Olsig a less-than-friendly look, but she isn't about to pass up a chance to score the win following his intervention.

"GO BACK HOME! GO BACK HOME! GO BACK HOME! "

With Nova out cold on the canvas beneath her, Sun Tzu gets the cameras flashing as she flies off into a corkscrew moonsault, landing the Beijing Cocktail double-stomp to his chest. With the Rising Star convulsing after the violent impact, Tzu covers, keeping an untrusting eye on Olsig as he reaches the stage.

"ONE!

TWO!

THREE!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Not the opening to ReVolution that the fans wanted.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match... SUN TZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!

The roof is blown off as s tirade of jeers rains down on both Sun Tzu and Vangelus Olsig, both seemingly relishing in the reaction. The camera zooms in on Olsig, who mocks Nova with slow applause as he backs through the curtain. In the ring, Sun Tzu has her arm raised by the official for all of a half-second before she pulls her arm away, steps over the broken Nova, and makes her exit.

The arena lights dim and the PA system cranks into life as "Aerials" by System of a Down blurts out of the speakers and fireworks ignite upon the PRIME entrance platform.

Life is a Waterfall,
We’re one in the River,
And one again after the fall...

Richard: What in the hell?

As the last remaining fireworks fade away and the smoke clears, we are propositioned with the new PRIME Five-Star Champion, Jonathan Winters, as he appears at the entrance way, with his title draped over his right should and Charity Manale at his side.

Swimming through the void we hear the word,
We lost ourselves,
But will we find it all...?

Nick: Who’s this? Winters, with Chairty? He’s not supposed to be here tonight!

Richard: Tell him that.

With that Winters and Charity make their way to the ring and the music soon becomes overshadowed somewhat by the chants of the crowd.

Crowd: SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!

A smile creeps across Winters face, much to the dismay of Charity, who slaps him hard across the back. The smile disappears, as he slides under the bottom ropes, leaving Charity to find her own way.

Richard: Winters has shown up at ringside and he’s not even competing?
Nick: I know. Doesn’t sound right to me either.

Winters signals over to Vince Howard, who throws him a mic, as Charity steps through the middle ropes, giving some lucky - maybe, unlucky? - fans a glimpse of her delicates in the process.

Richard: Oh man!

Nick: You really want to see that?

Richard: Hey, a pussy’s a pussy.

Nick: Yeah. That’s what you’re mother says about you.

Richard: Mom jokes? Seriously?

Winters rolls his eyes at the spectacle that Charity is putting on and taps the top of the mic tentatively. The feedback, tells him and everyone else in the arena and at home that the damn thing’s on.

Winters: As some of you may know, I don’t do this very often.

Winters words are met with a mixed reaction at first and then the audiences simply break out into another slut chant, as Charity takes her place beside him. Charity develops a scowl and demands, off mic and inaudibly, that they all shut up. Of course, this makes the chants even louder.

Crowd: SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!

Winters grins again.

Winters: I concur.

The crowd cheer some and Charity’s glare burns a hole in Winters’ face. He ignores her and continues.

Winters: Last week, after my amazing Five-Star title win over Chandler, erm...

Charity whispers something into Winters ear.

Winters: ...yeah, Tsonda, that sounds about right. Anyway, after I defeated that clown shoes for MY title, I was then, rather rudely and in the middle of my --

Charity digs Winters in the ribs with an elbow, prompting him to glare at her sternly. Charity mouths something and Winters visibly sighs.

Winters: -- our celebrations, interrupted. You all know, you were watching. Killean Sirrajin. Mr. PRIME himself. Former Universal Champion and current prisoner of the state. Just who the fuck does he think he is?

The crowd cheer some, but Winters ignores them.

Winters: And what was with him trying to threaten me? Was he supposed to be intimidating just because he’s shackled at the ankles and is accompanied by his very own police officer? Or perhaps he expected me to be intimidated because he as a pithy nickname that hasn’t been used a million times before?

Richard: Well, Sirrajin IS the MOTHER FUCKIN’ MESSIAH!

Nick: ...

Winters: In either scenario, I couldn’t really give a fuck.

The crowd warms up a little and cheers for Winters even more, but still he ignores them.

Winters: It’s all talk Sirrajin and we both know it. You came to Oklahoma last week to threaten me and to massage your own ego, but you had to do it behind the law to do it. You’re in jail and you know for damn sure you won’t be getting out for some time. Very brave of you, Mr. Messiah; your ‘subjects’ must be very proud...

The crowd are cheering fully for him now and this time they are too loud to ignore. He takes in the applause a little before, taking a step away from Charity and turning towards her, in almost menacing fashion. You can actually see her mouth the ‘what?’, as he places the mic to his lips.

Winters: And now onto you, Charity Manale. Two weeks ago, I shook your hand and effectively made you my partner in crime, but as you well know, I’ve been reconsidering that decision ever since. Especially, since last week.

Charity’s face contorts into an expression of confusion and she draws closer to the mic.

Charity: What? I had nothing to do with Sirrajin showing up last week. I was as shocked as you were and you know this.

Crowd: SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!

Charity swirls around on the spot and screams something very un-lady-like at those speculating about her honour.

Winters: Whatever.

He pauses.

Winters: I’ve made my decision.

Charity’s anger subsides and is promptly replaced by apprehension, perhaps even fear.

Winters: First of all, I don’t trust you, Charity.

The crowd cheers some and Winters waits until they’ve finished to continue.

Winters: But don’t take that to heart -- I don’t trust anybody.

He pauses.

Winters: Secondly, I don’t even need you. I’ve gotten to where I am today because of me and me alone. None of my success can be attributed to you in any way, shape or form.

Richard: That’s a bit harsh. She did guide him to the PRIME Five-Star title last week...

Nick: How did she? He already had the title shot, before allowing her to be his manager.

Richard: ...

Winters: On the other hand, you do manage to dismiss all of those ass clowns backstage who, for some reason, vie for my attention, quite proficiently.

Nick: *cough* Adam is gay *cough*

Richard: What was that?

Nick: Nothing, I’ve just got a bad cough.

Winters: But the reason why I’m allowing you to remain my manager...

Charity’s face lights up and the crowd seem unhappy about his decision, but he raises his hand in the air to stop slut chants -- at least for the time being.

Winters: ... is because it seems to piss Killean Sirrajin off something awful...

More cheers from the crowd.

Winters: ...and that makes me smile.

The crowd erupts into laughter and cheers upon hearing this. Charity envelopes Winters with a hug, but he brushes her off, developing a rather distasteful look.

Winters: That don’t mean I want crabs though...

More laughter from the crowd and, much to Charity’s dismay, more chanting.

Crowd: SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT! SLUT!

Richard: Is he stupid or something?

Nick: Yes, I think he is. Why?

Richard: Keeping Charity as his manager? Sirrajin’s pussy?

Nick: Sirrajin has a pussy?

Winters: So, Sirrajin, if this pisses you off some and you decide to grow a pair and stop hiding in your jail cell, you know where to find me.

Winters simply drops the mic onto the floor and climbs out of the ring, with Charity in tow. The crowd give a mixed reaction, quite unsure of what to make of what a transpired.

Richard: Well, you’ve heard it here first folks.

Nick: Winters has laid down a challenge, the question is, will Sirrajin answer it?

As Winters disappears up the entrance way platform, the camera cuts backstage.

Chet Worth is a busy man. Between incarcerated superstars, feminist protestors, rival promoters being assaulted on his show, and having a Pay-Per-View event in a week, he really isn’t too thrilled when someone just barges into his makeshift office. Even if that is an attractive Chinese woman… hot, sweaty, and still breathing hard from her match.

Worth: You know, you’re supposed to knock before just letting yourself in to someone’s private office, Sun Tzu.

Sun Tzu: I’m a communist. We have no concept of private property, it all belongs to the people.

Worth: I’m not quite sure that’s exactly how it works. Regardless, I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Sun Tzu: Oh, I see just what sort of "work" you’re up to.

She picks up a copy of the latest issue of "Playboy" off of Chet Worth’s desk. Tigera from FUSE is featured quite explicitly on the cover. Sun Tzu sneers at the photo.

Sun Tzu: Perhaps if this girl had any hips or arse whatsoever, that belt could stay around her waist. Maybe once she goes through puberty…

Worth: You might not want to be touching that.

Sun Tzu: Why? Would having my girl cooties on your softcore pornography spoil your masturbation fantasies?

Worth: No. That’s ITO’s. I confiscated it from him to be on the safe side.

Sun Tzu: I don’t care who the smut belongs to.

Worth: I mean that’s the one he had last week. The one dripping with his…

Sun Tzu drops the magazine. It hits the floor with a disturbing splat. It takes a lot of effort to keep Chet Worth from laughing at the nauseated look on Sun Tzu’s face.

Worth: Anything else I can do for you?

Regaining her composure and arrogance, Sun Tzu leans on Worth’s desk, the occasional bead of sweat landing on paperwork.

Sun Tzu: Yes, there is something else. You can tell me what the hell I’ll be doing next Sunday. In case you missed it, I just beat one of your top contenders for the Universal title, Pinto.

Worth: I think you mean Nova.

Sun Tzu: Whatever. I just know he’s named after a typical substandard American automobile. And last week I defeated your Internet champion…

Worth: Adam.

Sun Tzu: Adam. So why doesn’t the Artist of War have a match at the Great American Nightmare? Is it because you fear the obvious superiority of a Chinese athlete will decimate whichever glorified circus act you put in the ring against her?

Worth: Not hardly. I’ll admit it, you have scored some impressive wins here in PRIME. Granted, the metods tha gained you those victories might be questioned…

Sun Tzu: Perfectly acceptable on the field of battle!

Worth: …right. So I have the perfect opportunity for you. Sun Tzu, you’ll be taking on Damien Cruz at the Great American Nightmare. And it will be for the PRIME Intense championship. Let’s see how you do when both combatants can disregard the rules.

A wicked smile appears on Sun Tzu’s face.

Sun Tzu: Intense championship?

Worth: Yes. That means any tricks, any tactics, any weapons.

Sun Tzu: Weapons? Excellent!

She stands up while reaching behind her and taking a handgun out from her waistband. As she holds it up gleefully, Chet Worth is out of his seat and looking horrified.

Worth: What the hell is that!?!?

Sun Tzu: The Norinco QSZ-92, a semi-automatic pistol utilized by the People’s Liberation Army. The magazine contains fifteen rounds, this particular one is chambered for 9mm Parabellum cartridges. The effective ra-

Worth: You can’t use a gun in a wrestling match!

Sun Tzu: But you said weapons were allowed. I wouldn’t actually kill… whatever his name is. Just blow his kneecap off, pistol-whip him a bit, get the pin, on to the next match.

Worth: No… guns.

Sun Tzu: *sigh* Fine.

A disappointed Artist of War puts the pistol away. She slyly glances down at her boot.

Worth: Or knives!

Sun Tzu: You’re taking all the fun out of this!

Worth: No guns, knives, explosives… hell, if you got it from your military, you can’t use it. Just be content to use whatever is at ringside to maim your opponent, all right?

Sun Tzu: What about a tank?

Worth: No tanks.

Sun Tzu: ICBM?

Worth: Please, no.

Sun Tzu: What about a garrotte?

Worth: A what?

Sun Tzu: A Garrotte. I come up behind him, wrap some piano wire around his neck and...

Worth: No. We don't maim or kill here. Ever. Unless you reaaaaaally deserve it. Okay? Just wrestle.

Although she looks like a six year old that was just told there is no Santa Claus, Sun Tzu nods.

Sun Tzu: I guess that’s all right.

Worth: Good girl. You’ll be filling Karina Wolfenden’s shoes one of these days.

The little girl look vanishes, replaced by cold anger.

Sun Tzu: I keep hearing that name. I don’t think I like very much.

Worth: Well, prove that you’re better then. And that means winning matches and championships.

Sun Tzu: I’ve been winning matches. And Sunday, I win my first championship. And I will prove I am better than this Wolfenden, no matter who I have to maim, mutilate, or murder to do it!

Snarling, she turns to leave, but not before glancing down at the magazine on the floor and giving a slight shudder. Once Sun Tzu is out of his office, Chet Worth slumps back into his seat. He massages his temples a bit, then picks up the phone.

Worth: Hello, hospitality? I need an aspirin. Four of them. Right. Four. On the left side of six ounces of water in a paper cup.

The camera cuts to backstage, where the Inhuman Being sits on a bench in the locker room, contemplating all manner of deep shit. His musings are interrupted, however, as the doors to the locker room swing open with a SLAM! and a very pissed-off Uni Title Contender storms in.

Nova: d00d, what the hell?!

Tchu: I saw, man. Sorry I wasn’t out there, but I had no idea that Olsig would hobble back down to the ring after our "message" earlier.

The Rising Star runs a hand through his hair and lights a cigarette.

Nova: Neither did I. Goddammit.

Tchu: Listen, I know we can’t go back and take that "L" off your record, but what we can do is think. Olsig’s here, a fact he made painfully aware to you earlier. Now there’s no reason why he would want to screw up your match and not mine, so I’m basically anticipating interference.

Nova: I dig, I dig.

Tchu: I thought you would. I need you out there watching my back, so if Olsig tries anything, we can finish what we started earlier tonight. That rat bastard is wearing on my last nerves.

Nova: Word. If he comes back down to that ring, I’m gonna take his fucking head off.

Tchu nods and extends a hand. Nova takes it and helps him up, slapping him on the back.

Nova: (A grin spreading over his face) Hmmm…ya know, maybe we ought to, uh, do a little pre-match reconnaissance. Ya know, scope things out, get our bearings, find out whether any new shit has come to light, stay up on things?

The Universal Champion cocks an eyebrow.

Tchu: What did you have in mind? Search for Olsig?

Nova nods.

Nova: Aye. And I figured the best place to start is the concession stand!

Tchu: (Rolling his eyes) Oh, what, you think he’s hiding under a pile of nachos?

The Rising Star holds up his hands innocently.

Nova: Hey, if there’s one thing you can say about me, it’s that I’m hung like Galactus. But if there are two things you can say about me, it’s that I’m hung like Galactus…and I’m ever-diligent.

Tchu: Lead the way, Super-Sleuth.

Sonny Silver and Shawn Stewart vs. Hessian and Vangellus Oxios

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS THE FRIEND OR FOE TAG TEAM MATCH, AND IT IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL!

"IF I GO CRAZY, THEN WILL YOU STILL CALL ME SUPERMAN…"

"Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down.

And the fans of St. Paul, Minnesota are mostly cheering for The Panther, Shawn Stewart. Heading to the ring, he appeared more than prepared with his fists taped up in white tape, wrestling shoes tied tight, and all that other good stuff. With a look of sheer determination on his face, he looked forward to showing just how the wrestling world just what the hell he was made of.

Howard: MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING FROM LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY! WEIGHING IN AT 240 POUNDS! HE IS THE KING OF THE CAGE, SHAWN STEWART!

Climbing up the steps and walking into the ring, Shawn takes off his jacket and tosses it aside. This Friend or Foe match was still something right up his alley: It was a major challenge to get along with all parties involved and it was also a great way to gain some much-needed momentum heading into the match already dubbed by PRIME fans as Stiff-Fest
‘06. Finally, the music of 3 Doors Down fades out, giving way to…

Blue hue.

Dimmed lights.

HUGE pyro show.

"No Chance" by Dope.

Howard: AND HIS PARTNER, HAILING FROM HONOLULU, HAWAII BY WAY OF SEATTLE, WASHINGTON! WEIGHING IN AT 249 POUNDS, HE IS THE SUPERWRESTLER AND HE NOTES THAT SHOULD ALWAYS BE BOLDED AND CAPS LOCKED… MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Ah, the joys of writing your own intros.

And parting the curtains and sucking in the mass amounts of jeering was the self-professed Chairman of PRIME, Mr. Silver. Sonny’s dressed for the occasion with his fists taped up in black, black elbow pads, boots, his Rock-like tights with the § emblem on the front and a sleeveless trench coat with the same gold emblem adoring the back. He commands an explosion of pyro with every few steps he makes toward the ring. Shawn rolls his eyes in the ring while Sonny hops onto the apron and climbs into the ring, taking off his coat. Staring at Stewart very closely, tow two very reluctant partners exchange words prior to the next theme.

"In 2 Deep" by Kenny Wayne Sheppard.

And out came Vangellus Oxios, the World’s Most Marketable Wrestler. The HUGE fan favorite is waltzing towards the ring with a smirk across his face. The confidence brimming as ever, he slaps hands with many fans as he walks down the aisle.

Howard: AND THEIR OPPONENTS! FIRST, HAILING FROM WINDSOR, ONTARIO, CANADA! WEIGHING IN AT 205 POUNDS, HE IS THE WORLD’S MOST MARKETABLE WRESTLER, VANGELLUS OXIOS!

He hops onto the apron and does a 450 flip over the top cable to land feet-first in the ring. Being the show-off that he always is, Vangellus takes a bow and does some shadow boxing in his corner, waiting for his highly reluctant tag team partner.

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead.

Soon, the final and tallest competitor of this four-man battle walked out from behind the curtains. With a trail of red flames bursting on either side of him, a wicked smile that shows off bad intentions for all parties involved is seen on the face of Von Kelsig. The Construction of Destruction power-walks toward the ring and adjusts his elbow pads.

Howard: AND HIS PARTNER, FROM DETROIT, MICHIGAN WEIGHING IN AT 315 POUNDS, HE IS THE CONSTRUCTION OF DESTRUCTION, THIS… IS… HESSIAN

Hessian enters the ring by simply walking right over the top rope. The tallest and strongest man of the four was now standing in the corner with Vangellus Oxios, with a huge fan base supporting the return of the former OSW and NTICW wrestler to active duty. The referee calls for the bell and the first two people to start up this match would be Sonny and…

Hessian.

The bell rings and Sonny and Hessian just stare at one another. Until last week, Sonny and Hessian was the only connection out of the four men who had not experienced previous encounters, per se. Sonny was the victim of abuse from Hess’ former manager, Minion the Imp, a fact that Sonny never liked in his OSW tenure. He was gonna make that fucker pay, he told himself…

Silver makes a quick tag to Shawn, who just glares at him. The fans boo Sonny for his action, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

Silver: Just don’t lose the fucking match, you redneck.

Stewart: Likewise, you asshole. Don’t screw this up for us.

Stewart takes the tag, not one to run away from ANY kind of a challenge. This was a man who took a 6’7", 400-pound man named Nick Brandish and beat him exactly 58 times with knees to the head until the monster was put into a coma from which he had yet to recover from, last anybody had known.

The two lock up with Hessian having the obvious power advantage. He shoves Stewart back, but Shawn goes low and strikes the taller Hessian down with several quick kicks to his thigh. The very stiff blows were enough to stun Hess. The Panther took advantage and pelted him with several powerful boxing punches that rocked the big man into a neutral corner. Hess puts up his guard and blocks several of the blows, but the ones that land are the deadliest.

Shawn goes for another back elbow, but Hessian blocks it and sends a heavy right of his own directly into the head of Stewart. Hessian follows up with several more vicious shots to the head and tries for a big heavy right, but Stewart sidesteps it and boxes Hessian’s kidneys with several shots.

The giant being stunned now, Shawn now wraps both arms around Hessian’s throat with a Rear Naked Choke, but The Construction of Destruction still has a lot of fight left in him so he’s actually able to use his strength to lift Stewart onto his back and jettison him right back into the turnbuckles, crushing him between Hessian’s weight and the turnbuckle. Now releasing the hold, Hessian wastes no time in SLAMMING a huge uppercut of his own directly into the jaw of the stunned Stewart. Shawn backs into the corner one more time as Hessian runs at him, trying to crush him into the buckle again. However, the Panther is ready and fires off a nasty Uppercut of his own, stunning the 7-footer.

Shawn uses more kicks to bring him down to one knee before taking a step back to run at him…

TAG BY SONNY!

More booing was heard as Silver laughed, letting Shawn do most of the work. The King of the Cage sneers at Sonny, who simply brushes him off.

Silver: Fuckhead.

Stewart: Ass.

Sonny takes advantage of Hessian’s situation by pelting him with several very stiff kicks in his own right. While Sonny was certainly not a fighter in the realm of the much more experienced Stewart, Sonny was a VERY heavy hitter and aside from the men in this match, there was possibly nobody that could brawl with him straight-up.

Sonny: Where’s your fucking Imp now, you Gothic sack of shit! You aren’t so tough when you’ve had your skull caved in!

Several Kawada—style kicks landed their target on Hessian’s body. A powerful series of forearm shots stunned Hessian before Sonny bounced off the ropes, looking for some sort of movKISS OF DEATH!

Oxios: YEAH! BEAT HIS ASS! WHOO!

Hessian: Quiet, mouth-breather.

Landing one of his many power moves, the Tilt-A-Whirl Backbreaker took its toll and now Hessian was in control. He grabs Sonny by the throat with both hands and forcefully powers him to his feet before rocking him with another right hand. Grabbing Sonny by the left arm, Hessian twists it around several times with arm wringers before knocking Sonny down with a nasty knife-edge chop. Once that was out of the way, Oxios extended a hand, to which Hessian shockingly tagged in.

Oxios: Lemme show you how it’s done, kid.

With a shrug, Hess and Van switched places, leaving a dazed Sonny to deal with his antagonist of the last three weeks, Vangellus Oxios. Van bounces off the ropes and Sonny tries to catch him with a clothesline, but Van ducks the blow. He catches the opposite ropes and comes back with a HUGE Tilt-A-Whirl headscissors that throws the Silver Lining for a loop. Oxios runs to the second rope and springboards backwards, catching Sonny with a Carlito-esque flying back elbow. There, he goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO…NO!

Sonny throws the shoulder up, but Oxios continues the punishment. He measures up Sonny as the self-proclaimed Chairman of PRIME stands to his feet with Oxios looking for a wheel kick. The move finds its mark and he goes for another quick cover.

ONE!

TWO…NO!

Stewart: Stop taking the blows and start throwing them, idiot!

Silver couldn’t even muster a response yet as Van was still taking the fight to him. He whips Sonny into the nearest turnbuckle and tries to follow it up with a handspring into some form of back elbow-like maneuver, but Sonny enmeshes him in a Full Nelson before hoisting him up and driving him into the mat brutally. Taking a brief respite in the corner, Sonny turns to Stewart.

Silver: Stop sucking and blowing at the same time and start achieving something, fucktard!

Sonny grabs Oxios by the head and pulls the slightly scrawny Canadian back to his feet. Locking up his arm with a modified Hammerlock, Silver rushes him into the corner and rams his arm into the post! Oxios lets out a howl of pain, but doesn’t get the time to rest as he turns Van around and drives him into the mat with a harsh Single-Arm DDT. Now back on his feet, Sonny backs to the ropes and feels a REAL big slap to his back that stings the "Chairman."

Stewart: My turn.

Sonny grumbles and throws the double bird into the direction of Stewart as the two trade places. Stewart wastes no time attempting to work over the arm of Oxios by wrenching up into a modified Keylock submission while Oxios remains in a seated position. Van squirms and tries his best to fight off the more experienced MMA practitioner, but Shawn had the decisive strength advantage. Oxios used his free arm to deliver some heavy blows that rocked the Panther, but he still held on tenaciously. Finally, Oxios used his unnatural agility to roll himself back to the point where he could swing a strong kick to the back of Shawn’s head. Several blows made him finally release him long enough to get away.

Shawn advances on him with a lifting double-leg, but Oxios suddenly shifts his weight to roll over his shoulder and catch him with a rolling sunset flip pin!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

One thing that Shawn Stewart was known for was his ability to learn from his mistakes. Quick pins that doomed him to many pinfall losses within fWo last year had recently become not so troublesome. However, this did not account for Shawn’s difficulty with dealing with the speedy flyers of the business.

Shawn threw a couple blows, but Vangellus – blocking his arm – sidestepped it and stunned him with a nasty kick to the rib cage. He leapt up and threw him right over with a quick snap Hurricanrana! While Oxios was back on his feet, The King of the Cage quickly walks into an eye gouge from Van, who follows up with a URAKEN! (The good arm he’s got left, of course.) THe Black and Decker combination put Stewart on the mat where Oxios is free to follow with another pinfall attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

THR…SHOULDER!

Shawn kicked out, but Oxios has other plans. He smiles and heads to the apron for a big high-risk move, but Hessian slaps him on the shoulder and tags himself in.

Hessian: Beat it, midget. You’ve had your fun.

Oxios: Hey! I’m not done with my triumphant babyface momentum shift!

Hessian: Yes, you are.

The Titantic Satanic Insaniac towers over Stewart now while Van climbs back off the top rope and sneers at his rival from RUSH Pro Wrestling. Hessian didn’t waste any time taking it to Stewart with several brutal kicks to the rib cage, knocking the stunned MMA down further. After the onslaught, Hess elevates Shawn with an inverted facelock and takes him into the sky before crashing him back down with the SWORD OF DAMOCLES! The stalling Inverted Suplex having driven the wind out of Shawn, he goes for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

The King of the Cage had waited several years to get this opportunity to get his hands on Hessian. No way he was going out like that. Hessian pulled him up for another move, but Shawn pummeled him with several body blows to try and stun the big man. Shawn poises himself and takes in a deep breath, getting ready for what he was about to do: hooking him up for one of his Intentionally Sloppy Suplexes, but Hessian stuns him with a big right hand to the head.

Falling back to one knee, Stewart grimaces while Hessian grabs him by his pants and tosses him to the outside. A huge smile crossed the face of Von Kelsig as he climbed over the top rope and to the floor where Shawn was still trying to find his bearings. Hessian wraps both his arms around Stewart’s waist, then RAMS him into the apron. Before he even gets in a yelp of pain, Hessian swings around and then plowed Shawn into the guardrail, then turns him around, ending it by driving him back-first into the ringpost!

Now on the ground cradling his back, Shawn was in a tremendous amount of pain right now. If he didn’t mount a comeback right quick, he would suffer a loss heading into the Great American Nightmare… something he did NOT want to do.

Hessian rolls him underneath the bottom rope and follows Shawn in. He throws in a BIG knee drop into the head of the Kentucky native before hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR…FOOT ON THE ROPE!

Oxios: Remember what Vince Lombardi said… "finish his ass or you’re out of the family!"

The comment only forced Hess to raise an eyebrow, but he shrugged off his partner’s natural idiocy to continue the punishment. The Goliath (I’m not bolding that, Ross, too much work. Don’t hit me. =( ) slashed a thumb across his throat and lifted him up in a Fireman’s Carry position, setting him up for possibly the Bereavement. He spins Shawn out, but SHOCKINGLY Shawn actually wraps an arm around his head and drives Hessian into the mat with a DDT of all things! Even Sonny was taken aback by Shawn’s incredible display of wrestling savvy.

Both men are down and the referee starts the proverbial ten-count, which I’m fast-forwarding because I ain’t writing out that shit. :D

…

Shawn and Hessian were both on their feet with Hessian looking for a big boot. Shawn dodges it and sneaks behind Hessian, hitting several powerful shots to the back of his knee. Stunned, the big man is now open for The King of the Cage to POWER him off the ground and spike him with the RELAMPAGO! The back of Stewart had to be messed up, but Hessian was much worse off, having taken two brutal headdrop moves in succession. Shawn fights through the pain and grits his teeth before wrapping up Hessian in the MORDIDA DE RUPTURA! Fans came alive after the brutal submission finisher of the Panther was applied and in his current condition, the Construction of Destruction may very well be out.

Hess fought to get to the ropes, but he was trapped in the center of the ring with nowhere to go. Shawn clinched the hold in tighter and kept on doing so. Who the hell was going to save Hessian from a painful fate?

THWACK!

Hessian looks up and sees… SONNY? WITH A CHAIR IN HAND?!?!

Silver: SCREW THIS BOOKING! IT’S MY VICTORY! MINE! YOU CAN’T HAVE IT!

Shawn tumbles over and clutches his bad back after the punishing blow from chair. Sonny grits his teeth and looks like he’s crazy.

The referee has no choice but to call for the bell, but the second it rings, Sonny takes the top end of the chair and rams it HARD into the zebra’s jaw. The bell kept ringing, to which Sonny Silver ran out of the ring and continued to chase after the timekeeper. He took off like a bat out of hell before anything bad could really happen to him, but that didn’t stop Sonny from trashing the area with his chair, going nuts. He kicks over the timekeeper’s table in frustration and HURLS the bell into the audience.

Hey. It says on the back of your ticket to this show that some shit might go down and errant objects could fly. Not our fault.

Throwing the chair down in frustration, he was ready to go back into the ring and hurt some people, but he fails to see the big blur flying overhead…

OXIOS WITH A TOPE CON HILO DIVE!

Both men crash and burn in front of the ring while Hessian finally comes around back on the inside, albeit a bit groggy. Seeing Stewart down, he goes past the Panther and walks to the outside, brandishing several more steel chairs that he tosses all over the place. After the last chair, Vangellus is back to his feet and sees the much taller form of Hessian standing mere feet from him.

Oxios: Just you and me now, big man.

The Construction of Destruction said nothing verbally. Conversely, he physically ran at Oxios and the two come to rapid blows.

Sonny finally came around and joined into the fray, throwing several wicked blows to the back of Hessian in an attempt to weaken him. He did his best to fight off his two attackers and managed to land one big blow each on Vangellus and Sonny. Grabbing The Whole Freaking SHO, Hess presses him over his head before tossing him into the third row back!

"PRIME THAT SHIT!"
"PRIME THAT SHIT!"
"PRIME THAT SHIT!"
"PRIME THAT SHIT!"

The fans were digging all this post-match action and rightfully so. Hessian pounds his chest and tries to to climb up onto the apron and take a breather… big mistake.

Hessian turns and is greeted with a STIFF thrust kick from Shawn that sends him tumbling off the apron. Sonny tries to jump onto the apron as well, but another big right hook catches the Chairman of PRIME in the temple, sending him for a nasty tumble as well.

By now, those indy workers looking for a few moments to get themselves on TV as security flooded the area for the second week in a row and quickly separated all four men. However, the on standing tall right now was none other than Shawn Stewart, slamming a fist into his chest and raising it into the sky for a big ovation.

"Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down blasts over the PA as Hessian, Sonny, and a recovered Oxios are pulled by security to the back. The three men all have some inaudible words to one another, but the one with all the momentum heading into the PPV right now was holding the ropes, begging for another fight from anybody.

Stiff-Fest ’06 was just around the corner, where there MUST be a winner. There would be no security holding any of them back.

Just four men with a lot to prove and some deadly blows coming forth.

WINNER: NO CONTEST

The scene comes up slowly to a black background with words fading into the centre of the screen. They are in brilliant white text, a quote from a musical artist that speaks volumes for one man.

It’s been a long time, been a long time comin’
Looks like the death of me now
But you know, there’s no turning back now
This is what makes me, this is what I am.

"Hate Me Now" – Nas

Steadily the words fade away as they are replaced by the image of a hooded man, seated on a wooden chair, his back to the camera and surrounded by darkness. As soon as the figure speaks, it’s clear who the voice belongs to, the stranger that is: Paul Cain.

Cain: You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?

The sound of dripping water can be heard as it forms a puddle on the concrete next to Cain’s right boot. For a few moments the camera remains focussed on the Americanised version of the Chinese water torture. The image then fades slowly out to black as Cain’s voice can be heard speaking again.

Cain: You just had to keep pushing me didn’t you?

Fade up from black to a close up shot of Cain with his head in his hands, tightly gripping the hood of his top. He is surrounded by darkness and the hood almost completely obscures his face. The breathing from his lungs is deep, slow and fuelled by an angry fire within. We again witness this picture disappear into black and to be replaced merely by the sound of an altogether different Paul Cain.

Cain: I warned you, I told you to stop but you just wouldn’t, you just had to keep trying!

Return to the blackened room as the camera comes up to show Cain’s hands balled up into fists now. Each word that he speaks is spat out of his mouth and with that, his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists up more and more. By the end of this sentence, he is speaking with a pained tone as he suffers from his own strength. Back down to black as we fade away once more.

Cain: Now…look what you’ve done to me…

The scene fades back up again as the camera focuses on the head of Paul Cain. He throws back the hood as he speaks, to reveal a completely changed man. His long jet black hair has been shaved off completely, leaving nothing more than a skinhead with stubble showing. He scowls at the camera with his dark brown eyes piercing an icy glare at those on the other side. Slowly he puts a cigarette to his lips and lights it, taking a deep drag of the nicotine into his lungs. This is not the Paul Cain that many had known and loved before. The scene fades down to black again.

Cain: People are going to get hurt because of you…Their blood is going to be on your hands…

Again the scene comes up to show the same pool of water that was lying at Cain’s feet. However now, it’s turning into blood as it begins to expand across both of Paul’s boots. Leaning forward, Cain’s hand comes into view as his finger trails along the red liquid. Lifting it up, he rubs his thumb and forefinger together as the blood mixes between them. A fade to darkness once more.

Cain: People are going to keep getting hurt until I feel better…Then…When I feel better…And there’s nothing left of PRIME…

A return from the darkness as Cain is glaring into the camera still. He then smiles a chilling smile as a knife blade appears in view as he points the blade forward. His final words are almost sung as he contemplates his next victim.

Cain: I’m…coming….to…get you…

Scene fades out to black as another set of words appears on the vignette to close.

Paul Cain

The REAL Great American Nightmare

Nick: The Internet Championship is on the line here, tonight! After the double count-out two week ago and the spat between them on ReVolution 108 it appears that Adam and ITO are going to have another shot at each other.

Richard: It’s about time ITO’s talent was properly acknowledged here in PRIME. Adam’s had his heyday, he got his title – whoop-de-doo – he can go retire happily and spend the rest of his life serving that French-Canadian asshole drinks on some queer beach somewhere.

Nick: You all know the drill at home; nothing Richard says or does is at all endorsed by PRIME, it’s shareholders, members of the roster…

Nick, however, is drowned out as Snoop Dogg’s "Step Yo' Game Up" sets near every fan in the arena booing as Kenjiro Ito makes his way out from behind the curtain. He’s lapping up every insult and piece of abuse hurled at him.

Richard: These damned philistines don’t know greatness when it’s in their midst – he’s the freaking C.E.O. of Awesome you fools!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, he hails from Osaka, Japan! Standing 6’4", and weighing 256 pounds… he is The Cocky Osakan, the C.E.O. of Awesome… he is… Kenjiro Ito!

ITO rolls into the ring and tosses his sunglasses to the timekeeper, his lip curled at the thought of anyone else’s grubby fingers on them. Though he’s essentially mute, he can still show his thoughts of his audience: he turns in the middle of the ring, middle fingers extended and out toward the crowd, just in case anyone in the arena wasn’t offended by him yet.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, the reigning Internet Champion…

He’s interrupted, but not in the expected manner – System Of A Down’s "Aerials" starts up on the PA. From Vince Howard to Kenjiro ITO to Nick & Richard to Jonathan Winters himself backstage, everyone’s confused by the music that’s started up. Hearing his entrance theme start up from inside his dressing room Winters turns on the (handily present) monitor to see what was happening. Charity Manale strolls across the locker room to stand beside him, both their jaws dropping simultaneously as Adam walks out from behind the curtain. But it’s not just his entrance to the music that surprises them;

Nick: Oh my God! I don’t really know how to describe this, but Adam has arrived… looking just like Jonathan Winters!

Richard: That manic-obsessive freak is dressed up exactly like him!

Nick: I can’t really believe what I’m seeing here; Adam has had his hair dyed blonde and cut shorter, he’s grown a goatee and is wearing identical ring gear to Winters… I really am at a loss as to how to describe this.

Richard: As if they weren’t boring enough on their own, he’s combined them into one super-snoozefest of a wrestler!

Vince Howard, under pressure to announce something tries to carry on as best he can.

Vince Howard: Umm… hailing from Glasgow, Scotland – also clocking in at 6’4" and weighing 264 pounds he is the reigning Internet Champion, the Number One Son: Adaaaaaaaam… Winters?

In true Jonathan Winters style the fans are completely disregarded by the Internet Champion as he makes his way to the ring, determined and resolute. Inside the ring, every manner of means of non-verbal abuse is being slung his way by the mocking Kenjiro Ito – but he’s completely ignored by the Scot as he hops onto the apron and climbs in.

Nick: I… I still can’t quite believe that Adam’s so-far innocent obsession with the previous champion has extended this far, it’s complete madness!

That’s the view shared backstage as Winters is trying to make his way out to the ring, stopped only by Charity barricading the door and urging him to leave it to see what was going to happen.

Richard: If only we could hear what ITO has to say about this…

Even if ITO could be heard to say all that was on his mind, it’s now too late as the bell chimes signalling the start of the match. ITO’s out the box immediately – flying at Adam with a diving forearm, knocking the Internet champion into the corner. He follows up instantly with some blistering knife-edge chops. He backs off slightly, as if ready to insult Adam, but realises his current vocal predicament and instead unleashes a stiff elbow uppercut to the Scot’s jaw.

Richard: I think saying that Adam was on the backfoot here would be giving him too much credit, he’s being beaten to a pulp without resistance!

Nick: ITO does appear to be completely in the driving seat so far, as he snapmares his opponent out the corner and drops an elbow down onto his shoulder!

Completely unanswered so far, ITO stands back from his prone opponent and raises his arms, as if victorious already, before pointing to his ‘cowardly’ foe who’s just rolled out the ring. As the referee starts the count out Adam shakes his head clear and can be seen to be mumbling something to himself, over and over. As ITO starts jeering the fans again Adam suddenly sprints forward, kicking off the apron before grabbing the top rope, jumping up to stand on in between his hands then launching himself forward in a crossbody.

Nick: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Adam move like that before! And I certainly don’t think ITO was expecting it; the Scot floored him before he had a chance to react to that!

With ITO now pinned to the mat Adam begins his own flurry of blows, improvising and translating Winters’ "Overwhelming Odds" combo to a floor assault. After landing the last shot Adam grabs ITO’s right arm and starts to lock on a triangle chokehold, but a quick, well-aimed elbow meets Adam’s groin just as the ref moved out of position to spot it. Adam collapses backward, releasing the hold, leaving ITO to stretch his back and start to his feet, a sly grin crossing his face.

Richard: That clumsy Scot can’t even lock a hold on properly, what chance does he have of beating the greatness that is Kenjiro Ito? No, seriously Nick – what chance?

Nick: If ITO keeps getting away with dirty shots like that then Adam might not be in with a good chance at all, but that’s not the point of the fine sport that should inhabit that ring!

ITO cockily strides across to the crumpled form of the Scot and grabs his look-a-like hair to pull him to his feet, only to be met with a punch to the stomach and a modified arm-drag, taking him down to the mat. Adam rolls over to fire off a few quick hits to ITO’s head before he locks on a grounded Dragon Sleeper, his face a mask of determination and commitment to the match, definitely not showing any of the underlying crotch pain he’s still experiencing. After a little squirming and sliding forward on the mat ITO just barely gets his heel to rest on the bottom rope, starting the rope-break count. It’s last second before Adam releases the hold, disdainfully just dropping ITO as soon as he’s finished.

Nick: Or maybe Adam will be able to just work through it; he has a steely grit to his ring performance since that initial lapse of concentration; maybe he can overcome ITO’s dirty tricks.

Richard: How dare you slander the C.E.O. of Awesome like that? He can have you fired for that; you should thank him for being such a nice guy and not doing it!

Nick: Even if he could do that, I highly doubt I’d ever have reason to thank Kenjiro Ito for being a nice guy.

Being the perfect opportunity to show just now nice a guy he can be, ITO takes full advantage and, well... thumbs Adam in the eye as he tries to tie up. The referee saw the rule breaking this time and jumps in to discipline ITO accordingly. Unable to argue against it, ITO simply sneers at the referee the whole time, just waiting for him to finish up. As soon as he does, though, ITO’s clocked with a running Yakuza kick from Adam, who’d waited for just the second the referee moved.

Nick: Well, Adam’s certainly taking cues from Winters here – it’s not the sort of territory he’d normally be in, but it does appear to be working. Maybe his imitation of the ex-champion is more than it first seemed.

Adam grabs ITO back up and throws him in the corner, following through with a shoulder block and a monkey toss out. He hops up on the turnbuckle and takes aim for the Decision Maker. As he leaps, though, ITO rolls out the way – nothing but mat for Adam to land on, hard.

As ITO tries to come back in to take advantage Adam rolls out the ring once more, meaning ITO lands elbow first on the mat. He hops to his feet and stares at the Scot – he’s sitting with his back to the barricade outside, crouched down on the floor with his head bowed.

Richard: I bet he’s reciting some crazy Satanic prayer or something… or praying to Ignatius to save him!

Nick: I think we should be able to get someone in to hear him, hopefully – it might explain his actions a little.

As if on request we get the muffled sound of a directional mic being ‘zoomed in’ to get a spy in on what Adam’s reciting.

Adam: Be more like Winters… What’d he do? … Don’t fucking quit, would Winters? … Stand up and fight like Winters would.

Nick: …

Richard: I think I’ve heard enough. Someone’s due a restraining order against them, at very least.

Incredibly freaky as it is, it appears to be working wonders for the Scot as he bounds to his feet and rushes into the ring, taking ITO by surprise again – but not quite enough of a surprise, as ITO stomps on Adam as he rolls in. The Scot shrugs it off though and gets to his feet, only to receive a back elbow to the jaw for his troubles. A swift kick to the gut and a lightning quick DDT follow it up, ITO finishes it off with a series of three kneedrops before taunting the jeering crowd once more.

Richard: Listen to these idiots, they truly are blind to the sheer overflowing talent before them…

Nick: The same talent that isn’t paying his opponent enough attention just now, you mean?

Richard: Huh?

Richard’s question is answered as ITO turns back to face the Scot only to be nailed to the floor again, this time by Adam’s right shoulder as he connects with his take on Jonathan Winters’ "Cold Shoulder" spear.

Nick: It may seem strange, but it does appear that Adam’s emulation of the ex-Internet Champion is paying off here!

Richard: I still say it’s incredibly creepy.

After another flurry of quick punches Adam rears back to hit a more powerful blow, ITO takes advantage of the open target presented in Adam’s midsection and drives his head up into it, winding the Scot. He’s pushed off the Cocky Osakan with a look of pure contempt; the feeling verified with the sharp boots laid into him as soon as ITO hops to his feet. ITO wastes no time, though, and locks on a Fujiwara Armbar, leaning right back as if to try and tear the Scot’s shoulder from its socket. Adam’s attempts to swipe at ITO are ill-fated; his positioning on the mat not conducive to landing a blow of any power.

Richard: Ha! Tear him to shreds, ITO!

Nick: It doesn’t look good for the Scot here, I have to admit – he’s in no position to reach the ropes easily and I very much doubt ITO will be happy to just release the hold.

Richard: He’s thinking about tapping!

Indeed, Adam’s hand is wavering a mere inch above the mat – the referee is down, chekcing if Adam is really ready to submit. But something overcomes the Scot as he hangs in there; he’s talking himself into the Winters persona again, then suddenly his hand is no longer an inch above the mat. Instead, his arm is painfully vertical, his elbow crooked round Kenjiro Ito’s neck from where the Osakan leant back just that bit too far an into Adam’s reach.

Nick: ITO’s stunned! I think he was certain Adam was about to tap and tried to increase the pressure on the hold, but he let go when Adam got his arm round his throat!

Richard: Another illegal chokehold! Disqualify this man now, it’s sickening!

Leaving his left arm to recover Adam lays still, facedown, but pulls ITO by his throat to slam him to the mat. The referee checks the room between Adam’s right arm and ITO’s throat and tries to call Adam to break the hold off, only at the last possible second again does he actually respond and release the choke. Leaving ITO to grab at his neck Adam stands, cradling his left arm and rolling his shoulders to try and ease the tension. He stands, half-listening to the referee’s lecture, but more focussed on watching ITO slowly get to his feet. As soon as the Alpha Asshole is up Adam loses all interest in the referee and pushes him aside to head toward ITO.

Nick: I’ve never seen Adam display such disrespect for the in-ring authorities! Even back when he sided with the Asian Invasion he was the one pushing for honour in the ring; this is quite alarming to see…

Richard: You expected any less from a nutbar like him? He worshipped Ignatius Lisieux and now Jonathan Winters – jeez, he can’t even choose a decent role model like, say… Kenjiro Ito.

The referee incensed by the shoving aside and tries to get between the brawl that Adam and ITO are now locked in; forearms, elbow and chops being traded back and forth. He manages to get between them, somehow, and pushes Adam away to finish chastising him, but ITO isn’t finished with the Scot and grabs the referee away to dive back into the foray with the Bakemono Lariat. The ref stands back up from being tossed on his ass and tries to grapple ITO away from his mounted position on Adam. This serves only to distract ITO as he turns to shove him away, giving Adam a brief second in which to lunge forward and take the dominant position over ITO. He crosses his forearms and leans forward to press them into ITO’s throat, choking him once more. The referee, completely irate by now, begins to threaten Adam with disqualification if he doesn’t give up the hold immediately, as he leans in to check if Adam’s paying attention he gets in the way of ITO’s glob of spit he had aimed for Adam’s eye.

Nick: Things are really getting out of hand here; I don’t know if this match will be progressing nay longer at this rate…

Almost as if reading Nick’s mind the timekeeper begins ringing the bell. Adam and ITO stop their respective struggles against each other and turn their heads to look at the referee, who’s still waving his arms to keep the bell going. Once he has the attention of the two men he stops and wipes the spit from his face. Adam gets up off ITO, cautiously, and stands staring at the referee looking for an explanation. ITO follows suit, pulling himself to his feet and staring a hole in the referee’s head with his gaze. If he could be vocal about things just now, he certainly would be doing so.

Nick: Two very different silences from these men here; but they both want answers.

Richard: For those of you at home who don’t understand Nickese; ‘answers’ here translates roughly as ‘confirmation of ITO’s victory over that deluded Scottish scumbag’.

Vince Howard: As a result of the spiralling loss of control over this match, it has been declared a Double Disqualification!

WINNER: NO CONTEST

Richard: What?!

Nick: For once Richard, I second you!

Inside the ring, there’s one man whose shoes no-one in the arena would happily fill – and he’s being borne down upon by two furious competitors, united in one thing alone: their unhappiness at a second no contest between them. Before either man can get anywhere near him the zebra is out the ring and pelting up the ramp toward the back.

Richard: I can’t believe this! ITO’s been cheated out that title twice now; he should rightfully be holding that strap on his shoulder right now!

Nick: I’m not certain about that, but I know that I’m not the only one here who feels cheated by that match – the arena is raining boos down right now. Adam’s still the Internet champion but he’s obviously not happy at tonight’s verdict either.

Unable to speak, Kenjiro ITO looks around frantically for some way to get his message across. Rolling to the floor, the Bringer of the Ice Age snatched a sign reading "ITO LOVES THE COCK!" from a fan, as well as his Sharpie marker. Flipping it over to the white posterboard on back, he begins to scribble.

Richard: What a resourceful man ITO is!

Nick: Only because he’s been threatened with not being given a spot in JitC if he DOESN’T keep his mouth shut tonight!

Holding up his handiwork proudly, ITO thrusts the sign in Adam’s face. It reads. "ITO VS. SCOTTISH FAG - GAN - FOR YOUR TITLE. PICK THE RULES, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, BITCH."

ITO follows in the only way a dickhead like him truly can: flipping off the Internet Champion. Adam looks into the arrogant Osakan’s eyes, and with an intense look on his face, says three words that bring the crowd to cheers.

Adam: No. Holds. Barred.

With that, the Number One Son is gone, up the aisle way with nary a glance back at ITO. For his part, ITO nods, and smiles. In his mind, the PRIME Internet Championship is about to be his.

What he doesn’t know, of course, is that he’s probably walked right into Adam’s trap. He’s dumb like that sometimes.

For the second time of the night, the combination of crimson pyrotechnics and Chinese American hip-hop signals the coming of the person that has made Maoist socialism sexy all over again… Sun Tzu.

'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!'

Nick: What’s she doing back out here?

Richard: Hey, Sunny Sue there has had a big night. A win over Nova, an Intense title shot at the Great American Nightmare, multiple marriage proposals from me… I’m sure she has a lot on her chest.

Nick: Not from what I’ve seen.

Richard: Blasphemer! Besides… I’m all about the booty and that commie has a sweet caboose!

Sun Tzu takes her time walking to the ring. Unlike when she has a match, she stops to exchange insults and obscene gestures with the patriotic fans.

Richard: Looks like she’s cleaned up since her bout earlier.

Nick: Great. Sun Tzu understands hygiene. That’s gripping commentary there, Richard.

Richard: You don’t understand, Nick. If she’s cleaned up, that means she took a shower. If she took a shower, she was naked. Don't you get it? We were in the same building as a naked Sun Tzu! That’s almost like being right there!

Nick: By that logic, we’ve almost been right there with a naked Hoyt Williams too.

Richard: …

Nick: You all right there, buddy?

Richard: Yeah. No offense to our Lord and Savior, but I just had to choke down every meal I’ve eaten in my entire life. There are some things mortal man was not meant to see.

As Sun Tzu is about to leap to the apron, she spots something out of the corner of her eye. A young girl, not more than twelve or thirteen, stands at ringside with her father. She holds up a sign covered in photos of Karina Wolfenden cut out from magazines. The words "WE MISS YOU KARI" are written in purple glitter. Sun Tzu storms over to girl, snatches the sign away, and rips it in half!

Nick: What the hell did she do that for?!?

Richard: Please. It’s not like she shoved her elbow into a Picasso. And before she even debuted here in PRIME, people have been going on about Sun Tzu filling Wolfenden’s shoes. I can’t blame her for being sick of being compared to someone that snuck out of here like a hooker with your wallet.

The young girl looks like she’s nearly in tears as Sun Tzu throws the pieces of her destroyed homage to the floor. Mao’s Little Red Bitch starts shouting at the girl. Although the cameras can’t actually make out the words, Sun Tzu’s hateful expression and the tears running down the girl’s face tell the story. Sun Tzu is about to walk away when she suddenly turns back and piefaces the young K-Wolf fan, shoving her to the hard floor!

Richard: That… may have been over the line.

Nick: Over the line? That might just have been one of the most despicable things I’ve ever seen! Sun Tzu just assaulted a fan, a child, for the "crime" of liking Karina Wolfeneden! She’s never even met her!

The crowd immediately lets the Artist of War have it in full.

"FUCK YOU, SUN TZU!!!"

Clap clap clap-clap-clap!

"FUCK YOU, SUN TZU!!!"

Clap clap clap-clap-clap!

Ignoring the chants Sun Tzu is pointing and laughing at the fallen girl when her protective father grabs the arm of his daughter’s assailant. KRAK~! Sun Tzu responds with a fist to his face! He staggers as blood pours from his clearly broken nose! Sun Tzu leaps onto the barrier and delivers a kick to his head that sends him to the floor!

Nick: Oh God, this is really getting out of hand!

Sun Tzu drops to the ground and begins stomping away at a father that only wanted to protecte his child. His child throws herself on top of his body, crying for Sun Tzu to stop. The Artist of War growls like an animal… then nails the young girl in the gut with her boot! She cries out and curls up like a fetus beside her bloodied father, her face covered in tears. Other fans are trying to get close to help stop the attack, but Sun Tzu grabs a chair and start swinging wildly!

Nick: Security! We need security!

Security is already on it. Five burly men in yellow shirts move in on the scene. Sun Tzu hurls the chair at one, the metal striking his head with a sick thud! With an animalistic scream, she charges at the others, tackling one and pounding away at him! Another tries pulling her off, but get knocked out by an elbow! Two more grabs her arms and hold her long enough for a third to get her in the eyes with pepper spray! The blinded Sun Tzu’s howls can be heard all over the arena! She lashes out and manages to kick the guard with the pepper spray in the jaw! Two more members of security arrive. They just manage to grab her legs and after much struggling, the four large men slowly carry the thrashing woman to the back. The entire way out, the fans are unforgiving in their jeering of Sun Tzu.

"FUCK YOU, SUN TZU!!!"

Clap clap clap-clap-clap!

"FUCK YOU, SUN TZU!!!"

Clap clap clap-clap-clap!

Nick: Security is getting Sun Tzu out of here. We got medics on the way to assist the fans Sun Tzu attacked, not to mention the guards she injured. I’m nearly in shock here. What could’ve motivated her? Jealousy? Paranoia? What was going through the sick mind of Sun Tzu, nothing can justify an incident like this.

Richard: I’m with you all the way. There are some things you just don’t do as a human being. And Sun Tzu just did a lot of them.

Nick: Glad to hear you say that, Richard.

Richard: I gotta admit I would’ve loved to have been one of those security guys there? Holding on to those soft and shapely legs as she thrashed around like a wildcat caught in a trap… you think they copped a feel on her no-no place? That’s what I would’ve done.

Nick: And just when I thought you had some decency. Maybe you and Sun Tzu would make a perfect couple after all. The perpetual pervert and the sociopathic socialist. Folks, we'll have to take a moment for things to calm down, then we'll be cack with more ReVolution.

Nick: This next match up is an interesting one, with the now-dethroned 5-Star Champ getting a non-title shot at the Universal Champ.

Richard: He’s still a Five Tstar Tsar to me.

Nick: I’m just interested to see how Tsonda reacts to life without the rest of his A-List cronies. He’s a man on an island.

Illin’ guitar riff: BOW WOW DUM DUM DUM DUM BOW WOW!

"The Worm" by Audioslave, creators of a fantastic new CD called Revelations that you should all go out and buy, homes. The regal theme of the no-longer-regal Chandler Tsonda. The very same man steps out from behind the curtains to a mass chorus of boos. Several comical signs discuss Tsonda’s sexual tendencies and loss of title belt; you fill in the rest.

Richard: It’s Ellie time, baybee.

Indeed, Eleanor Kannon-Hall is bringing up the rear, doing her best to look business-like in the company of Tsonda.

Vince Howard: The following is a non-title match and will be for one fall! Coming first to the ring…from San Diego, California….weighing in at 195 pounds…he is the Model Citizen….CHANDLER TSONDA!

Tsonda is businesslike in his approach to the ring, bypassing his usual shenanigans on the outside. He even manages to get into the ring without his usual showmanship, stepping through the ropes and then holding them open for Ellie.

Nick: This is a different Tsonda than we’ve seen in the past.

Richard: He’s so pissed that he’s gonna take Tchu down in like forty seconds.

Nick: I’ll strip naked on national television if that happens.

Richard: Oh Jesus, I’m rooting for Tchu now. Honestly, ugh with a side of ugh.

And then it happens. "I Fucking Hate You" by Godsmack hits the PA system, thrashing throughout the arena. The people know who this signals and in turn, they cheer their collective asses off.

Tchu steps out from behind the curtain and the cheers grow. He’s looking quite dandy with that fly piece of gold around his waist, too. He acknowledges a couple fans at ringside, but as the true antihero that he is, he focuses mostly just on the man in the ring.

Vince Howard: And now….YOUR Universal Champion…hailing from Dayton, Ohio…weighing in at 244 pounds…he is the Inhuman Being…TCHU!

Tsonda taunts the champion, as he enters the ring, with some indistinguishable shouts. Tchu merely leers at Tsonda and puts his hands on the Universal Title around his waist, putting extra emphasis on taking it off and handing it to his homesnake Vince.

Nick: Without any words, the champion just showed up Chandler Tsonda.

Richard: He better hope there’s not an impromptu walk-off because then I think we know who’d be getting shown up.

DING DING DING!

The horses are off. Tchu and Tsonda lock up but the larger Tchu gains the advantage easily. He pulls Tsonda into a hammerlock, but the Model Citizen uses some nifty footwork to maneuver out of the move and take down Tchu with front dropkick to the midsection. Almost before Tchu hits the mat, Tsonda is up, bouncing off the ropes and dropping two stiff, diving elbows on his chest.

Richard: God, he’d be such a better champion.

Nick: In what category? Jackassery?

The smaller Tsonda stays on the offensive and as Tchu rises, he rises up and drops the champ with a vicious scissors kick, a la Booker T but minus the whole grade-F breakdancing bit. Immediately afterwards, the Viet Viper charges the ropes and comes flying off with an Asai moonsault, rolling into a pin.

One…

TwNO!

Nick: I’m pretty surprised that Tsonda’s going all-out so early. Then again, nobody’s had any luck at taking Tchu deep into matches, so he might as well try something different.

Richard: Except for Clyde Walkins. CLYDE FREAKING WALKINS.

The kickout from the champ is fairly emphatic, showing that Tsonda’s not going to have such an easy time. Still, Chandler keeps at it, accosting Tchu with flailing right and left elbows. The only problem is that Tsonda just can’t hang it with Tchu when it comes to upper body strength. And the champ knows it. He catches an elbow and in a swift motion hip tosses Tsonda hard to the mat.

Tsonda attempts roll up quickly, but Tchu’s right there in his face. He grabs Tsonda by the neck with both hands and holds him up in position for a choke-bomb. Predictably, Tsonda throws his leg out in desperation and connects squarely with Tchu’s scrotal sac, stopping the champion in his tracks. With his opponent doubled over, Tsonda grabs the back of Matt Ward’s head and gives his face a vicious introduction to the mat, via bulldog.

Nick: I can’t tell if Tchu is having trouble with Tsonda’s hyper-kinetic style of agile offense or whether he’s just biding his time. My money’s on the latter.

Richard: Oh your money’s on the latter? Honestly, you sound like a twit.

Nick: An immature person would say takes one to know one. But I’m above you petty insults so I’ll let it slide.

Tsonda pops a squat on Tchu’s back and grabs the champion by both arms. And wouldn’t you know it, he’s got Tchu set up in a pretty bitchin’ camel clutch. Well, the camel clutch itself is pretty sloppy, given Tsonda’s limited submission skill, but it still looks pretty painful. Tchu tries to wiggle out, but Tsonda’s grip on his arms is too tight. Thus, he opts to go after the lower body. He shifts his weight and basically just rolls over on top of Tsonda. The move’s not pretty, but it ends up with Tchu pinning Tsonda’s legs against him, as if the result of a Mahistrol Cradle.

One…

Two…

ThrNO!

Nick: I don’t think you’re A-List superstar expected that!

Richard: Why would he? It was the most retarded thing I’ve ever seen in a wrestling ring.

Nick: You get liberties when you’re the big dog.

But it’s true. Especially when you own the gold and you have taken less than a handful of losses in your career. And it’s also true when you can pick someone up off the mat and then floor them with an uppercut immediately after. That’s exactly what Tchu does to Tsonda.

Tsonda looks like a deer in the headlights, realizing that Tchu has now awakened. But it’s too late. He tries to scramble out of the ring, but Tchu pulls him by the leg back into the middle of the ring. Tsonda hurries to his feet just in time to block a right hand from Tchu. He returns the favor with a jumping sidekick, but the move doesn’t take Tchu down. In fact, when Tsonda turns around off the recoil of the move, Tchu hits him with a kick to the gut. The crowd knows something big is coming.

Richard: Oh damn.

Showing incredible strength, Tchu lifts Tsonda and PLANTS him with his patented sit-out gutwrench powerbomb.

Nick: Broken Soul! It took only five minutes for it to all go to hell for Tsonda! He’s dead in the water!

"Shallow" by Abortion Candy suddenly bursts across the arena sound system and Tchu immediately spins towards the entrance.

Nick: No! Can’t this guy mind his own business!

Richard: Maybe he could if that stoner and his lightweight buddy could mind their own business!

As the sounds rip through the arena, Nova immediately jumps onto the ring apron and begins to step through the ropes, but as he does, things get more complicated.

A flicker through the arena quickly confuses everyone before plunging the building into total darkness

Nick: What the hell is going on here! We can’t see anything! Olsig doesn’t want his actions to be seen… coward!

Richard: Genius!

In the ring, though no one can see it, including the superstars themselves, Tchu starts to carefully slide around the ring, keeping on-guard for whatever might happen. Slowly, he backs himself towards what he believes to be the center of the ring. At the same time, The Rising Star does the same. In a miraculous moment that can occur only in Hollywood or a Pro Wrestling ring, Nova and Tchu collide, bumping backs at the split second that the lights in the arena return to normalcy.

In a state of minor paranoia, feeling the bump against his shoulders, Nova turns and swings in one fluid motion and lands a fist heavy into the jaw of man very much not Olsig.

Nick: He just clocked Tchu!

Richard: Ahahahahaha! Olsig isn’t even out here! Mind games baby!

Showing the willingness and ability to capitalize on the perfect opportunity, Tsonda shows one of the many assets that has made him a champion in PRIME. A quick, well-placed dropkick sends a stunned Nova stumbling backwards, falling out of the ring between the top and middle ropes.

With everything now in his favor, Tsonda watches as Tchu begins to pull himself back to his feet, rubbing his jaw as he does so.

Richard: Chandler is ready to pounce! He’s sizing up the champ!

Indeed he is. Waiting for his opponent to turn and face him, Tsonda shoves his foot right towards the Inhuman Being’s gut. Tchu, however, regains enough of his senses to catch the boot, but he doesn’t have enough sense to avoid the second boot that connects with the back of skull.

Nick: Did you hear that crack?! The champ may be out cold!

Richard: Pin him! Pin him!

That’s exactly what the former 5 Star Champion does, and the ref is right there to make the count.

One…


Two…


THREE!

Richard: He did it!

Winner: Chandler Tsonda

Nick: Tsonda just pinned the Universal Champion!

Richard: This is awesome.

Nick: I don’t think the Inhuman Being agrees with you.

In the ring, raising himself to a seated position, Tchu has a look of rage on his face that finds its way directly to Nova, still in shock outside the ring.

Nick: Tchu does not look happy about this.

Richard: Of course not. Nova just decked him! But the most important thing to remember is that Chandler Tsonda just pinned the Universal Champion! He should get the belt!

The Rising Star slides into the ring as Tchu pulls himself to his feet. As the crowd all leave their seats in anticipation, the two superstars stare each other down. It appears that Nova offers up his apologizes and tries to explain what exactly went wrong, but Tchu doesn’t seem interested in hearing any of it.

Nick: It looks like Nova is trying to clear things up, but I think it may be falling on deaf ears with the champion.

Richard: That’s ‘the recently pinned’ champion, Nick.

As The Rising Star continues to explain his version of what just happened, The Inhuman Being snaps and fires off a right hook that slams into the side of Nova’s skull, sending the co-#1 contender reeling.

Nick: Tchu has heard enough!

With a near instant response, Nova fires back with a right of his own, finding his mark successfully. The fans explode into thunderous cheers, losing themselves in the intensity that has just been unleashed. Each man continues to fire off punch after punch, exchanging the blows without hesitation.

Nick: Look at these two men! They’re holding nothing back just a week from The Great American Nightmare.

While the two superstars continue to destroy each other, Olsig appears atop the ramp and rushes towards the ring, sliding under the bottom rope to deliver a clubbing blow to the back of the Universal champion and s stiff boot to Nova’s gut.

Richard: Yesss! Olsig is hear to clean up!

Nick: This is disgusting! He waits till Nova and Tchu start laying waste to each other, then jumps on the opportunity to take them both out!

Richard: I think its safe to say Vangelus is gonna have the advantage in the smarts department at TGAN!

Referees and assorted backstage officials begin to sprint to the squared circle, each one immediately making their way over to the three men. Separating them is easier said than done. Meanwhile Chandler Tsonda is slipping out the back. For a moment, it looks like he might interject himself into the fray, but, realizing that he’s now a one-man army, he decides to just smirk and watch the fight, content with himself.

Nick: Not so strong without his two buddies, now is he?

Richard: Hey, why don’t you pay attention to the two faces who are getting slammed by the inevitable champion?

Tchu fires off a right that slams into Olsig. Nova does the same, then drives a boot into Tchu’s stomach. Olsig swings with a left, nailing Nova and all the while, officials do their best to severe the mayhem while avoiding a pummeling of their own.

Nick: Look at this chaos! These three men can’t wait for The Great American Nightmare!

Finally, the officials manage to separate all three individuals and move them to different corners of the ring. Three or four men are needed to hold each superstar back, each man still trying to pull away towards either of their enemies.

Nick: What an incredible end to an incredible show! The tension between these men has exploded!

Richard: And Chandler Tsonda has pinned the Universal Champion!

Nick: What an evening its gonna be at The Great American Nightmare! What a card from top to bottom and it all culminates with these three men! Two challengers, one champion, one winner! We’ll see you then folks!

The PRIME copyright logo appears in the corner of the screen as the Olsig, Nova, and Tchu continue to try and fight through the mob holding them at bay.