Vince Howard: Please welcome to the ring… SUUUUUUN TZUUUUUUUUUUU!!!

To the driving beat of her hip hop theme music and the thunderous explosions of her scarlet pyrotechnics, the Artist of War steps out and looks at the PRIME fans like she was a varsity cheerleader and they were the band geek that just asked her to the prom.

Richard: Why do I get déjà vu when I see that look on her face? Weird…

Sun Tzu is dressed in her ring gear, ready for her upcoming Intense championship match with Damien Cruz. But she also has a gym bag slung over her shoulder as she walks to the ring. She stops to read a sign held by a fan… "SUN TZU’S FROM CHINA, BUT SHE’S AS FLAT AS FINLAND!" She doesn’t seem pleased by this and expresses this feeling with the universal gesture for "kiss my ass." Several male fans, and a few female ones, quickly volunteer to perform that task. Muttering about deviant capitalists, Sun Tzu shakes her head and goes to the ring, leaping from the floor to the apron.

Nick: Always nice to see Sun Tzu doing her part to spread the message of international goodwill.

In the ring, Sun Tzu takes the mic from Vince Howard and motions for him to be on his merry way. Dropping her bag to her feet, she smiles sweetly at the thousands here in attendance.

Sun Tzu: I want to kill everyone in this building.

For some reason, this doesn’t get a very positive reaction.

Sun Tzu: Oh, settle down. It’s not going to happen. Kind of like how most of you want to move out of your mother’s basement and have sex with a woman that doesn’t have to be inflated first. The desire and the reality just don’t intersect. But tonight, desire and reality become one as I become the PRIME Intense champion!

The fans agree with this… not so much.

Sun Tzu: It doesn’t matter if you like me, what matters is that I will win that championship. I am more than an athlete, I am a soldier. There is no sacrifice too great for me in order to achieve my objective. And no one that steps in this ring, including Damien Cruz, has the drive and the ability that I do!

A chant of "CRUZ! CRUZ! CRUZ!" breaks out at the mention of the Last Son of Lucha Libre’s name.

Sun Tzu: I’ve looked at Intense matches and I’ve found them lacking. I’ve see men taking foolish risks just to get on a highlight reel. I’ve seen men stand there and take punishment just to get busted open in order to please you bloodthirsty fans. Well, I got my period yesterday and have been bleeding ever since. How’s that for "intense?"

Nick: Ew.

Richard: Ew.

Thousands of men in attendance: Ew.

Millions of men watching at home: Ew.

Sun Tzu: But there’s one thing I haven’t seen. Not one of those men deserved to be called a champion. But that changes tonight. I’m better than hardcore, I’m better than extreme… I’m Chinese! Born for battle and bred for victory! And at the end of the match, when Damien Cruz lays broken on the mat, the Artist of War will have won her SECOND championship belt in PRIME!

Nick: Second? What’s she talking about?

Richard: Maybe the Internet championship. She did win a non-title victory over Adam.

The Artist of War reaches into her bag and takes out an object of leather and gold. She holds it up high in the air triumphantly. It is a PRIME belt, one rarely seen but easily recognized.

Richard: Is that what I think it is?

Nick: That’s a Hall of Fame belt!

The fans are stunned and confused. Lowering the belt, Sun Tzu reads the gold plate.

Sun Tzu: "PRIME Hall of Fame." Sounds impressive. And there’s a name on here. "Karina Wolfenden."

There are gasps and murmurs all over the arena.

Nick: She’s got the K-Wolf’s strap!

Richard: Karina left it behind when she vanished before her induction ceremony!

Nick: And somehow Mao’s Little Red Bitch here got her little commie claws on it!

Sun Tzu: Karina Wolfenden. Why does that sound so familiar? Oh yes, because for weeks I keep hearing that name mentioned in the same breath as my own! Talking about how I’m trying to fill her shoes! Understand this… I don’t succeed anyone, I exceed them. Wolfenden was a product of the United State… hyped up, flashy, and ultimately… obsolete. But I am a child of China. I hunger for supremacy and I have the power to obtain it! You don’t like it? Then ask yourself this.. where the hell is Karina Wofenden? She tucked her tail between her legs and ran off in the night like a fox from a henhouse! But Sun Tzu is right here, standing in the middle of the ring and holding the pinnacle of that tarted-up tramp's career in her hands. By right of conquest, by right of destiny… this belt is mine!

With a cruel sneer marring her perfect features, Sun Tzu straps the big gold belt around her waist. Arms raised in victory, Sun Tzu looks like she just won an Olympic gold medal. Her moment of glory is greeted by "TZU SUCKS! TZU SUCKS!" But they get countered by the sounds of Sun Tzu’s music as she leaves the ring.

'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: I can’t believe this. Last week, Sun Tzu assaulted a young fan for the "crime" of having a Karina sign. Now she steals the K-Wolf’s Hall of Fame belt and is wearing it like she won it! Sun Tzu is crazy to think that just after a few weeks she has any right to wear a belt the people here strive their entire careers to earn and so few obtain! Sun Tzu has just spit in the face of everyone who has ever busted their ass in PRIME! All because of this… obsession she has with a woman that she’s never met!

Richard: I’m beginning to think our little Sunny Sue here is a few tiles short of a mah jong set. Totally hot and of questionable sanity. It's like Sun Tzu is the Naomi Campbell of PRIME!

Nick: Maybe Damien Cruz can pound some sense into her. The Intense championship match is just moments away here at the Great American Nightmare!

A buzz is flowing through the rather crowded skybox in the Mellon Arena. The city of Pittsburgh is riding a high in the fact that their Pittsburgh Penguins looked to be staying around and now they were doing rather well with young stars like Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin. Did you see the goal against the New Jersey Devils last Tuesday?

Yeah, the city of Pittsburgh is bumping with energy… cept for those Steelers fans. Heh, talk about crash and burn. Then you have to look across state where the city of Brotherly Love was used to some sort of success. The Flyers… ugh. The Eagles looked promising… in the pre-season.

It’s pretty bad when the Penguins, who had one of the worst records in the league last season, seem to be the sports highlight of the state.

Back on topic, Killean Sirrajin is standing a couple feet away from the glass of the skybox. He is looking down at the people, bright signs everywhere and hundreds of dollars of PRIME merchandise worn and displayed by a very high percentage of the crowd. He can even see many individuals wearing Killean’s original "The PRIME Cut" t-shirt. But one fan catches the eye of Killean with a sign that reads…

"Supremely Innocent!"

Yeah, Killean could only wish everyone felt the same way.

He turns away from the glass to greet a few other guests in the skybox. After a few kind words, Killean moves over to the large leather chair where his lawyer, James Douglas Hubert is sitting and using his laptop to type up a small letter, probably something to send back to Winnipeg regarding Killean. He kept his nose out of his lawyer’s business, even if it involved him.

"Thanks for inviting me away this week Killean, I really needed the break." Hubert said while still typing away on the keyboard. Killean smiled, pressing his fingers against the lid of the laptop, slowly closing it and giving time for James to move his hands out of the way. Killean spoke up before the confusion set into the expression of the lawyer.

"Then take a break. You have sacrificed plenty of time for me, now it’s time for you to enjoy this short getaway. I don’t want the negative karma that comes with not enjoying a vacation on my conscience." James nodded, getting up from his seat and patting Killean on the shoulder a couple times. He then makes his way to the bar, leaving Killean to take over his seat.

There happened to be an incident at ReVolution 109 in the backstage area involving Charity and Killean. It’s an incident that has yet to be publicized or even discussed. All that is known is that Killean did not leave the building on his own two feet. He in fact was carried out by his escorting officer and two CSC security workers. He was documented to look emotionally distressed and broken.

His mind fresh on that incident, Killean didn’t notice that three new police officers just made their way through the door. One of them started talking to Lynn Jacobs, the Winnipeg officer who accompanied Killean on this specific trip to Pittsburgh. Lynn then turns her head to look over at Killean, her gaze dropping slowly as the other officer whispers in her ear.

Killean gets to his feet from the chair as the other officers make their way over. Jacobs comes over to Killean, putting a hand on his shoulder and explaining the situation.

"Killean, a message came down the wire. Prosecutors in the case back home have optioned to outfit your electronic bracelet to include GPS. They’re going to need you to enter the other room to perform the modification."

With a deep sigh, Killean motions over to James Douglas Hubert who notices the police presence and comes over in a hurry.

"What’s the problem?"

"Prosecutors have optioned for GPS to be added to your client’s ankle bracelet. We are just here to fulfill those duties." One of the officers from Pittsburgh spoke up. Killean huddles quickly with his lawyer. Meanwhile, everyone in the skybox now has their attention focused on the situation at hand. It is really something that he didn’t need. PRIME is his only escape from the outside world where he is mostly seen as a criminal. Now, the focus is on him again, this time inside the world he thought he was protected.

Killean nods slowly and makes his way to the side room with the officers. Originally he had plans set to get in the face of Jonathon Winters after his title defense. But now, Killean is deciding to bide his time. He figures he will just enjoy the rest of the night after this setback and use ReVolution 110 as his vehicle to begin the hostile takeover of the career of the current 5-Star Champion.

Yep, that’s right. ReVolution 110. Killean will be there. Will you?

If you're listening, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Nova, smoking a cigarette.

Sing it back, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Tchu, training.

String from your tether unwinds

CUTTO: Olsig, standing in the dark.

(String from your tether unwinds) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: A smiling Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins.

Up and outward to bind

CUTTO: Jason Snow, staring at Angelo Deville.

(Up and outward to bind) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: Xavier Kannon, making his return to a PRIME ring.

I was spinning free, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Tony Gamble, grinning.

With a little sweet and simple numbing me.

CUTTO: Jonathon Winters, frowning.

Are you listening? whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Chandler Tsonda, posing.

Sing it back, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Adam, holding his belt high.

So tell me what do I need

CUTTO: ITO and Sonny Silver, standing together.

(tell me what do I need) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: Hessian, standing menacingly.

When words lose their meaning

CUTTO: Shawn Stewart, choking out a training partner

(When words lose their meaning) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: Damien Cruz, standing.

I was spinning free, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Sun Tzu, talking to Chet Worth.

With a little sweet and simple numbing me.

CUTTO: Nova, hitting Tchu with a chair.

Yeah, stumble till you crawl, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Olsig, hitting Tchu.

Sinking into sweet uncertainty

CUTTO: Tchu, hitting Olsig

(Are you listening? Are you listening?)

CUTTO: Deville and Rollins, holding their arms high.

If you're listening, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Winters and Gamble, wrestling.

If you're listening, are you listening?

CUTTO: Sun Tzu pinning Nova.

Sing it back, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Jason Snow, pinning Olsig.

If you're listening, are you listening?

CUTTO: Chandler Tsonda's interference in the 5-Star #1 contender match.

I'm still running away

CUTTO: Johnny Noble, looking on angrily.

(I'm still running away) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: Chet Worth, alone backstage.

Won't play your hide and seek game

CUTTO: Ethan Knight pinning Jason Snow

(your hide and seek game) whoa oh, whoa oh

CUTTO: Damien Cruz winning the Intense title.

I was spinning free, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Jonathon Winters, winning the 5-Star title.

With a little sweet and simple numbing me.

CUTTO: Danny Ferguson, sitting in a jail cell.

What a dizzy dance, whoa oh oh oh oh oh

CUTTO: Sonny Silver hitting Shawn Stewart with a chair.

This sweetness will not be concerned with me.

CUTTO: An explosion, and a rapid fire of all PRIME superstars.

No the sweetness will not be concerned with me.

CUTTO: More pictures.

No the sweetness will not be concerned with me.

CUTTO: White.

GFX: Great American Nightmare 2006.

GFX: The Nightmare begins...

GFX: NOW.

Vince Howard: The following is our opening contest, scheduled for one fall, and is for the PRIME INTENSE CHAMPIONSHIP!!!

Nick: I think I've baffled even myself in explaining just how Damien Cruz came to win the Intense championship, but one thing I am certain of is that this isn't exactly the match I'd want as my 1st defence!

Richard: That's because you're a weak, pampered American wad of cookie-dough!

Nick: Oh, please, it's bad enough when she's spouting off the pro-China propaganda.

Richard: Propaganda? You wanna know why Pandas won't breed here? AMERICA MAKES THEM SICK! They'd rather be extinct than have their offspring live in such a debauched society! They're proud, noble creatures who live on Bamboo... we probably try to feed them Cheese-steaks.

A glowing red emanates from behind the stage of the darkened arena as the Deftone's "Hexagram" starts up. Wasting no time, Damien Cruz steps out onto the stage, Intense belt around his waist, before the sight of the champ is obscured by red and white sparks pouring down from the tron.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the champion: Currently residing in Brooklyn, New York... weighing in at 215 pounds... HE IS THE PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION... "THE LATIN ASSASSIN" DAMIEN CRUZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

Out through the deluge of glimmering pyro the champion strides, focussing only on the ring as the lights come back up. Despite the fans leaning over the rails either side of the aisle, Cruz simply pumps a fist in their direction, not wanting to break his concentration. Hopping up onto the apron, Cruz looks out to the eager fans, before springing over the top cable and into the ring.

Nick: Many are calling Cruz the underdog in this match, but make no mistake, he's mastered the art of Lucha Libre, and Sun Tzu won't be too happy if she things she can out-brawl him.

As the Max Newell takes the belt from Cruz, displaying it to the crowd, red pyro fires from the entrance like an assault on the sky. As the beat of 'Learn Chinese' drops, Sun Tzu, the Artist of War, steps through the cloud of smoke and makes her way down the aisle.

'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!'

The PRIME fans jeer rabidly as the screens either side of the stage show a Chinese flag rippling in the wind... they then up it a notch as the Artist of War herself emerges into the red arena.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, the challenger: Hailing from the people's Republic of China.. weighing in at 143 pounds... THE ARTIST OF WAR... SUNNNNN TZUUUUUUUUUUU!

'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!'

As Sun Tzu reaches the foot of the aisle, referees Max Newell and Jimmy Turner block her path to the ring. With Newell ordering the Artist of War to hold her arms out to the sides, Turner gives her the once over with a handheld metal detector, setting off a frantic beeping akin to a heart-monitor on Kimbusa whenever he stands up. As Max orders her to declare her arsenal, Tzu reluctantly hands over a Norinco QSZ-92, a forearm-mounted retractable blade, a throwing star, and what appears to be a hand grenade.

Sun Tzu: It's a flashbomb, flabby civilian.

Despite her protests, the projectile is confiscated, leaving Mao's Little Red Bitch with only a few goodies left, including handcuffs and what appears to be a can of pepper-spray. Looking like a child who's just had her favourite toy snatched away, Tzu stamps her feet and stares fiercely at Newell in that 'you're going on the list' kind of way. Watching from the ring as the officials try to limit his challenger's likelihood of committing in-ring homicide, Cruz takes advantage of the stips his belt brings, and forgoes the need for a bell.

Nick: You can bet all this is just an attempt to intimidate the Intense champion by Sun Tzu, but it looks as if he's about to use the distraction against her!

Sprinting across the ring, Cruz showcases his athleticism in leaping onto the top cable, balancing just long enough to get enough purchase on his launch, before flying off with a Shooting Star Press into the crowd below. Only just clearing the two officials, not that it appears that it was his intention, Cruz ploughs into Sun Tzu, at the same time sending the confiscated hoard of weapons flying up the aisle.

Nick: I think we need to add a new rule to Intense matches... you MUST wait for the bell if there are things that explode around ringside!

Richard: So that'll count to Illustrious Face-Eater matches then.

Newell and Turner duck-and-cover, half expecting something to detonate.

Hopping up to his feet, Cruz notices Tzu crawling towards her Norinco QSZ-92 handgun, so hastily has to rush and baseball slide the weapon away from her eager hand, sending it sliding against the safety barrier. Eager to collect a souvenir, a young fan reaches over the rail and retrieves the handgun, holding it up proudly to his horrified mother.

Young Mommy: Look, Mommy, I'm Sun Tzu!

Richard: Man, that's one kid who'll be 'falling down the stairs' tomorrow.

Deciding that even the smallest of differences between fans entering the arena alive and leaving in the same state would be a PR disaster even greater than the Tony Danza debacle, a PRIME security detail flood the aisle way. With fans fleeing the sight of a child gleefully pretending to be the Artist of War, a trio of PRIME security urge him to hand over the weapon, while their colleagues clear away the other goodies Sun Tzu brought with her.

Sun Tzu: You bleach that piglet's trotter-prints off my toy!

As the ringside area is hastily demilitarised, Cruz once again takes advantage of the distracted Sun Tzu, rushing past her to leap up onto the guardrail. Springing back off, Cruz snares Tzu's arm in flight, sending her flying across the aisle with an Armdrag. Again fighting fire with fire, going aerial against the Chinese Air Force, Cruz hops onto the barrier and flies off with a Moonsault, catching Sun as she staggers up. Despite rules being less than paramount, the referees direct the action back towards the ring, but the Latin Assassin doesn't even want to give Tzu a few seconds walking to the ring to recover.

Nick: Since debuting in PRIME, Sun Tzu has beaten all-comers by just overwhelming them with a seemingly endless onslaught of kicks and submissions. But tonight, she's in there with someone who can match her for speed, and is more than happy to brawl.

Richard: We'll see how happy to brawl he is when she kicks his face inside out!

A pair of forearms subdue a rising Artist of War, knocking her back into range for Cruz to showcase his vertical leap and connect with a Dropkick, before absorbing the landing on the aisle by tucking in for a forward roll. Always relishing the moments when Sun Tzu is too busy being beaten up to open her mouth and spew Mao's propaganda, the crowd get behind Cruz.

Dropping back against the safety barrier, Tzu then has to swallow some of her own medicine as Cruz lands a kick to the outside of her him, then another to the body. More than happy to engage in a striking match, the Artist of War retaliates with a stiff kick across Cruz's chest, then follows it up with a palm-trust that catches a glancing blow off Cruz's forehead. The PRIME fans, always eager to see two of the roster just go back and forth and smack the shit out of each other, rise in volume, instigating it further.

Nick: I know this match has few rules, but neither look like they need any weapons to just wail on each other!

Richard: Cruz looks like he's playing Tekken by just button-bashing, while Tzu is doing it with grace and style.

Knocked off-balance, Cruz manages to recover by scoring a spinning back kick to Sun Tzu's ribs, then follows it up with a trio of lacerating knife-edges chops. Visibly wincing, Tzu replies to the volley with a front-kick to the knee, forcing Cruz to stoop down and grab the limb, allowing her to swing a kick right at his temple. With the Artist of War's heavy boot scoring a blow on his pressure point, Cruz is send stumbling back allowing Tzu to rush forward and almost behead him with a Yakuza Kick.

Richard: I'm waiting for the day when she does that, and a guy's head just flips back like a toilet seat!

A groggy Cruz slides down the ramp as he tries to shake the cobwebs loose, now having the unenviable first-hand experience of how hard the Artist of War can hit.

Not giving him any chance to recover between blows, Sun Tzu connects with a Baseball Slide Dropkick to the side of the head, giving Cruz that little extra helping hand back down to the foot of the aisle. Scrambling away from the approaching Tzu, the Latin Assassin wisely reaches up to grab the bottom rope, and drags himself back into the ring.

Sun Tzu scoffs, almost insulted that her opponent would think it's any safer between the ropes.

Nick: This is the smart thing to do here by Cruz. He's someone who'll fare better surrounded by the ropes, rather than stranded on the outside.

Richard: A kick to the face hurts the same outside the ring as it does inside, Nick.

Onto the apron the challenger hops, grabbing the top rope and lining up the champion. Just as Cruz gets to his feet, Tzu springboards onto the cable, then flings herself off to score with a brutal knee strike to the side of the rising Cruz's head. Never staying still for even a split-second, Tzu lets her momentum carry her out through the opposite set of ropes, before again springboarding onto the top rope. With a stunned Cruz swaying from side to side, Tzu springs off onto his shoulders, then snaps him over with a Huricanrana, catching the legs.

"ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!"

As Cruz kicks out, Sun Tzu seizes on the push he gives her and rebounds off the ropes, launching feet-first into her opponent's face as he rolls over on the canvas. Grabbing his nose, Cruz scrambles up, only for Sun Tzu to leap onto his shoulders, and bring him back down with a Victory Roll.

"ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!"

The ringside fans taunt Tzu by signing the two count for her benefit, a gesture she replies to by flinging her right boot back as she stands, catching Cruz across the jaw with another harsh strike. Seeking shelter from the storm, Cruz crawls towards the corner, only for the Artist of War to stalk him all the way to the buckles. As the groggy champion pulls himself up, Sun Tzu unloads with a vicious volley of kicks to the body, softening him up for an Uraken.

Just having enough of his wits about him to see what's coming, Cruz bobs his head just under the strike, managing to catch his challenger with an STO as a counter, bouncing Tzu's head off the top turnbuckle.

Nick: And that's something that caught the Artist of War by surprise! Cruz is one of the quickest on the PRIME roster, so the moment she gets complacent, he'll punish her.

Richard: Complacent? You, a podgy, pampered American are calling her complacent? I heard she used to have to walk 44 miles every morning to get milk, and break rocks by hand to put on the fire to stay warm!

Nick: Rocks... on a fire?

Richard: Not everyone has wood, Nick. No wonder you Americans are so weak.

Nick: Feel free to take off your mic any time... it was made in America.

Richard: Then it will probably die by the time I’ve finished spea-

Nick: Your mic didn't die, you just stopped talking... which I can't believe I'm complaining about.

Grabbing her forehead, Mao's Little Red Bitch stumbles backwards, allowing Cruz to hop up onto the middle rope, then spring off to spike his challenger's skull into the canvas with a Tornado DDT. Wary of her ground-based submissions, Cruz doesn't instantly go to cover Tzu, instead dragging her up by the hair, then whipping her into the ropes. Dropping down to the canvas, Cruz goes to make the challenger leap over him, but instead Tzu hops up and goes to score a double-stomp to the spine.

Sensing it just in time, Cruz rolls to the side, avoiding the brutal stomp. Stepping her left leg over him, Tzu sets herself up for a second attempt, only for Cruz to kick his leg up, catching her with a boot to the small of her back. Holding her spine, Tzu's body straightens up, letting Cruz again showcase his agility by leapfrogging over her and into the middle rope. At home on the cables, Cruz springs to the top, then springs back off with a Flying Forearm, landing mounted on his challenger to land another flurry of blows.

Nick: The Chinese Air Force is finding out that Mexicans aren't too bad in the air either!

Managing to block or deflect most of Cruz's strikes, Sun Tzu swings her legs up to trap Cruz in a triangle choke.

Before the Latin Assassin can break off, the Artist of War hooks her feet, locking the hold in, before grabbing Cruz's arm and extending her body. Feeling the circulation to his head restricted, the Intense champion attempts to pull himself back out of the hold, but his challenger has it locked in tightly, so that he's almost lifting her up off the canvas. Seeing it as his only way out, Cruz plants his feet onto the canvas and straightens himself, enduring the strain on his lower back to deadlift Mao's Little Red Bitch.

Richard: It's futile! He's barely able to lift her, and his head is already looking like it's about to swell up and go POP!

Nick: I'll admit she has the choke locked in perfectly, but our champion is resourceful, and he's not about to give up if there's even a chance he can break out.

Sitting up as she's lifted, Tzu readies herself to snap backwards as if for a Huricanrana, only for Cruz to surge forward and rush the turnbuckles, crushing the Artist of War between himself and the corner with a crude Powerbomb.

But, despite the sickening collision, Sun Tzu keeps the hold applied.

Visibly struggling in the triangle, face taking on a purple hue, Cruz again tries to deadlift his opponent, but as he has her halfway, he drives her down into the canvas and flips forward, managing a cover.

"ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!"

Waiting until the last split second, the Artist of War finally releases the hold, then grabs the back of her neck where Cruz's attempted escapes were focused.

Both champion and challenger rise together, each firing off a kick to slow the other, before Cruz yanks Sun Tzu by the hair into a European Uppercut. Taking advantage of the relaxed rules, Cruz keeps a hold of the hair, entangling his fingers in it, before scoring a second uppercut. Tzu tries to break away, but rather than leaving the Intense champion with a large clumps of black hair in his hand, she tries to strike her way out... but every time she's poised to fire off a kick or punch, Cruz yanks at her mane.

Finding that not playing things entirely fairly is working out for him, Cruz rushes the ropes and vaults them, dropping down to the mats as he finally releases Tzu's hair, hotshotting her throat across the top ropes. As the Artist of War is flung back towards the middle of the ring, Cruz looks to his right hand where strands of Sun's mane are still woven around his fingers.

Hopping onto the apron, Cruz climbs to the top as Tzu staggers up, holding her throat and neck... then he flips down to catch his challenger with an Overcastle Neckbreaker.

"ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!"

Having found a body part to work on, Cruz again pulls Sun Tzu up by the hair, before taking her over with a Snap Mare. With the challenger sat up in front of him, Cruz scores with a pair of hard kicks to the back of her neck, before rebounding off the ropes to hot a running neck snap... carrying on into the ropes and coming right back with a Dropkick to the face. Throwing his arms up, Cruz tries to whip up some more crowd support as a dazed Sun Tzu rises.

Staying on the neck, Cruz hops onto the middle rope, then springboards off, catching the Artist of War's head to score with a seamless Asai DDT.

"ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!"

Cruz shoots a look to the referee just to plant doubts that it was a slow-count in his mind.

Hearing the fans all on their feet, urging him on against Mao's Little Red Bitch, Cruz feeds off the energy, heading to the corner and springing onto the top turnbuckle in one motion. Facing the crowd, Cruz checks back over his shoulder to check where the rising Tzu is, before flinging himself high up into the arena air with a tumbleweed... only for Tzu to flick out her right arm. As Cruz goes to connect with his challenger, Tzu lashes out with her right arm, sending the champion crash-landing beside her, holding his ribs.

Nick: What the?

As the fans hurl abuse at the ring, Tzu full reveals an extendable baton from her sleeve, smiling creepily as she tosses it playfully like a majorette.

Nick: Where did that come from?

Richard: Carbon Fibre, troglodyte! No metal detector is going to find that... not that it's even illegal here.

Nick: Well, Cruz was relying on his own body for attacks, but you can't fault Tzu for being resourceful and using the relaxed rules to her favour.

She swings it down, connecting right on the elbow of the Latin Assassin. As he howls, another blow lands on his shoulder. Snarling like a beast, Sun Tzu grips the baton with both hand and presses it against the throat of Damien Cruz. His body thrashes as the hard metal is pushed down, the lack of air making his lungs burn. Sun Tzu tosses the baton aside, narrowly missing the referee, and locks the triangle choke once more on Cruz’s tortured arm and throat.

Cruz’s free arm goes up in the air. Sun Tzu knows he is about to tap, so she gleefully squeezes harder. But the hand in the air becomes a fist, one that is driven into the head of the Artist of War. She gets hit again and again, dazing her briefly. Its enough time for Cruz to deadlift her up and run to the ropes, dumping her over and to the floor. Sun Tzu lands awkwardly on her head and neck lying motionless as her adversary kneels in the ring, clutching his arm as he enjoys the feeling of breath again.

Nick: As lethal as Tzu is, she' still the lightest member of the PRIME roster, and Cruz has exploited that by lifting her up in these submissions.

Richard: Someone give her some weights, we'll anchor her down!

Slowly, a clearly loopy Sun Tzu gets to her hands and knees. Damien Cruz is standing up, then he is springing to the top rope. He leaps off into a somersault guillotine legdrop, his calf slamming Sun Tzu’s face into the ground. The Last Son of Lucha Libre struggles up, feeling the toll of both the match and that move. He limps over to the ring steps and gives them a few kicks, clearing them away from the corner.

Returning to his unmoving opponent, Damien Cruz uses his good arm to drag her up. He bends over and uses leverage to get Sun Tzu across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He takes a few steps back to give himself room, then Cruz charges towards the steps with his unlikely passenger. Just as he reaches the steps, Cruz jumps and rolls forward, slamming Sun Tzu’s back into the steel as his weight is driven into her chest. Damien Cruz lands sitting on the ground, but Sun Tzu is flailing on the ring steps like a fish on the deck of a boat.

Cruz takes hold of Sun Tzu and rolls her into ring. Sliding in after her, he throws himself on top of her battered body.

"ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!"

The Latin Assassin actually smiles a bit and raises an eyebrow. Then he rises to his feet and slaps the thigh of his right leg. He motions for Sun Tzu to rise, but she is low to do so. She manages to pull herself up rope by rope, stopping to lean against them and spit out a ad of something red. Cruz grabs her arm and whips her to the opposite side of the ring, standing ready to deliver the DragonFire Kick. But the Artist of War stops her motion by grabbing the ropes. Sun Tzu bitterly curses at Cruz while she rubs her hand on the crotch of her shorts and flicks her fingers at him. The Latin Assassin charges at her to spear her into oblivion, but Sun Tzu falls to the mat. Cruz flips over the ropes and outside the ring, but his neck gets caught and trapped by the twisted top and middle ropes. The legs of the Latin Assassin kick as he struggles to get loose.

Nick: Oh no...

Richard: Get some ice, Cruz is about to leave with less ears than he entered with!

Sun Tzu sits up and points at Damien Cruz, the ropes strangling him as effectively as a hangman’s noose. Rising, she gives him a forearm to the back of his head, then an elbow. Another elbow is followed by yet another. A fourth is driven into the back of Cruz’s skull, then a knee strike does the same to a man fighting to save himself from choking to death. Mao’s Little Red Bitch staggers over to her discarded baton. Weapon in hand, she yells as she rushes toward him and clubs him with the baton. Cruz’s valiant struggles are getting weaker as the loss of air and repeated attacks overwhelm him. Sun Tzu’s arm is raised for another blow when the referee grabs the baton. He tires to appeal to whatever humanity the Artist of War has. Her response is to shove the referee to the mat, but at least he manages to take the baton with him. Undeterred, Sun Tzu runs the ropes and delivers another of her dangerous Yakuza kicks to the cranium of Damien Cruz. The impact knocks him free from the deadly grips of the ropes and he falls to the floor like a rag doll.

Nick: That was just sickening.

Richard: I know, we really give people their money's worth.

Nick: Yeah, who cares about sportsmanship, huh? Obviously not China, since their women swimmers are on enough growth hormone to give them chest hair and voice deeper than a baritone.

The Chinese Air Force climbs to the top rope and perches there like a bird of prey. Damien Cruz is on his knees, every breath setting his lungs on fire. Sun Tzu doesn’t even allow him the dignity of getting to his feet. She leaps off and somersaults before nailing Cruz with a snap kick. He falls back like he had just been shot. The fans at ringside are really giving it to her and Sun Tzu is giving it right back. She turns back and sees Cruz pulling himself up by the apron. Sun Tzu mockingly slaps her thigh, then aims a spinning superkick right at the Last Son of Lucha Libre. But the only thing she connects with is the fire extinguisher Cruz had pulled from under the ring while she was jawing with the fans. The heavy steel slams into her shin, making Sun Tzu scream in agony as the sick sound of metal and bone colliding rings. Seeing her hopping around on one foot, Cruz blasts her with the extinguisher, the foam overwhelming her in a wet, white cloud.

Nick: There, avoid making that obvious joke you'd crack about any other female when it's Mao's Little Red Bitch on the receiving end!

Richard I will keep a dignified silence.

The Latin assassin stops to shake loose some cobwebs, holding the back of his head. Cruz feels a wetness there and looks at his hand, seeing red all over his palm. The sight lights a fire in his eyes. He walks over to where Sun Tzu lies blinded. As he is about to grab her, she suddenly yanks him into the ring post, his heading hitting steel. Seeing her opponent fall to the ground, Sun Tzu rolls into the ring. She pulls herself up, clearly limping, and yells at the referee to count Damien Cruz out. He informs her there are no count-outs in this match, much to Sun Tzu’s displeasure. She rolls back out of the ring and limps over to where Vince Howard sits and pulls him off his chair by his lapels. Steel chair in hand, Sun Tzu goes back into the ring.

Sun Tzu hits the canvas with the chair and screams for Damien Cruz to get in the ring. Slowly, the Last Son of Lucha Libre crawls under the ropes. Sun Tzu is shaking with excitement, she waits impatiently for her prey to pull himself up. Finally, Cruz is standing on rubbery legs. Sun Tzu screams and charges, chair held high. She swings… but Damien Cruz dodges. Sun Tzu turns back towards him only to have the Latin Assassin use the DragonFire Kick to slam the chair into her face. Sun Tzu falls to the canvas with the chair beside her.

An exhausted Damien Cruz drags Sun Tzu up. He hooks one of her legs while having his other arm around her neck. He is about to lift Sun Tzu up when he suddenly feels an agonizing pain in his leg. He releases Sun Tzu and looks at his thigh… and the small jade knife that’s in it.

Nick: What the hell is that?

Richard: Looks like Sun Tzu found a way past that metal detector! Pretty sneaky, sis!

He glares up at the Artist of War, who smiles evilly before blasting him in the skull with the steel chair. Cruz falls to the canvas, dead to the world. Sun Tzu traps his head in the chair like a vice, then limps over to the corner.

Nick: This looks bad.

Richard: Only if you’re Damien Cruz. The kids will be slapping this all over YouTube until Worth sends in his lawyers.

Somehow, the Chinese Air Force leaps from the canvas to the turnbuckle. One leg is obviously shaky, but Sun Tzu still takes a moment to fire a bloody wad of spit into the crowd. Then she leaps off, arcing and twisting through the air until slamming the hard soles of her boots onto the chair wrapped around the head of Damien Cruz. He thrashes briefly, then is still.

Nick: Diplomatic immunity or not, Sun Tzu has just murdered Damien Cruz!

The Artist of War throws the battered chair aside. A stream of blood flows from the mouth of Damien Cruz. Sun Tzu makes the cover, driving her forearm into the Latin Assassin’s already traumatized skull.

"ONE!

TWO!

THREE!"

The crowd remain silent, not eve hurling their usual batch of insults towards the Artist of War. As soon as he's finished calling for the bell, the referee signals to the back for medical help, while Sun Tzu crosses Cruz's arms across his chest, offering to make it easier for them to carry his remains away.

Vince Howard: Your winner, and NEW PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION... SUN TZU!!!

With the concerned crowd still observing their silence as medical personnel flood the ring, Tzu seems unflustered by it all, simply sliding to the outside and taking the belt herself.

Nick: Ladies and Gentlemen, we've just seen what one of the most lethal and resourceful members of the PRIME roster can do when we take away the rules... and the result wasn't pretty.

Richard: I don't think we'll find too many people knocking down Chet Worth's door to ask for an Intense Title shot next week on ReVolution.

As a stretcher is slid into the ring, Tzu just strolls around ringside with her newly won belt, before wiping more blood from her mouth, smearing it across her cheek like fresh lipstick.

This was not an ordinary night for Vangelus Olsig.

With a firm grip on his champaign bottle, he steadily made his way down the corridor. Sweat dripped from his brows profusely, signaling his nervous state of mind heading into what is expected to be the biggest night of his career. His third, and hopefully charmful, shot at the PRIME Universal Championship.

The first go around, he'd failed. It was a fact in which he'd learned to deal with. The second time around, he saw it slip through his hands after an attack from Nova. But now, with this third chance came redemption. With this third chance came an opportunity to prove all of the critics, even that one inside of himself, wrong. He wouldn't fail this task...

He couldn't.

"Hey, Vangelus!"

SHATTER!

The voice rattled Vangelus, causing him to drop the champagne bottle thus sending it shattering across the concrete floor. Still shaken a bit, he yanked himself around in order to lay claim to the person who'd nearly brought him out of his shoes.

Vangelus Olsig: BLAIRE!?! What the fu-...I mean...just help me clean this mess up.

Blaine Blaire: Did I startle you, Mr. Olsig?

Vangelus Olsig: Yes...I mean y-..no...

Blaine Blaire: Are you alr-...

Vangelus Olsig: I'M FINE!

Blaine Blaire: You seem a bit shake-...

Vangelus Olsig: I said I'm fine! Now if you don't mind, help me pick up this crap.

With little courage to respond, Blaine Blaire joined Vangelus on the ground as they both proceeded to tidy the mess in which had just been made.

Vangelus Olsig: Ah shit!

Blaine Blaire: What's the matter?

Vangelus Olsig: I cut myself.

Ceasing to engage in conversation for the moment, Blaire watched as Olsig panicked, attempting to clean the blood in which had stained his palms. He could tell something wasn't right. Before him was not the Vangelus Olsig in which he'd come to know over the years.

Blaine Blaire: Mister Olsig, if you don't mind me saying...you seem a bit...timid.

Vangelus Olsig: I made a boo-boo...I'd hardly label that timid.

Blaine Blaire: Yes, but you...you just don't seem yourself.

Vangelus Olsig: I'm every bit of myself, Chet...I mean Lis-...Argh.

Blaine Blaire: It's the match isn't it...

Suddenly, Olsig paused for a moment, shifting his glance towards that of Blaine's.

Vangelus Olsig: Wh-...what do you mean?

Blaine Blaire: You're nervous about the big title match tonight.

Vangelus Olsig: I'm not nervous! Look at me...I'm Vangelus Olsig, baby! Longest reigning champion in the history of this company. I'm better than ever, Blainey...can't you see that?

Blaire simply glanced at Olsig, granting a look that implied his ability to see right through Olsig's scheme.

Vangelus Olsig: Alright...maybe I'm a little nervous. It's just, after this...what's left? What if I fail? It took me almost three years to get this opportunity, and if I manage to fail, I'll most likely never get it again.

Blaire pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his pants as he sauntered over to Olsig's side, placing a hand upon his counter-parts shoulder.

Blaine Blaire: And what if you win. What if you prove all your critics wrong? What if you defy the odds and finally reach the goal in which you've been fighting for all this time? What if you conquer all of the obstacles placed before you and finally realize your dream of being Universal Champion?

Vangelus Olsig: I-...I never thought of it like that.

Blaine Blaire: Of course you haven't. People have labeled you a failure so much so to the point where you're beginning to believe it. But you're not a failure, Vangelus...and the only thing stopping you from reaching that elite pinnacle is yourself.

Vangelus simply shook his head in approval.

Blaine Blaire: So how do you feel now...champ?

Taking a moment, he relished on it for a moment.

Vangelus Olsig: I feel...I feel...I feel like you should get your fucking hands off of me!

Blaire drew up, obviously taken back by the sudden change in attitude. He found himself snatched up by the collar and pinned against the wall by the dastardly Vangelus Olsig.

Vangelus Olsig: I don't need good-will charm from a scumbag like you! I don't need a creep like you to tell me that I'm the best. I KNOW I'm the best and I'll be damned if I have sink so low to the point where a peasant such as yourself has to remind me of that!

And with his face having turned multiple shades of red, Vangelus released his grip on Blaire, allowing the corporate figure to slowly slide down the wall until he hit the grounding below, obviously still in shock. Vangelus brushed his palms and braced himself for his anti-climatic exit.

Vangelus Olsig: Now if you'll excuse me, I have a match to prepare for.

Granting Blaire a farewell wink, he retired to his locker room, never to be seen again until his moment arrived.

A moment that he would not...could not ruin.

If anything, the Great American Nightmare was a starting point for the rest of the year. Soon, new talent would be rising up the ranks, replacing those of Sirrajin, Tchu, Nova and Olsig. Ignatius Lisieux left, and thank God for that. Karina Wolfenden was supposed to return any day now, but, thanks to record snowfalls in Norway, she's not coming now. Danny Ferguson sit in a jail cell, quite possibly becoming someone's man-bitch, and the murder of the Illustrious Face Eater had been solved.

Yes, it was a good few months for Chet Worth, and they were only going to get better.

That is, they should have gotten better, if it hadn't been for something he hadn't forseen.

A segment rife with gay innuendoes behind closed doors.

Worth: NO! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!

Male Voice: Dude, come on. I need your help. I'm real close anyways.

Worth: NO! YOU CANNOT HAVE ME, GODDAMNIT! I'M YOUR BOSS

Male Voice: Come on, lemme just go inside you for a little bit, and I promise, when we're done, I'll pull myself out.

Worth: ...Promise?

Male Voice: Bro, you've got my word. Listen. I really wanna just get inside you for a few minutes anyways. That burrito I saw down there made my mouth water, and now, I want to chow down on that tasty treat. Okay?

Worth: Fine. Should I take my pants off?

Male Voice: Uhhh... what the fuck?

Worth: Well, how the hell do you get inside someone?

And with that line, the door opens, showing Chet Worth with a projected image of the Illustrious Face Eater on the wall.

IFE: Dude, you thought I did some gay ass faggoty shit to take over? That's so fucking gay. You're gay, aren't you?

Worth: Fine. Fuck your tacos, bitch.

IFE: Okay, fine. And it was burritos, but, whatever. I'll just take over without your consent. I did it to Tsonda, dude.

Worth: Dude, if possess me or whatever the fuck it is, I'll kill you.

IFE: Yeah? Nice. I'm already dead, dickhead.

Worth: Can we get this over with? I have a company to run.

IFE: Fine. Here goes.

And by all the magic of a fourth grade play, the projected image of the Face Eater overlays with the body of Chet Worth, and the overhead projector is shut off, the possession complete.

Worth: That's it?

IFE: That's it. What the fuck did you think it was?

Worth: I dunno. I expected something different.

IFE: People already hated me blowing up in the middle of the ring. I don't think I want to know what they'd say if I like, turned into vapor and went up your nose.

Worth: Right.

IFE: Now, you can drive, can't you tubby?

Worth: Yeah.

IFE: Excellent. Then get your ass to a Taco Bell, and a twenny-twen-twen.

Worth: I'm not smoking weed.

IFE: You won't be. I'll be smoking it.

Worth: Oh, alright.

IFE: Idiot.

Worth: Fuck you.

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS THE STIFF-FEST '06 FOUR-WAY DANCE! IN THIS MATCH, ALL FOUR MEN WILL BE ALLOWED IN THE RING AT THE SAME TIME AND A WINNER MUST BE DECLARED VIA ONE FALL TO A FINISH!

Four men killing one another.

Four men battling with nothing more than pride on the line.

Shawn Stewart.

Vangellus Oxios.

Sonny Silver.

Hessian.

The battle between four guys that hit really fucking hard.

The only rules for this match being that all four men would be allowed in the ring at once and THERE MUST BE A WINNER. That's right, I'm yelling as much as Vinny-How. It's worth it.

Let's get it on.

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

"3 Doors Down" by Kryptonite.

Vince Howard: THE FIRST COMPETITOR IN THIS FOUR-WAY DANCE HAILS FROM LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY! HE WEIGHS IN AT 240 POUNDS… THE KING OF THE CAGE… THE PANTHER… SHAWN STEWART!

The overly-decorated curtains for tonight's PPV proceedings part and give way to a man who'd fought adversity, doubt, and crazy people threatening his family at some point in order to get to where he is today. Former OSF Champion, former RPW Mid-South Champion, former fWo Hardcore Champion. Shawn Stewart was in the house and the fans give him a big round of applause.

Wearing his traditional combat gear with his red and black warm-up jacket, Shawn Stewart gives a once-over to the fans cheering him on throughout this arena. Truth be told, Shawn was a man of pride. It's been said that if need be, he'd represent the federation he called home if it meant wrestling in an empty arena for free. He didn't do this for adoration; he did this to prove he's got it.

With a look of determination to win, he walks up the steps and climbs through the ropes. Taking in his surroundings one last time, he throws his jacket to the side before adjusting his wrist tape. He gets himself ready for what will be his biggest test in PRIME to date by shadow boxing in the corner.

Nick: Well, here comes the first of four competitors. When Shawn Stewart gets into that really focused mindset, it's really a double negative. On the one hand, he's nearly unstoppable when he's got his mind set on supplying damage. On the other, it makes him see with tunnel vision that could lead to him getting jumped in this four-way match.

Richard: For those who aren't fluent in Nickanese, he's saying that Shawn's gotta choke a bitch and keep an eye over his shoulder while doing so.

"In 2 Deep" by Kenny Wayne Sheppard.

Coming out next was the perennial fan favorite known by a few names. Van. The Whole Freaking SHO. Sky High Oxios. But to his fans, he was simply Vangellus Oxios…

…Yeah, I know. Rolls right off the tongue, don't it?

Howard: AND THE FIRST OF THE OPPONENTS, HAILING FROM WINDSOR, ONTARIO, CANADA! WEIGHING IN AT 205 POUNDS, HE IS THE WHOLE FREAKING SHO… VANGELLUS OXIOS!

Nevertheless, dressed for combat in a customized Van World Order singlet, the quirky high-flyer throws out huge thumbs up and a salute to the fans cheering him on. The last couple weeks, he'd held his own in a couple bouts involving skilled veterans of wrestling and fighting with Silver, Stewart, and Hessian. He previously made a declaration to his fans that he was going to win this match and get his singles career on the right track and no better way than against veterans. In RPW as the last Eclipse Champion, Van thrived in the crazy environment of clusterfuck matches and tonight, he'd need to use his speed and that previous experience to survive and win the Stiff-Fest '06.

Richard: BOO! BOO! Get the hook already, this skinny dumbass should fly off a cliff… Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME banned flying!

Nick: I'll say this one more time, HE'S NOT THE CHAIRMAN!

Richard: Lies! Next, you'll tell me Hoyt isn't really a deity too look up to and Chandler Tsonda isn't a fashion star that people like to emulate.

He does a pretty big leap onto the apron, then slingshots himself with a flip and lands impressively on his feet. He takes a bow to the audience and looks in Stewart's direction before continuing on to his corner.

Dim lights

Blue hue throughout the arena.

Guitar riff.

"No Chance" by Dope.

Nick: This is one miserable and deluded human being… you see how he treated SNOW of all people last week?

Richard: Get with the times, Richard. That guy was SO 1992.

Nick: Different Snow, buddy.

Coming to the ring dressed in a sleeveless black leather trenchcoat with the "§" symbol adorning the chest, the third combatant heads to the ring.

Howard: NEXT, HAILING FROM HONOLULU, HAWAII BY WAY OF SEATTLE, WASHINGTON… WEIGHING IN AT 249 POUNDS! HE IS THE SILVER LINING OF PRIME… Mr. Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

The hugely deluded asshole heads to the ring, adjusting the black tape around his wrists. Sonny made a career out of breaking bodies with a very impactful style in the ring and tonight, he looks to continue the trend. He walks up the steps and saunters across the apron before climbing into the ring with a shit-eating grin. He takes his coat off and hangs it over one of the turnbuckles and exchanges a few inaudible words with Oxios and Stewart before the final man comes out.

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead.

Howard: AND THE LAST OPPONENT! HAILING FROM DETROIT, MICHIGAN! WEIGHING IN AT 315 POUNDS, HE IS THE CONSTRUCTION OF DESTRUCTION, HESSIAN!

An explosion of red flames flickers brightly as the tallest and strongest man in this match makes his way out from the back. He takes in the sight of the three men placed before him and grins evilly. THIS is the environment he wanted. Four men battling it out for bragging rights and a legal reason to spread blood. Von Kelsig declared a couple weeks ago that his Dark Gimmick side was over and now looked to simply dominate and spread his name via destruction. He could very well do it, as seen in the past.

Richard: If this guy doesn't at least spill SOMEBODY'S blood, I'm getting my money back.

Nick: You didn't pay for anything.

Richard: Trust me… I paid with emotional investment. And my lawyer tells me that it's worth at least $52 thousand.

A master of many gimmick matches, this one was a little bit unusual for him, but he was willing to fight it all…

Like now.

Nick: Oh, snap! It's on like Donkey Kong, bitches!

Sonny Silver doesn't waste a second. He makes a mad dash for Hessian and the two get into a big fist fight outside the ring. The two continue to brawl until Hessian gets the better of the exchange with a huge uppercut that sent Sonny flying into the barricade. Before he can get to the ring, The Panther entered the fray and catches the big man off-guard completely with a huge kick to the gut that doubles him over. In this state, Shawn ties him up it the Muay Thai clinch and lets him have it with several knees to the face until Sonny gets back in it and FLOORS Shawn with a running Lariat!

With Hessian stunned and Shawn down for the count, Sonny grabs the King of the Cage by the hair and pulls him back to the ring, but before he can even get into the ring, neither man see the oncoming blur of tanned skin belonging to Vangellus Oxios until it's too late, catching both men with a No-Hands Diving Moonsault to the outside!

All three men collapse to the floor making the scene very reminiscent of a car crash.

"PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT!"

Richard: What a move by Vangellus Oxios! This man's got talent on top of talent especially when it comes to death-defying moves like that. He's gotta stay one step ahead of everybody here if he wants to avoid getting a huge beatdown at the hands of any of these bigger men.

Nick: It's a car wreck! Now THAT'S entertainment! None of this Triangles bullshit!

The first man to move is The Whole Freaking SHO himself, standing to a big round of cheering from the audience. He takes a bow in reciprocation of the Pittsburgh crowd when a hand - a colossal one at that - grabs him by the head and turns him around before taking him out of his boots with a big right hand to the jaw.

Now back in the fray, Hessian glares around like a kid in a candy shop as the official has no choice but to ring the bell. Three bodies that he promised to make examples out of come showtime and here was his chance to cement every promise he made two weeks ago.

The self-proclaimed Chairman of PRIME is vehemently dragged to a vertical base only to find himself…

CRASH!

…Eating a whole lot of steel steps as his body sails into the unforgiving steel.

Richard: And Sonny going body-first into those steps! Hessian ain't screwing around tonight!

"Shit…" He mutters under his breath while clutching his face.

Sky High Oxios is the next to feel the wrath of the former Dark Gimmick Extraordinaire, eating a kick to the gut before he wraps his massive palm around Oxios' throat. He powers the flyer up and sends him down to the thin-as-Hell mats with a Chokeslam!

Richard: YAY! The nerd is dead! Long live Hessian!

Nick: It says on the back of your tickets that the old s-h-I-t could hit the fan, people! And it's doing so right now!

The "THUD!" of body bouncing off barely-padded concrete is enough to wake Shawn up to his predicament. Hessian now set his sights upon the Panther and drags him to a vertical base…

"ARGHHH! SHIT!"

The cries of Hessian echo throughout the arena when Shawn BASHES his elbows directly into the eyes of the Construction of Destruction. He had enough… tonight, he was gonna make a statement and he'd have no scruples destroying an eye or kicking a teste to prove it. He never held back before, but tonight was REALLY gonna drive that point home.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

No, druggies aren't present for tonight's show… but Hessian is probably wishing that he had some drugs right now to shake off the pain that his head is in. Shawn pummels him with headbutts over and over again until the giant is dazed enough to be rolled into the ring at long last.

Richard: What is he, Chris Benoit?!

Nick: Shawn's a fighter first in that ring, Richard. This guy could make a weapon out of any part of his body if he wants to.

Richard: Don't give him any ideas, dude…

Shawn throws his body weight into the first pin of the match…

One.

Two.

NO!

Hessian powers out of the cover and sits up, but Shawn puts him back down with a low left kick to the skull. He climbs atop the giant and starts bringing down the right hands like nobody's business in order to weaken him for one of his bigger maneuvers. However, advantage Stewart doesn't last long when he feels a sharp blow to the back of the head, courtesy of a sucker punch by the Silver Lining, now back in the ring. He spits as he looks down at the fallen body of Stewart.

Silver: Bet THAT'S not the first time you've been punched in the back of the head.

Richard: He's violent, witty, AND owns the joint! Could you find a better combination for a wrestler?

Nick: HE DOES N-- oh, just nevermind.

With Shawn down for the moment, Sonny pummels the fallen Hessian with several elbow drops targeted at his face before making a scurry to the second rope, then flying and driving a big knee right into the face of Hessian. He makes a cover on the giant.

ONE!

TWO…

RUNNING DROPKICK!

Richard: And Oxios is back in, possibly saving HESSIAN of all people - a rival of his from RPW - from certain defeat.

Nick: Everybody's fair game, I say.

Oxios recovered from the earlier chokeslam to the outside and rams both feet into Sonny's face vis-à-vis a deadly low dropkick. Once that's out of the way, he makes sure to drive some extra air out of Hessian's lungs by executing some Rapid-fire Double Stomps to the chest. After five or so, he bounces off the ropes and comes back, driving both knees into his sternum with a SUNNY KNEE D!

…Personally, it would've been funnier to hit that move ON Sonny, but what do I know, I'm only writing the match… oh, wait…

Oh, there's another pinfall on Hess. Yippie!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

In this already hard-hitting contest, Hessian had been the victim of three near falls, but had escaped defeat, proving his not-willing-to-die-ness. With the crowd firmly behind Vangellus Oxios at this point, Van takes it upon himself to measure up the giant as he makes a mad dash to the top rope, possibly looking for a moonsault…

Sadly, the poor shilling bastard finds himself getting shoved off the top rope, taking a NASTY RVD-style face plant onto the outside guardrail before crashing down to the arena floor.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Richard: It's what Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, says all along about high-flyers and NASCAR… people only watch to see them crash and burn and Van certainly did! Maybe his brains are all over the concrete, too!

Nick: …

Shawn hates to employ such tactics, but he saw the nuisance known as Oxios and had to get him out of the equation. After taking a second to clear his conscience, Sonny is back on his feet, as is Hessian. The two former rivals of OSF exchanged glances and figured they should eliminate the big man from the equation once and for all so they could concentrate on themselves.

Silver: Don't fuck this up.

Shawn: Same goes for you, prick.

Hessian is still feeling groggy from the effects of the collective effort of three other men whomping him good and isn't going to like the fact that Stewart and Silver seem ready to rush him.

… Well, Sonny actually steps back and watches as a stunned Shawn walks right into the grip of Hessian's KISS OF DEATH! The Chairman of PRIME watched Stewart arch his back in pain from the Tilt-A-Whirl Backbreaker while chuckling.

Richard: AND smart! If I wasn't a fan of the poon that I get all the time, I'd marry that guy.

Nick: Well, it's been so long since you've gotten any, the condoms in your wallet were made by actual Trojans, Rich. I'd say he's your type.

Richard: Har har har, ya prick. It's a TINY dry spell.

Nick: In order to have a dry spell, you had to have had a wet spell, too.

Richard: Double har har har, ya fuck.

Silver: And hence why evil wins… because good is dumb.

After shaking the cobwebs, Hessian follows through with a pinfall attempt.

One!

Two!

Save by Silver!

He grabs Hessian's leg and drags the bigger man off Shawn, then goes for the pinfall himself.

One!

Two!

Save by Hessian!

... Okay, so even Sonny has his "lapse in judgment" moments. Hessian powerfully removes Sonny off of Shawn's fallen body and finds himself in the clutches of a Wheelbarrow… HELLBOUND! Not just that, but the Wheelbarrow Face-First Powerbomb sees Sonny land smack-dab across the chest of The Panther.

Nick: The HellBound onto Stewart while using Sonny… that's some creative genius from Hessian. This man's been in so many different styles of matches and what's scary is his uncanny ability to adapt to everything thrown at him.

Richard: I'm pretty sure that's against the rules to use your boss as a weapon!

While Sonny squirms on the mat and tries to shield his rib cage from further damage, Hessian takes Shawn into the corner and starts using his size 22-E boot to choke the life out of him. Normally we'd tell the ladies that he's single, but really if his size is what I think it is, it's probably not healthy or safe to try to take Hess into any orafice.

... Yeah.

The referee starts counting down, but Hessian makes a point to stop at the count of four, only to start it back up again. The referee counts and Hessian fails to see one more body make his return into the match. With only one leg to stand on, Oxios ran full-steam into the leg of Hessian with a big low dropkick, knocking the giant down to the mat unexpectedly.

Hessian rolls over onto all fours while favoring the right knee; the gears turn in Oxios' head as Shawn remains prone in the corner. A smirk appears on his face as he uses the Detroit native as a springboard, using the extra height to land a NASTY forearm shot right into the mouth of Stewart, opening up a wound!

Nick: That forearm shot was brutal! There's a reason it's called the Stiff-Fest '06!

Richard: Of course YOU would get excited about a match called Stiff-Fest '06…

Oxios looks proud of his handiwork, but he soon feels a pair of hands grab him by the head and THROW him backwards! Sonny comes out of nowhere, dropping Oxios right on the back of his head with a powerful Half-Nelson Suplex that levels the flyer! The Whole Freaking SHO lands on his stomach from the impact and remains in a prone state as Sonny takes the time to celebrate…

Silver: Gotcha, you fucker! This is my airtiAHHHHHH!

The blood-curdling screams coming from our *ahem* Chairman of PRIME are educed from Shawn grabbing hold of him and DRILLING him into the mat with a suplex of his own, the GARRAS DA PANTERA!

Richard: Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, no! You still have a midcard to own! Get back up! Get back up!

Kids, we're gonna play the Pyramid now.

Hessian.

Sonny.

Vangellus.

Kurt Kobain.

THINGS THAT ARE DEAD!

Shawn is the only man on his own two feet right now and to be perfectly honest, he is NOT a happy man right now. He measures up the closest body to him at this moment in time - poor Van - and wastes no motion having seen Sonny drop Oxios on his neck prior to this opportunity. He wraps both arms around the throat of Vangellus and applies a tight-looking Rear Naked Choke, slowly ebbing the life out of The Whole Freaking SHO.

Richard: Sonny and Hessian still seem to be out of sorts! If Van doesn't find a way out of this, this match is as good as done!

Vangellus Oxios never was that good at escaping submissions, and all the world can see it as he flings his arms and legs about to no avail. He's got no idea how to get out of the choke, and he's not going to be able to do much for very long. A proper choke, after 4 seconds, will cause severe discomfort. After 8 seconds, vision blurs and movement becomes labored. After 13 seconds, the conscious brain function ceases. That whole "raise the guy's arm up three times and he makes it on the third try" is more a combination of the victim being lazy and needing time to rest, and the executor of the sleeper hold not having done it right.

Rest assured, nuckas -- Shawn Stewart does chokes like Rachel Ray does "cooking with cute."

And don't deny that Rachel Ray is cute. You know she is.

And we're coming up on second number 9. Vangellus was going to pass out soon enough, but a person tries to avoid that whenever possible. Especially when it can bring about the end of a match. One thing you should know about Oxios is he's not one of those bitch-ass "career nontappers." That's just ghey. Nobody ever looked tough while they were crippled and passed out on the mat. But as for Vangellus, as he has no problems tapping out to a hold that's pwned him, Shawn Stewart doesn't have any problems when he hears--

*TAP TAP TAP*

Stewart is all professional, not evil (I'm looking at you, Sonny) so when he hears the tapout, he has no problem with releasing right away and standing up. It wasn't an easy match, given the raw striking power of the men involved, but he'd come out on top. Perhaps ironically through a submission hold, which doesn't actually live to the billing of STIFF FEST in the strictest sense. But a real competitor wins with whatever he can, not possessing a repertoire of useless "weardown" moves that can't actually win a match for him. The King of the Cage should rightfully win this match; everything he does is equally lethal.

Richard: BEREAVEMENT!

Oh yeah. That tapping? That was Hessian tricking Shawn.

Hessian: I'm not dead yet... just a leg dropkick

Slight miscalculation on Shawn Stewart's part, which leads to the Fireman's Carry Swinging DDT. And then there's the pinfall as Hessian puts in his bid to end the match.

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Nick: Shawn Stewart, The Panther, showed us a lot by escaping that pinfall.

Richard: Shows he's not very bright. When you have a chance to not get hit by Hessian anymore, you take it.

The Goliath (copy/pasting ROCKS!) pulls Shawn Stewart up by a bridging double-choke.

Nick: Lung Blower!

I never understood why it's called the Lung Blower, though. The affect area isn't the lungs at all... it's either the kidneys or the scapula, depending on the placement of the knees. But the lungs? Bleh. Either way, Sonny Silver is back into the match and puts Hess back down with the pulling knee slam that affects the general "back" area. The King of the Cage (somebody get this man a cage, STAT!) rolls over to a corner to create a safe-point to see more attacks coming. Vangellus already did the same thing while the Mercenary of Satan attacked Shawn.

Wait, wasn't he dropping the Dark Gimmick thing? Are these nicknames gonna need an update? Anybody want to get an interview with Hessian after the show to look into this? Ah well.

So The Silver Lining whips Hessian into the corner because Von Kelsig is being a pain and getting back up. Hess reverses it, though, sending in Sonny and following in with a Body Sandwich. Silver falls to the side to avoid, with the Construction of Destruction hitting the top turnbuckle.

Richard: Enzui Lariat in the corner from Sonny Silver, and I need a towel.

Nick: Ew....

Goliath turns around, not down though dazed. Sonny hits him in the corner again with a Yakuza Kick, then crosses the ring to hit Shawn Stewart as well, and to an adjacent corner to score a third kick to the face with Vangellus Oxios.

Richard: The Chairman of PRIME is firmly in control of this match. We all knew that it was his match to win, and now he's doing it Broadway-style with the high kicks to the face.

Nick: Broadway style?

Richard: You know how they kick high unnecessarily.

Nick: No...

Richard: Well, it's not like you pay attention to Broadway anyway.

Nick: What's this have to do with this match? And Sonny Silver is taking time out to proclaim his greatness to the fans now.

Richard: There's always time for that.

So while his three opponents are disoriented and hurting (that comes with the territory) in separate corners, Mr. Silver ascends to the bottom turnbuckle to raise his arms out at the crowd in the one empty corner. Why the bottom turnbuckle? Because only losers go higher than that for no good reason. Even Sonny will only go to the second rope if he's gonna axhandle somebody in the face as a last resort. Going to the second, or top, just to remind people that they should be cheering for him? Madness.

Silver: See this? You people should be erecting statues to me! Cities... I know those take time, don't worry about that right now. But definitely statues! And bring in some foreign sculptors... America doesn't have any good artisans for that.

And backstage, Sun Tzu is begrudgingly in agreement.

Richard: Part of me just wants to dab some of his sweat on myself just to obtain a portion of his power.

Nick: That's sick and unsanitary. You're overachieving on it.

Richard: Laugh on, little man.

Nick: Hahahaha....

And Sonny-- MR. Silver, the Chairman of PRIME and SUPERWRESTLER, steps off of the top turnbuckle and turns around into all THREE of his opponents killifying him in the face with Yakuza Kicks!

Sonny Silver: 3/22/71 - 10/29/06.

Oxios and Shawn Stewart immediately begin trading punches, and we see that now Vangellus is also bleeding from the mouth. The cut across his lip indicates that Sonny Silver is responsible. Hessian does the smart thing, and pins the guy who can't defend himself right now.

One!

Two!

OxioStewart save!

They both change gears quickly, double-teaming to kick the crap out of the Goliath with the soccer kicks. Hess is actually forced to roll out of the ring, and Oxios dives outside with the Tornillo. The Titanic Satanic Insaniac (it's like your standard street prophesier to the 25th power) anticipates and catches Vangellus, executing the Spinebuster on the floor!

Nick: Ouch!

Back in the trainer's area, former wrestler Geiger Thomas is looking at his meager supplies.

Geiger: We're gonna need A LOT more ice.

In the ring, Shawn Stewart pins Mr. Silver.

Nick: This could be it!

Richard: NOOOO!

One!

Two!

CRACK!

Because Hessian isn't actually down and out yet, he can reach right through the ropes and punch The Panther in the face to break the pin. And then, funny thing, Hess actually leans through the ropes, putting his weight on top of the King of the Midcard (that'd be Sonny... at least in his own mind) and demanding that the referee make the pinfall. For reasons of breaching the line of the ropes, it's not allowable. Just funny to see it happen.

Nick: LION'S TRIANGLE!

Shawn Stewart gets back into it in a big way with his signature Triangle Choke. It's also not a legal hold, but because Hessian put himself into the position that makes it illegal, the referee doesn't count to break it, but it won't count for a submission either. And in an extra fortunate twist of fate (of the non-Hardy kind), The King of the Cage has his weight on top of Sonny Silver so that... you guessed it... he's pinning the self-proclaimed Chairman of PRIME.

One!

Two!

Kick/scape! (?)

Nick: What strength! Hessian pulls Shawn Stewart through the ropes within the Triangle submission and whips him into the security wall!

Swinging momentum, side-of-the-head impact. Shawn lets go since, well, he's hurting like fuck right now.

Richard: No, I'm going to choose to believe, thus making it true, that the sheer power of Mr. Silver's "mad kickout skills" helped Hessian to get Stewart out of the ring.

Nick: "Mad kickout skills?"

Richard: Oh yeah. Our Chairman is so gifted that he has mastered over 300 ways to escape a lateral press pin. He tried to impart his wisdom to a pro-wrestling wiki, but they didn't have enough space.

So Hessian goes back into the ring and locks in the Demonizer. The Half-Crab/Anklelock is an effective submission maneuver, but easily broken through use of the ropes. STIFF FEST 06 is driven not by a no-rules environment, but kind of as a jab at the Intense Division match, at least in the sense that these four men can do damage just with their bodies that makes it like a weapons-allowed contest. Having to release the anklelock (though after a count of 4 because he's heel like that), Von Kelsig brings The Silver Lining to his feet. Whip into the ropes, bouncing back into the Chokeslam.

Richard: And Mr. Silver debuts his new move, the Unworthy Beholder!

Known to the rest of us as a simple eye gouge. And really, Silver doesn't have a name for it; Parker is taking liberties. And the SUPERWRESTLER bounces off of the ropes of his own accord this time, returning with a LARIAT!

Richard: Dammit!

Richard is upset because said Lariat did not hit. Actually, Vangellus Oxios makes the questionable decision of saving Hess by executing a Springboard Missile Dropkick. Silver's arm = stinging with pain, and Hessian gets a few extra moments to recover. He sees Sonny in pain in front of him. Chokeslam, drag him up, chokeslam again, and then the choking bridge because he's sadistic like that.

Nick: Low roundhouse kick from Vangellus!

Because Hess probably forgot or didn't notice the guy. One track mind, "hit what's in front of you" kinda thing. The Construction of Destruction falls back down to the mat, trying to get back up. Sonny is down and out, but two chokeslams back to back will do that to you. Van executes a back kick with the right leg to Hess to double him over, following with a kick with the same leg to the chest recoil him up again. Despite a height difference of 10 inches, Oxios still demonstrates power and flexibility in his kicks to throw a roundhouse to the monster's chin with his left leg. Finally, a high jumping standing Enzuigiri puts Kelsig down to all fours.

Richard: He thinks he's impressing anybody with those kicks.

Nick: He is.

Richard: Is not.

Oxios stands on top of Hessian, who's still supported by hands and knees, and double-stomps rapidly on the back. But the Titanic Satanic Insaniac isn't going down. One stomp, two stomps, three stomps four... Five stomps, six and seven and some more. And Hessian, resiliency on display for all, remains in his raised-yet-grounded position without any wavering. Oxios jumps again into the air with a backflip, crashing down with a Moonsault that only hurts him as the Goliath stays exactly how he is.

Richard: Ha!

Nick: Looks like he knocked the wind out of himself that time.

The Mercenary of Satan, being an intelligent man, capitalizes on that by putting Oxios into a standing bow and arrow hold. Van's body is picked off of the ground, stretched backward across Hessian's front bent leg, and this pains the back and ribs. If only this weren't a 4-way match, or the Whole Freaking SHO might have to submit. Fortunately for him, though, he's got other competitors in the match who want to win. Competitors like Shawn Stewart, who put a stop to that with a Snapping Sidekick to Hessian's face.

Nick: What a deadly kick to the face!

Richard: And the ogre is still on his feet!

Hess releases the submission, raising his hands to his face. Shawn shoots in low, popping up with a tight head and arm grip for the headspiking suplex.

Nick: TRUENO!

But Hessian is right up as well, and does a Head and Arm Suplex of his own! And now Shawn Stewart is back up as well!

Richard: They're trading punches! My money's on Hessian.

Hit after hit, fists meet jaws, neither man looking fazed at all by the other. Clearly it's getting to their bodies. Shawn Stewart bleeds rather profusely from his forehead, a gash caused by Hessian's large fist. We know from wrestling that there's a lot of blood that comes out of that spot, but it's not an artery, so while Stewart wears a crimson mask he's not going to die. The former dark gimmick is himself bruising underneath the left eye from the impact.

Shawn ducks underneath one of Hess's punches, shooting to the right leg and picking it up. The giant is at a disadvantage on one leg. Enzuigiri! Stewart goes down from that kick to the side of the head by Hessian, who isn't too much of a flyer but is agile for his size. He stands back up and brings Stewart into a Cobra Clutch-- Shawn escapes.

DEATH VALLEY DRIVER!

The desperation grappling attack from Shawn Stewart leads to the lateral press pinfall by The Panther.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick: Keylock! Stewart used the weak shoulder-raise from Hessian to transition perfectly into the keylock! If Hessian lets himself go back down, he's only going to put himself into a pin, but if he pushes himself up, he allows Shawn Stewart to put more pressure into the submission! Very well done by the King of the Cage!

Very well done indeed, though Oxios is back into it with a Quebrada rotated into a Legdrop There's an incredible arc to it that's granted by his lanky frame, starting off pretty slowly but with a snap at the end of it that makes it effective enough to remove Shawn Stewart from Hessian's body. Van makes the pin on Shawn Stewart.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Failing that, Oxios gets up and falls flat on his face. He, being the high-flyer here, wanted to run to the ropes, but Shawn's blood on the ground causes him to slip and take a dive. Some people can't help but laugh, but that's soon subsided as Mr. Silver returns to the action with a kick to the gut as Vangellus rises, lifting the young buck onto his shoulders with a Fireman's Carry.

Nick: What's he going to do?

Richard: The Chairman wants to win, so we know what he's going to use.

Sonny does in fact have a few moves that make use of the Fireman's Carry as a starting position, but as Richard Parker is correct in his speculation, the Silver Lining opts for his finisher -- The Executive Decision -- wasting no time to throw Oxios up at the torso to clear Silver's head as he lifts his leg HURACANRANA!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Sky High Oxios started his professional wrestling career in Rush Pro Wrestling, and there he revealed himself to have an knack for escaping moves if he had his head in the game. A "prime" example of it just occurred, with him rolling his leg upward ahead of Sonny's intended kick, using the Fireman's Carry as a prophorse position to right himself and scissors Silver's head for the pinning Frankensteiner.

Nick: Amazing! Oxios had Silver's finisher well-scouted!

Richard: He got lucky, and it's not like he won the match or anything.

The Huracanrana is a rather low-impact move compared to everything else they've done in the match, so Mr. Silver is quick to his feet and slaps the taste out of Vangellus's mouth. Shame, his mouth had a pretty good strawberry/pineapple/orange thing going on before that. Van responds with an eye poke which Sonny blocks in the Three Stooges manner. Oxios shrugs and kicks forward to the groin. Even if it would cause a disqualification, Silver thrusts his hands downward and shouts, "NO!"

Richard: No!

And Parker joins him in shouting for some reason. Because of the positioning, Van is facing The Wal*Tron and sees Hessian running in behind him. Oxios drops to his knees, allowing a Lariat to sail over his own head but continue to Sonny Silver. It doesn't knock him out of his boots (which is good because Silver, like Cleveland Brown, has terrible foot odor), because Sonny ducks underneath it as well.

Nick: Dropkick over the top rope!

Vangellus sends Hessian to the floor with the kick to the back. Meanwhile Sonny Silver plays dead on the mat. Why? Because Shawn Stewart is back up and uses his Garganta da Ruptura to kill Vangellus. Shawn Stewart makes the pinfall.

One!

Two!

Save by Sonny Silver!

And he just totally half-asses it and throws The Panther out of the ring, stealing his pin in the best way possible.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Boos erupt from the crowd, as they should, but it really doesn't matter. It was within the rules, Silver took advantage, and so he may be delusional, and annoying, and a prick, and a bunch of other synonyms, but he's still--

Vince: -- THE WINNER OF STIFF FEST 06... SONNY SILVER!

And there's nothing you can do about it.

WINNER: SONNY SILVER (by pinfall)

"What?"

No, we're not rejoining the PPV broadcast in the midst of an Angelo Deville in-ring.

His expression displaying a mixture of shock and betrayal, Xavier Kannon drops his bags. Reaching to his wife's shoulder, his hand is shrugged off.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: I'm contracted as Chandler Tsonda's manager, so I'll be at ringside with him tonight.

Xavier Kannon: Contracted? I'm your husband! I'd think marriage vows count for a bit more than some piece of paper with a PRIME letterhead. I'll talk to Chet.

The authority of her tone betrays her petite stature.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Don't.

Xavier Kannon: What? Why?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Because I don't want to be out there when you wrestle.

Xavier Kannon: Are you stil-

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Am I still angry that you didn't actually tell me, your wife, that you were going to come out last week? Am I still angry that you thought I'd actually think it was a nice surprise that you'd signed a PRIME contract? Am I still ang-

Xavier Kannon: Okay, I g-

Animated, her actions add potency to her words, to such an extent that her legendary husband is slapped back into obedient silence for the duration.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Don't interrupt me. Am I still angry that you broke a promise you made to me when we took Deville's money last year? Yes. But, of course, you have a bit of paper with a PRIME letterhead saying you're wrestling tonight, so that has to be more important that our marriage vows.

His head lowers.

Xavier Kannon: Look, I need you out there.

If he was hoping the softening of his voice would draw some loyalty-based sympathy, he was mistaken.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: And I need you back at home, watching this on pay-per-view, and not trying to relive your glory days out there against Deville and Rollins.

Xavier Kannon: Ah, so I'm just meant to sit on the couch and grow roots then?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: Ugh, there is more to life than wrestling! Or are you going to be back here in 2 years time? 5 years time? 10 years time? If you can even still walk by then! You promised me last year that once you'd given Deville his match, that the cycle would be broken... but all you broke was the promise.

Xavier Kannon: Where's Chandler? I want a word with him.

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: You don't go near him, and you don't go to Worth. Just go get ready with Snow, have your match, enjoy your moment, and let me do my business here, okay?

Xavier Kannon: You're not even going to wish me luck?

Eleanor Kannon-Hall: You want luck? If you hadn't of seen me before the taxi I called arrived last week, I wasn't going to go home with you. That's, like, your luck.

Snatching her bag that he was carrying, Eleanor walks away from her husband, who tries to say something in retaliation, only for the words to silently trickle off his lips, rather than lash from his tongue.

Nick: Up next here at the Great American Nightmare is a first for us; Kenjiro ITO challenges Adam for the PRIME Internet Championship in a No Holds Barred match… and no, that doesn’t mean a No Disqualification match!

Richard: Stupid sheep-fucker and his complicated rules!

Nick: When Adam said ‘No Holds Barred’, he meant it literally. So, for the purposes of this match, no holds are illegal. Chokes, fishhooks, and eye gouges, for example, are all as legal as a headlock. So are holds involving the ropes, but those cannot win matches. At the same time, though, the referee can’t force a break of them either.

Richard: Woo, so ITO can choke Braveheart out with the top rope and beat him. Nice.

Nick: These two men just plain and simply don’t like each other, and they’re going to settle it in a match where all holds are legal, with the Internet Title on the line! Let’s go up to Vince Howard for the introductions!

Vince Howard: This contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a NO HOLDS BARRED match for the PRIME Internet Championship! Introducing first, the challenger!

All lights in the arena go black, leaving only a blue hue. The Wal*Tron whirs to life, revealing words spoken aloud by an ominous voice.

I AM THE WAY INTO THE DOLEFUL CITY
I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL GRIEF,
I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN RACE.
JUSTICE IT WAS THAT MOVED MY GREAT CREATOR;
DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME,
AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS
WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY
ABANDON ALL HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER.

Literature buffs out there would recognize it as the inscription over the gates of Hell in Dante’s Inferno. Long time ITO watchers knew it as the beginning of his PPV entrance.

I AM KENJIRO ITO.

What you lookin' at (step yo game up!)
What you waitin' for (step yo game up!)
Go on come on in the door (step yo game up!)
Drop it to the floor and just (step yo game up!)
You a kid (step yo game up!)
You drink gin (step yo game up!)
Is that your friend (step yo game up!)
Tell a nigga you with you better (step yo game up!)

With Snoop Dogg’s "Step Yo’ Game Up" blasting from the speakers of the Mellon Arena, Kenjiro ITO emerged into his own personal blizzard. White snow began to fall from the ceiling, coating the arena in soapy goodness.

Hey, it’s soap flakes. Close substitute.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring at this time, he hails from Osaka, Japan! Standing 6’4" tall, and weighing 256 pounds, he is THE BRINGER OF THE ICE AGE! THE C.E.O. OF AWESOME! THIS IS… KENJIRO ITO!

Jaw-jacking with the fans, ITO enters the ring, removing his glasses and handing them to a ringside staff member with firm instructions for their care. He poses in the middle of the ring, arms extended, before gesturing to his waist, the future home of the Internet Championship.

Vince Howard: And, HIS OPPONENT!

A searing guitar riff tears through the arena, signalling the arrival of PRIME's Scottish contingent.

'One-two-three-four!'

He strides out from behind the curtain at the count, title strap over his shoulder, and rears back – arms out in a Christ-pose reminiscent of the Number One Son’s entrance of old. He glances at the ‘snow’ covering the stage and the ramp, shaking his head in disgust before he stalks his way down the ramp, slapping hands the whole way.

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

Nick: It appears that after last week’s personality crisis, we have the old Adam back with us!

Richard: That was embarrassing just to watch; I’d hate to actually like that guy and have seen him do that.

Nick: I think a lot of fans were disturbed by Adam’s imitation of Jonathan Winters last week, but it does seem as though Winters managed to change his mind on it after the match – the only remnant of last week is that the Scot’s hair is a bit shorter than usual!

Vince Howard: Hailing from Glasgow, Scotland, he stands 6’4" and weighs in at 264 pounds! He is the Number One Son, AND THE REIGNING PRIME INTERNET CHAMPION! HE IS….ADDDDDDDDDAAAAAAMMMMM!!!

After a quick roll into the ring he bounds up to the nearest turnbuckle, making never to fully turn his back on ITO, shouting along with Arty Shepard's cries;

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

ITO likes that part about zero, but there’s jack all he can do about it right now.

Adam hands the strap to the timekeeper and leans back in his corner, tying his hair back in a ponytail as the music fades down.

Nick: And now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, it’s time for a fight. No Holds Barred for the Internet Title!

The timekeeper swings into action, and we are underway.

Richard: COME ON, ITO!

Much like their past few meetings, the Number One Son and the C.E.O. of Awesome meet dead center, glaring at one another. Both men have words for one another, until both snap simultaneously and start POURING forearms into one another’s head, much to the cheers of the crowd.

Nick: Holy shit!

Richard: What do you expect, they hate each other!

Eight forearms or so later, and Adam seizes the upper hand. Rearing back, the 260 pounder throws an immense European uppercut to the jaw that drops ITO to the canvas. The challenger pulls himself back up, only to stumble into a STIFF back elbow to the face that sends him right back down, and out to the floor to think things over.

Nick: Adam in charge here early, and ITO may be rueing the day he decided to mess with the Number One Son!

Richard: Man, fuck that. The only thing ITO rues is not having enough time to fuck more bitches. He’ll be okay, I promise you that.

Adam, though, seems unwilling to let ITO recover, and so he hops to the outside after the Osakan. ITO leads the Internet Champ on a chase around the ring, rolling back in just in time to lower the boom on Adam before he can get back to his feet.

Richard: See? See? ITO’s a-okay!

Rolling Adam to his back, ITO is the first to take advantage of the match’s rules, executing a blatant double handed choke. He holds it for six seconds, mainly because that’s one second longer than is normally legal. With a gleeful smile on his face, he flips the referee off, and pulls Adam back up to his feet. Shooting the slightly heavier man into the ropes, ITO charges, and nearly decapitates the champion with a hard Yakuza kick to the face.

Nick: As much as I hate to say it, this match may work as well for ITO’s cheating ways as it does for Adam’s slightly more technical variety of illegal tactics…

The Cocky Osakan stomps away at the downed Adam, before picking him right back up to continue the assault. After sharply kneeing Adam in the gut, ITO snaps him over with a gut wrench suplex. Using his knee, ITO returns to his choking, taunting the crowd as he does so. All seems well… until ITO suddenly doubles over in utter agony.

Richard: THAT QUEER SCOTTISH FUCK’S GRABBING THE LITTLE KENJIROS!

Nick: It’s legal, Richard! All holds are legal; including that testicular claw Adam’s got locked on!

ITO’s eyes are watery from the pain, as Adam rises to his feet, still holding the claw. The official checks for a submission, but ITO shakes his head no… and promptly digs fingers into both of Adam’s eyes!

Richard: Well, Hoyt, IT’S NUT CLAW VS. EYE GOUGE!

Nick: Which illegal hold is going to win over here?!

As it turns out, each man releases at the same time, trying to shake off the pain that racks their bodies. Both charge blindly, nailing one another with clotheslines, sending them each down to the canvas.

Nick: Both men matched pretty evenly here. Same height, Adam’s only a handful of pounds heavier.

Richard: Yeah. Except ITO’s awesome, and Adam, well… isn’t.

In spite of perhaps not being awesome, it is Adam who is the first man to his feet. With ITO down, Adam pounces, driving a forearm into ITO’s throat and grinding away with it.

Richard: NOOOO!

Nick: Adam has that forearm choke driven in deep! He’s an eclectic wrestler from Glasgow, and Adam knows as many quasi-legal tactics as anyone in the sport!

ITO tears at Adam’s hand, trying to break the choke. Finally, he manages to grab and wrench Adam’s pinky enough to break. The pinky lock, those, is broken by a thunderous Adam head butt.

With ITO seeing stars, the champion makes the first cover of the match.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick: Two, and only two, on that exchange.

Richard: Damn right, and it’s the closest Adam’s gonna come to victory tonight.

The champion remains persistent, scooping ITO back up to a vertical base. With a sharp knee to the abdomen, Adam doubles over the C.E.O. of Awesome, connecting with a quick DDT… and holding onto the headlock in an effort to choke ITO the fuck out.

ITO: *gurgle* FUCK YOU, SHEEPFUCKER!

The fact that ITO could speak meant that the choke wasn’t tight enough. But as Adam clamps down, ITO uses his legs to surge forward, putting the Number One Son’s shoulders on the canvas.

ONE!

TWO!

Adam scrambled for a way to hold the move and get his shoulders off the mat at the same time, but he couldn’t. Relinquishing the hold, he shoots a shoulder up, saving himself from the pinning predicament.

That, sadly for Adam, gives ITO a chance to recover. The Japanese star fires off a hard open-handed slap to the chest, bringing the blood rushing to the surface, before paint brushing Adam across the face. The insulting tactic has its desired effect, as Adam charges… right into ITO’s choking hand! The Bringer of the Ice Age picks the champion up, and deposits him on the canvas with a hard choke slam!

Nick: ITO’s going for the cover!

Richard: YES! NEW CHAMPION, ON THE WAY!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick: TWO ONLY!

Richard: BAH!

ITO sneers at the referee, but pulls Adam back up to a vertical base. He locks on another goozle, this time looking for his face-first choke slam, but Adam fights the grip. Finally, ITO simply shoves Adam back into the ropes. To Kenjiro’s surprise, Adam goes with it, charging and trying to hook ITO’s head for a DDT. Showing surprising agility, ITO dive rolls underneath, comes off the far side, and is back before Adam can recover.

BAKEMONO LARIAT!

ITO’s thunderous left-armed lariat crashes into the back of Adam’s head. Immediately, ITO rolls his opponent over and covers, thoughts of Internet Title glory in his head.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick: Looks like Adam isn’t quite ready to relinquish his hard-earned Internet title just yet!

After stomping the ground in frustration at the kickout, ITO fires a sharp kick to Adam’s kidneys with the tip of his boot before h drags him up, raking the eyes before whipping the Scot into the corner. The attempts a Yakuza kick follow-up, but is left hung up on the top rope when Adam drops down at the last second to dodge it.

Richard: Haven’t the little Kenjiros suffered enough?! Think of the ladies, dammit!

Nick: I think Adam is thinking of the ladies, and all the potential suffering he’s saving them…

As ITO begins to fall out the corner Adam grabs and tosses him back in, sending a few kicks to the midsection before he takes hold of ITO’s left arm and gives it a twist.

Nick: Oh my…

Richard: What?

Adam holds ITO’s twisted arm high and sends a quick knee to the Osakan’s exposed ribs before he snaps round on another wrenching twist.

Nick: Adam’s never been able to pull this move off in a PRIME ring before, but I think he’s about to hit…

Richard: What?! Let me know so I can warn ITO!

With a final twist in place Adam takes a step back, giving him a brief run in to kick off the middle rope to ITO’s left and leap up and over the top rope to his opponent’s right, bringing the wrenched arm down with Adam’s full bodyweight onto the top rope with…

Nick: TURMOIL!

Richard: Aww, crap…

As Adam hits the mats outside, rolling with the impact, ITO falls to the floor inside the ring, in total agony. The Scot hops to his feet and breaks out in a rare grin, his sadistic streak clearly showing, as he rolls back into the ring and yanks the self-proclaimed C.E.O. of Awesome to his feet. Making sure to get hold of the left arm, he locks on a simple hammerlock and holds it with his shoulder as he lifts ITO in an Atomic Drop position. The pain the sears through ITO’s left arm is only momentary, though, as he’s sat atop the turnbuckle he just had his back in.

Nick: I can’t believe this… Adam’s been waiting most of his PRIME career to be able to use some of the moves in his repertoire, and Kenjiro Ito have just given him the perfect opportinity to try them all out!

Richard: …that makes it seem like he’s about to try another one. Run ITO!!

But ITO’s busy trying to handle the pain to hear Richard’s cries, nor to notice Adam clambering up the ropes to sit behind him.

Richard: And that doesn’t look queer.

With his knees in front of the top rope and feet tucked back on the ring side of the second ropes, Adam hooks ITO’s arms in a Tiger Suplex position – prompting a yelp of pain from ITO as his left arm is locked up in it. He tries to struggle, but the pain from his shoulder joint is nearly unbearable, and anyway – it’s too late as Adam launches backward with his hooked Tiger Suplex.

Nick: Blind Faith! This might all be over for Kenjiro ITO here!

The impact was phenomenal, but Adam kept hold of the arms and managed to hang on upside down for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nick: It’s not a pin! That count was held by the fans, but not the referee! Adam is still holding the pin, but the referee has decided that Adam’s use of the ropes is enough to contravene the ropebreak laws still in effect in this match!

Richard: That cheating Scottish bastard can’t even stick to his own choice of rules!

While still upside-down Adam releases ITO to be able to hang in a slightly more comfortable position while he argues with the referee, but the decision still stands – no pin.

Nick: Unlucky break for the Internet Champion there, he’s accepted the referee’s judgment – but he’s not happy with it. He’d better gets himself back in the match though; ITO won’t stay down forever.

It appears, however, that ITO is (understandably) more concerned in checking his left arm still works before he assaults the Scot again. He’s not one to miss an opportunity though, as soon as he’s sufficiently happy he can still bend his elbow, roll his shoulder and flex his fingers ITO sneaks across the ring, cradling his arm as he waits for just the right moment.

Richard: I think ITO’s going to make sure Adam pays for that…

With a little rocking motion Adam’s managed to swing himself back up to his seated position, cursing to himself about the kickout. As he slips his feet out from their tucked-away position a roar of jeers from the crowd alert him to some dastardly goings-on from ITO. Jeer as they might, the crowd left it too late for Adam to do anything about it as ITO grabs the Scot’s head from behind with his right arm and charges forward, yanking the Scot from the top rope down to the mat with a neckbreaker.

Richard: Yeah! Take that you haggis-munching scumbag!

Nick: I think ITO’s left arm has taken a fair amount of damage from that over-the-ropes yank Adam hit him with, he’s certainly favouring his right just now.

Richard: Can you blame him?! That crazy Scottish bastard could’ve pulled an Awesome arm out its socket there!

Nick: But it’s all legal, and ITO only has himself to blame for allowing Adam free reign over the match stipulations.

ITO drags the Scot across to the ropes by the hair using his right arm, gives him a few stomps for good measure, then sets Adam up so his throat is lying on the bottom rope.

Richard: You seem to forget ITO’s just as good at making use of these rules as that dirty Scot is!

Just as Adam starts to realise the position he’s in ITO hops up and lands both feet right on the back on Adam’s neck, holding the top rope with his right arm and forcing himself down to choke the life out the Scot. He hurls a constant stream of abuse down as Adam desperately tries, and fails, to catch a breath. After a suitably, normally illegal, time has passed ITO breaks the choke and steps down off the limp Scot’s back.

Richard: It’s all over! ITO has this one wrapped up right here, I’m telling you.

Nick: It certainly doesn’t look good for the defending champion; he’s out for the count in there.

Using his one good arm Kenjiro Ito drags Adam to his feet, more difficult than usual due to the dead-weight presented by the unconscious form.

Nick: What on earth is he thinking? Adam’s clearly not able to stand, never mind present any kind of opponent to-

Nick’s cut short though as, while ITO holds Adam’s lifeless body up and spews forth a torrent of abuse, the ‘unconscious’ Scot opens his eyes and launches his forehead forward into ITO’s skull. A picture-in-picture window opens on screen to show the wily Scot just getting a hand between the bottom rope and his throat as ITO makes the jump up to choke him, sliding it off as his Japanese assailant steps down to pick him up.

Richard: I’m going to find a rulebook – I swear that can’t be legal; there must be a sub-rule that fooling the C.E.O. of Awesome is a criminal offence punishable by title loss.

Nick: I highly doubt that’s a real rule, Richard.

Richard: I’ll find it!

Back inside the ring, however, both men are down – even with a protective hand to cushion the chokehold having 260lbs pressing your throat to a rope is hardly conducive to a clear breathing tract. ITO, having landed on his left arm, is again trying to ease the pain in his shoulder by flexing and rolling his arm in the joint. Eventually the two begin to stand, ITO getting up quickly as soon as he sees his opponent start to his feet. He drives a foot quickly into Adam’s midriff to double him over then tucks the Scot’s head between his legs in a Powerbomb position.

Nick: Surely ITO isn’t considering a Powerbomb with his arm in that state…

Richard: You dare to doubt the ability of the Future Of Wrestling?

Nick: I don’t doubt his ability; I doubt the strength in his left arm after Adam put it through Turmoil – literally.

Richard: I hope you know no-one finds you funny, Nick.

ITO, having waited a second to mentally ready himself for the move, tries to lift for the Powerbomb but fails and nearly drops down to a knee in agony. But he pulls through, landing a few clubbing blows to Adam’s back to subdue him. Taking another deep breath and gritting his teeth ITO lifts up for the Powerbomb, making sure to do most of the lifting with his right arm. As he reaches the peak of the move he drops forward to slam the Scot to the mat, moving quickly to carry on through to a Texas Cloverleaf to finish the ITO Special.

Nick: That’s incredible! Kenjiro Ito fought through the pain to pull off his signature move, leaving the future of the Internet Title dangling precariously!

Richard: ‘Kenjiro Ito Beats Scottish Fag One-Handedly’; I can see the headlines now!

As ITO wrenches back, adding pressure to the move, Adam is frantically trying to claw his way forward to get hold on the rope to break the hold. A fraught few seconds follow as the determination of the champion wavers and his hand hovers above the mat, contemplating the submission – but as fortune would have it he’d been graced with a position that allowed him a fine view of his belt resting in all its glory on the timekeeper’s lap. Galvanised into action once more he musters whatever energy reserves he still has to swivel and twist, attempting to turn over and land ITO on his left side again.

Nick: ITO’s getting closer and closer to falling on that weak left arm, if Adam keeps this rocking motion up ITO may have to decide between trying to keep the submission on after a painful fall or giving up on it to save further damage.

He opts for the latter option as Adam makes one final swing to try and topple the Cocky Osakan from his back; ITO releasing the grip on the hold to stop his fall to his left with his now-outstretched right arm. Adam rolls out the ring to take a few seconds’ breather while ITO enjoys the luxury of the break from inside the ring.

Richard: That pansy! He can’t stand to be in the same ring as the awesomeness that is ITO!

As Adam stands from his crouch against the apron he’s hit with a baseball slide from the prepared ITO.

Richard: And he can’t survive on the outside either! He might as well just give up.

Nick: Adam either forgot the sort of man he was facing, or he had a momentary lapse of concentration – whichever one it was, that sort of slip-up is exactly the sort of thing that could lose him his title tonight.

Richard: I have my fingers crossed for it…

After a quick roll out ITO sends Adam head-first into the ring post before ‘assisting’ him back into the ring. ITO himself jumps to the apron then climbs through the ropes to lift Adam to his feet, locking him up in a uranage, causing the crowd to get to their feet to voice their disapproval – loudly. ITO merely grins as he launches forth into a Blizzard Suplex.

Richard: Over and done with, period.

ITO’s not quite done though, keeping the hold locked and continuing through into another two in the rolling sequence. The impacts are hardly doing his damaged left arm any good, as witnessed by his unhooked pin attempt that follows – his left arm simply lying limp beside him as he tries to lean as much on Adam’s upper body as possible.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-!

Nick: NO!! Adam kicked out! At the last possible opportunity he got the little bit of room needed between his shoulder and the mat to stop the count!

Richard: Gah! He’s on steroids I tell you!

Nick: Would you care to back that statement up?

Richard: …Speak to my lawyer, I don’t answer questions like that any more.

ITO rolls off from the pin, wearied and exasperated. As he sits on the mat he begins to remonstrate the count with the referee, who holds firm on his decision. Finally tiring of it ITO slides over to the ropes and pulls himself up with his right arm, landing a few boots to Adam’s chest before he drags him to his feet by his hair. Once he has the Scot up he fires off a few chops then whips him to the ropes, but as Adam approaches the edge of the ring he regains his composure enough to drop down and slide, as if to head out the ring.

Richard: That cowardly prick! Get back in there and lose already!

Nick: Richard; Adam’s still in the ring! He just slid down to get a three-point base!

Richard: ITO! Stop taunting those worthless subordinates and watch out for-

Nick: WRATH!!

Turning the tide of the match on its head in a second was always the intention of the Scot’s signature three-point charge, and it didn’t fail him this time. As ITO took a second to jeer back at this fans who’d voiced their disapproval of him all match he missed Adam grinding to a halt on the mat rather than slide all the way out; a potentially devastating mistake.

Nick: Adam’s dragging ITO to his feet now, the match definitely in his favour now.

Richard: Don’t let this incumbent Scottish half-wit win, please…

Nick: Incumbent?

Richard: It was on my word-a-day calendar this morning.

With ITO groggily vertical Adam hooks on a uranage of his own, letting slip another smile as the section of the crowd that knows him well begins to rise to their feet.

Nick: I think I know what’s coming…

Richard: Just for a change, you suck-up.

With the uranage still held Adam ducks under ITO’s right arm to lock his left up in a Half-Nelson.

Richard: ORIGINAL SIN!

Nick: I thought you didn’t like Adam…

Richard: I don’t; I just wanted to beat you call one of his moves.

Who called it is way down on ITO’s list of priorities right now, though, his more pressing concern ranking as ‘getting the hell out of it’. But once locked on, there’s very little that can be done about the hold – as ITO’s finding out the hard way. As Adam begins to slowly lower the hold to the ground, adding pressure to both the sleeper-variant and Half-Nelson aspects of the submission ITO has no choice but to starts tapping his right hand on Adam’s arm round his neck. The referee sees the tap and waves for the bell, Adam releasing as soon as it rings, letting ITO drop exhaustedly to the mat.

WINNER: ADAM

Vince Howard: The winner, and still PRIME Internet Champion, The Number One Son… Adaaaaaaaaam!

With his belt successfully retained Adam climbs the turnbuckles, holding the strap victoriously aloft above his head. He slings it over his shoulder and steps back to the centre of the ring where ITO is just getting to his feet again, eschewing the handshake Adam was beginning to offer in favour of just rolling out the ring and skulking off to the back. Adam merely shrugs and raises his belt once more, turning in the middle of the ring to show it off to the crowd all round the ring.

The entire arena is in a frenzy. Two matches down and more to come including the classic Jason Snow/Xavier Kannon vs. Rich "The Renegade" Rollins/Angelo Deville tag team match and the Universal Title match between the champion Tchu, Nova, and Vangelus Olsig. The fans in the Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania are yelling, chanting, and dying from the anticipation. They’re ready for the future to be now. But, we’re here in the now. No more looking towards the future because if you don’t look to the now then you will miss something extraordinary and truly life changing. Those left looking into the future will miss out on everything around them, and before they know it they will be living in the past wondering what happened to the future they were looking forward to. That’s how it works so get your mind off of what’s coming up next, what’s happening later, and focus on what’s about to happen.

Because what’s about to happen will blow your fucking mind.

The lights in the arena immediately shut off without any warning, and after a few seconds of being in the dark, the back-up emergency lights flicker on. The fans look around confused, left wondering as to why the lights went out so suddenly. What they don’t know is that they’re about to be graced with the presence of the one person they all worship, and we all know who that is. Fans are seen whispering to each other, asking each other if they know what’s supposed to happen, but everyone is left clueless. Even the announcers with their little scripts in front of them, reading off the lines that the bosses have told them to, and now they’re in the dark, literally and figuratively. Over the airwaves they’re claiming they don’t know what’s going on, but the fans at home think otherwise as they know how scripted wrestling can be. Except for PRIME where the unexpected is expected to happen, and the expected is unexpected. Everyone looks around, hoping for an explanation to arise, but nothing is coming yet. It worries them. It should.

Because what’s about to happen will blow your fucking minds.

Then, in an instant the Wal*Tron flickers on, and every pair of eyes, even those with one eye, and especially those who are blind turn to the Wal*Tron knowing that whatever is about to happen should be special, and they’re correct in thinking that as what’s about to happen will be unique in it’s own way. PRIME is filled with talented wrestlers such as Tchu, Nova, Hoyt Williams, wait, no, scratch Hoyt Williams, Rich Rollins, Jason Snow, the list goes on and on. But, there is one thing that PRIME doesn’t have.

This man.

A deity.

Words then begin to scroll across the Wal*Tron and they’re very simple. Yet, the meaning behind them is so unique that they’re not able to comprehend them in the context that they’re meant to be thought in.

Who

Are

You?

Everyone looks around lost as they wonder why those words just appeared on the screen. Little do they know, their very questions will be answered by the one person that can truly answer them. In a flash, a man appears on the screen surprising everyone in the arena and the fans at home. The man stands there, his arms at his side as the camera focuses on the top half of him. Every fan looks at him, trying to see if they know who this man is, but nothing is ringing a bell. In a few short minutes though, they will all remember who he is, and realize they’ve known him all of their natural born lives.

The man continues to stand there, not moving, not talking, and seemingly not breathing. He stands there, wearing no shirt to show off his somewhat chiseled frame. While he looks like he’s working out, he’s not as muscular looking as some of the wrestlers in the world who’re obviously ‘roided out. Instead, this man looks natural in his appearance, and appropriately muscular. His arms are not overly huge, but they have muscles on them as well. For the most part, the man is muscular so we can move past that aspect of his physical looks. The man also has long brown hair that cuts off right at his shoulders. His eyes are a dark drown with a menacing look to him. There are no scars or tattoos on his body that the fans can see on him. At least visible.

He stands there, and everyone wonders what he’s doing, what his purpose is, and if he’s actually going to talk. As he stands there though, everyone becomes entranced in his appearance as if there is something absolutely glowing about him. After a few moments, he finally decides to grace everyone with his words.

Man: You sit here tonight either in the arena that I’m seen in or at your home watching over a satellite feed this pay-per-view. Right now, I know you’re sitting there, watching this, and wondering who this man is. The marks at home are quickly jumping out of their chairs, rushing to their computers, and loading up the internet. You’re going to go to every wrestling insider site, and look to see the latest rumors of a new superstar joining PRIME, but trust me you won’t find anything. You’re jumping onto the various message boards where you bash some while doing a circle jerk on other wrestlers to ask if anyone knows who the new guy in PRIME is, but trust me no one will know who I am by sight. So, pull your adolescent minds off of the pornographic internet, and sit your pathetic asses back in those chairs you just left. Listen to my words, and be enlightened by them because I’m about to change your very lives.

The fans in the arena immediately start to murmur to themselves while those very fans at home that this mysterious man was referring to sit back down in the chairs defeated and dejected by the man’s words. As the fans continue to murmur, the man stands there.

Man: Silence!

The fans look back in stunned silence to the man, aghast at the audacity of the man, but not quite ready to boo him yet though the urge is slowly start to set in the mindsets of everyone there.

Man: Meanwhile, the fans sitting in this very arena, they think to themselves of who this person could possibly be. Who is this man who tells us to be silent, who is this man who tells us that we’re to be enlightened and that what he is about to say will change our very lives? Well, if you’d wait a damn minute then you’d see I was getting to that point, but instead your impatient selves can’t wait five seconds for someone to speak. That’s why I grow tired and weary of each and every one of you. You all think yourselves of so worthy when you’re nothing in this game of chess that we call life. Yet, to make yourselves feel important I give you some shining moments to boost your image of yourselves so that you don’t all kill yourselves. I give you hope and meaning, and in return you give me this shit you call appreciation each and every day.

The fans start looking around, somewhat confused and lost by this man who is proclaiming things that aren’t capable of this man. How is he giving them hope or any of that stuff is they’ve never met or seen him before? They’re rather confused.

Man: Now, I know you’re confused by everything I’ve said thus far, and that’s because I’ve yet to introduce myself. Trust me, each and every one of you know exactly who I am so don’t worry about that aspect of things. You want to know who I am? You want to know what to call me? Fine, I’ll give you some clues. You use my name in vain every single day, whether you’re cursing at somebody, or exclaiming in anger after something happens to you. You utter my name in your thoughts and prayers each and every night before you go to sleep in some attempt to see if I shall love you enough to give you another day to live your useless lives. But, most importantly, you yell out my name as the guy you met at the bar earlier in the evening shoves his anemic, pathetic four inch dick into your stretched out, cum infested, disease ridden twat, and in an attempt to make the man feel good, you fake your excitement and pleasure by yelling my name over and over again!

Immediately, every single fan in the arena begins to boo the man, echoing the same sentiments that the fans at home watching the PPV and being insulted by the man are feeling. However, the man seems unfazed by this as he continues to look straight forward.

Man: No, my name is not boo you ungrateful fucks.

All of the fans boo him again as finally; a smirk emerges on his face.

Man: Of course, I know you’re not calling me boo. What do I like, you? No, you know my name, and that’s enough for now. All day, every day, you enter into your sin-filled whorehouses that you like to call churches, you get on your knees, and you pray to me. Don’t you find it ironic that you get on your knees to do one of two things, blowing a guy’s dick and praying to me? If you think about it, you’re blowing me anyways wishing that I’ll let you into Heaven. Well, guess what you grimy fucks, there is no such thing as Heaven, and half of you wouldn’t make it into Heaven anyways because you give horrible blowjobs. That’s why your husbands leave you half the time.

Finally, the camera cuts to a full shot of him as you see the man’s also wearing a pair of black wrestling pants as he stands there with his hands actually behind his back. One of the first things you notice about the man is that he’s tall. He has to clock in somewhere around six feet eight inches easily. The man is confident in his stance, so confident that it almost makes you sick. The fans continue to boo the man, chanting such colorful phrases like "Shut the Fuck Up!", but he just ignores them all.

Man: Of course, you men are no better with your empty thoughts and hopeful wishes. "Oh please, don’t let my wife catch me with this transvestite I found on my way home from my meaningless job, heading back towards my hellhole of a life with my two faggot children and my bitch of my wife who looks like Starr Jones before the fucking surgery," and "God, I hope my wife doesn’t find out I’m gay and that she’s just my beard." Do you know how sickening it is to hear you guys go to your churches and try to repent your sins?! I created you to look in the image of me, and you have disgraced me with your whoremongering and lack of faith in me!

The fans are in disbelief at this man who is claiming to be somebody who he’s clearly not, but they’re in for a shock because the man on the screen is exactly who it is. Their worst nightmare. The chants and boos continue as the man continues to stand there, in silence for a moment, before continuing in your speech.

Man: That’s why I’ve come to PRIME. Because, I’ve built up enough frustration to last a life time as I’ve listened to your wishes of how you hope I can give you a new fucking horse with little regard to the fact that your father would stick his fist up it’s ass at the first chance he got, and hoping you could meet that faggot Hoyt Williams. Hoyt Williams, one day you will have to answer for your sins, and that day will come eventually, but not now. No, this isn’t about slamming any one person as all here have sinned; it’s about reading you your wrongs and telling you your punishment. See, I came here because PRIME gets to die for your sins. It’s been over 2000 years since someone died for your sins, and it’s time for that to happen again. So, PRIME, you can thank these fans that you’ve wrestled for to gain their love and hate for what’s going to happen to you, because you truly will meet your maker now.

The man stands there for another minute as the fans boo him again, before cutting them off.

Man: They call me Malachi, you can call me God.

Finally, the screen fades to black and the lights turn back on as the fans are left there in stunned silence as a man has just proclaimed he’s God and that he’s now here in PRIME while insulting each and every one of them. They all begin to ask themselves the same question.

Is he really God?

Only time will tell.

"Do you ever feel like you’re being watched, Tony?"

Tony Gamble sprang to his feet, his head darting from left to right quickly, but there was no one there. He was all alone in his room, lacing up his boots in order to go out for his big match of the night. A match that dangled promise right in front of his face.

"You don’t think I’d leave you all alone in this, your big night, do you?"

Again, Tony looked around. He recognized the voice, and considering what the bastard had done to Violet -- how he had hurt her – he knew the man could not be trusted.

"Keep looking because you won’t find me."

Gamble listened intently, stalking around the room to see if he could find Paul Cain lurking in the shadows.

"You will see me when I want you to see me. You will have all the answers, when I want you to have them."

It was coming from the opposite corner, over close to the door that lead to the shower stalls. Tony moved with a cat like grace, his toes floating over the unforgiving concrete floor beneath his feet.

"Just remember Tony that I’m the one who’s in control, and I’m the one who holds your future in my hands. I trust you have eyes in the back of your head, because I’m getting restless and I think it’s time we meet. I shall be watching you all night long Tony, and soon, very soon, I will make sure you keep your appointment with me. Then you will understand everything. "

Tony heard the voice coming from one of the small lockers, but that was near impossible. Wasn't it? He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the locker, twisting it slightly as more words echoed out from between the vents.

"Remember Tony, defiance will get you nowhere and humility will get you everywhere. You owe me and I’m coming to collect. You will pay for using me and you will regret betraying me for your own fulfillment, little man."

He pulled it open, and lo and behold, there was a small tape recorder inside the confines of the one foot by one foot square cube.

"I have a message that I want the world to hear and you are going to help me deliver it, Tony. After all, that’s the least you can do isn’t it? One…Two…Cain is coming for you…"

He pressed stop on the recorder, tossing it hard against the wall. Shards of plastic flew throughout the room, as the silence was once again welcome. He did, after all, have an important match to get ready for. An important match he needed to win.

A knock on the door, followed by someone saying that his match was up next.

Gamble: I guess it's time to see what I got, to hell with what Cain has to say.

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for OUR NEXT MATCH, scheduled for one fall, and it is for the PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!!! Introducing first...

"I Am" by Godsmack hits. The crowd responds to the arrival of Tony "The Grin" Gamble by, well, booing. They don’t like the man. Gamble looks up at the crowd with an arrogant smirk on his face, cracking his knuckles as he walks down the aisle.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada…he stands 5’9", and weighs in at 189 pounds! This is TONY "THE GRIN" GAMBLE!

The disfigured Gamble smiles cruelly, scar only adding to the effect as he frightens small children at ringside, before climbing up the steps and into the ring.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

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

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

Chandler Tsonda saunters out through the pyro smoke, obliging Eleanor's awaiting arm to lead her down the aisle. As Ellie directs security, Tsonda blinds himself of the abuse being hurled over the barriers, before the A-List duo reach the foot of the aisle.

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

After hopping up onto the apron, Tsonda waits as Ellie heads up the steps. As the referee warns Gamble to stay back, Tsonda finally steps through the ropes as Ellie wisely remains on the apron, rubbing the shoulders of her charge as he aims a cocky grin toward Gamble. Gamble, as usual, grins as well.

Vince Howard: And their opponent, to be accompanied by CHARITY MANALE... weighing in at 229 pounds... HE IS THE PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION... JONNNNNATHON WINTERSSSSS!!!!!

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

Into the dimmed arena steps Jonathon Winters, the title clasped firmly around his waist. Charity Manale is at his side, offering words of encouragement.

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

The cameraman on the aisle zooms in close on the icy stare of Winters, his focus not even switching onto the intrusion, but instead focusing only on the ring. More importantly, the two men who stand within.

The duo continue their potent stride down toward the ring, before Winters slides in under the bottom rope, leaving Charity to saunter over to the opposite side of where Eleanor is.

The referee calls the three men together and lays down the law for the match. He sends each man to his corner and calls for the bell.

Nick: "AND HERE WE GO!"

Tsonda charges Jonathan Winters, but is instantly pulled into an Irish whip to Winters's nearest corner. The recoil stuns Tsonda, and as he staggers backward into the ropes, turning around, he is slammed by a leaping roundhouse kick that sends him over the top.

Nick: That kick sent Tsonda clear over the ropes! Jonathan Winters is serious about retaining his title tonight!

Richard: Of course he wants to keep it, but the man seriously doesn't have the charisma or character to deserve it. He's too bland.

Behind the action Tony Gamble has picked up momentum from hitting the ropes, and connects with an elbow smash clothesline that catches Jonathan by surprise. Tsonda is slowly pulling himself back into the ring as Jonathan tries to get to his feet, all the while blocking a hailstorm of forearm smashes from Gamble. Jonathan manages to roll clear, coming up just as Tsonda himself is getting to his own feet. Tsonda, from seemingly nowhere, lunges out with a super kick aimed for Winters’ skull The kick is ducked, and Tony Gamble takes the super kick to the chin that had Winters' name on it.

Nick: Tony was just nailed with a misfired super kick! Did you hear that impact!

Richard: Well, he certainly wasn't expecting that.

The replay is shown, and Tony collapses to a seated position in the corner as Chandler and Jonathan square off. Jonathan again takes the fury of blows this time in the form of closed fist after closed fist from Tsonda. Jonathan lunges forward and manages to grapple around Chandler's waist, and the two men fall against the ropes. The referee is quickly in there and forcefully parts them issuing both wrestlers with a warning to keep it off the ropes.

Nick: Referee Max Newell laying down the law early.

Richard: They just fell against the ropes...

Nick: Still, he wanted to let them know he wasn't going to be tolerating anything.

Richard: That's bad news for Winters.

Nick: Winters doesn't need to cheat.

Richard: He should... he needs something going for him.

Jonathan steps clear, and as Chandler steps away too, Jonathan grabs Tsonda's right arm and locks in a half Nelson; Tsonda is guided around the ring like a puppet, trying to free himself. He tries to pull away as the lock is tightened, applying more strain on Chandler's shoulder, forcing him to drop to the mat. But the former champ back rolls and comes up behind Winters, somehow reversing the hold. It's too late for Winters as he is taken skyward into a German suplex.

Nick: GERMAN SUPLEX! What a reversal by Chandler Tsonda!

Richard: Why do you think he was champ for so long... His good looks?

Tsonda makes the cover and Newell slides in quickly, but only gets a count of ONE! before Jonathan Winters kicks out. Tsonda gets to his feet, pulling Winters up with him. Jonathan is still in Chandler's grip as he takes a kick to his gut. Tsonda locks in a headlock and snaps a DDT, driving Winters down hard into the mat.

Nick: A SNAP DDT... and Tsonda has all the momentum going for him here.

Richard: That must’ve hurt, Nick. I like hurt.

Nick: And a cover, it could all be over!

Tsonda pins Jonathan again; Newell counts ONE!... TWO!... Winters gets a shoulder clear and Chandler is denied the three-count over Jonathan Winters yet again.

Nick: Jonathan Winters has a lot of heart, and it’s going to take more than a well timed DDT to keep him down.

Richard: Darn, and for a moment there, I thought it was finally over.

Tony Gamble decides to intervene, moving in on the prone Chandler. He rakes his eyes and Tsonda rolls away screaming. Tony sees the still incapacitated Jonathan Winters and continues on him. Using his boot, Tony delivers a boot-lace eye rake to Jonathan Winters.

Richard: I've always loved Gamble's style... he's street.

Nick: Rich, you live in a two story house in the suburbs, what the hell do you know about street?

Richard: Fool, you don't know me!

Nick: O... kay...

Tony steps over Winters and grabs Chandler by his hair, pulling him back into the middle of the ring. Tony looks like he's about to take Chandler down with a hair pull slam, but Chandler counters with a bull rush shoulder tackle, taking both of them clear across the ring and into the ropes. Chandler rolls clear as Tony uses the momentum to sprint across the ring into the opposite ropes. Tony ducks a clothesline from Tsonda, and the back-and-forth continues. Chandler Tsonda tries the clothesline again, but this time Tony Gamble has it scouted and twists the limb into an arm wringer! Tsonda tries to lean in with the hold, but Tony only tightens his grip, applying more strain on Chandler’s already damaged shoulder.

Nick: I know Gamble isn't someone to give a straight up match, but the man has great technical skills.

Richard: He’s the complete package, Nick. Why the hell wasn’t he just handed the title?

Nick: Well, he'll definitely be deserving of the title if he can pull this match out.

Richard: It's an insult to him to even have to be in this match... the man rolls with The Unholy Duo of Rollins and Deville.

Tony forces Tsonda to a knee, then drops to the mat for an arm breaker. Tsonda rolls away quickly, trying to protect and nurse the damaged shoulder from Tony. But this is in vain as Gamble grabs Tsonda by the arm and jerks him to his feet violently, before sending Tsonda back to the canvas with a short arm clothesline.

Richard: Look at the force he uses. He is so much better than the other two, he’s just dominating this match.

Nick: Speaking of the other!

Tony is denied the chance to pin the dropped Tsonda, as Winters suddenly takes out Tony from behind with a flip over neck breaker, momentarily stunning the Italian.

Nick: You just can’t forget about Jonathan Winters in a match like this! A man with Tony’s in ring experience should have known better.

Richard: C’Mon, Nick, give the guy a break, nobody’s perfect... except maybe our Illustrious chairman, Sonny Silver.

Jonathan looks like he landed harder than he anticipated and is in pain. Tony is sent 6 o'clock through 12 o'clock, and bounces at least twice when he hits the mat. Even as Jonathan manages to get to his knees, Chandler uses his good arm to drop Winters with a clothesline! Chandler takes a moment as he looks down at both Jonathan Winters and Tony Gamble.

Nick: What is Chandler planning to do here?

He lines up a shot... and nails Jonathan Winters with a leg drop across his throat.

Richard: Wow, now that was a move I can sink my teeth into.

Tsonda rolls away and seems to be stalking both men now, as they both struggle to get back up.

Nick: Tsonda is getting ready to do something big here.

Richard: What could it be?

Nick: Wow, Richard, you actually seem to be enjoying this match.

Richard: Well, it's hard not to with Tsonda and Gamble competing for the 5-Star title.

Nick: Don't forget about Winters.

Richard: Who?

Speaking of Jonathan Winters, he gets to his knees as Tony pulls himself up onto one knee. It is Jonathan Winters who is up first, but is blindsided by Tsonda's hurricanrana that removes Jonathan from the ring.

Nick: What a move by Tsonda! This very well may be his night!

Richard: Every night is an A-List night.

Nick: Aren't they all dead and in jail?.

Chandler seems to be fired up now, as Tony Gamble is gutted by a diving head butt from the floor. Chandler seems to be stunned from the dive, and is not able to immediately capitalize. Jonathan uses the opportunity to re-enter the ring and slam the back of Chandler's head with a pummeling forearm smash. Jonathan manages to pull Tsonda to his feet, but Jonathan still looks to be groggy from Tsonda's hurricanrana, and the next forearm doesn't have as much power. However, the damage is done. Jonathan pulls back with a sudden burst of speed, hauling Tsonda to the middle of the ring where Chandler Tsonda is sent skyward from a release German suplex. Winters falls to one knee from exhaustion.

Nick: GERMAN SUPLEX... this time it’s Winters landing one on the Viet Viper!

Richard: Did you see how hard his head hit the mat? Let’s show the fans again.

The fans react to the replay, as Tsonda’s head bounces hard off the mat.

Nick: Ouch...

Tony sees an opportunity and dives across the ring, grabbing Tsonda and applying a Full Nelson. Referee Max Newell slides over to wait for a tap-out, but Tony is not finished. He picks himself and Tsonda up, locks in the Full Nelson tighter and drops him face first into the mat.

Richard: Oh, he ate a big chunk of canvas on that one.

Nick: Gamble has been laying back and coming in for clean up the entire match.

Richard: That's because he's not stupid enough to do all the work and tire himself out, the man's a genius.

Tony sees Jonathan Winters getting back to his feet, and decides to abort his pin on Tsonda. He moves in on Jonathan with purpose, and lands a stiff kick to Winters’ stomach. Jonathan is locked into a Gamble reverse headlock but somehow manages to twist his head around, countering a reverse DDT from Tony. Tony realizes this much too late, as Jonathan Winters launches Gamble into the air with a Tiger suplex.

Nick: Jonathan Winters just pulled off an amazing reversal! This guy never gives up. No wonder these fans love him so much.

Richard: It’s good to know SOMEONE does, considering he isn't much of a people person.

Seeing the groggy Chandler now at his feet, Jonathan charges. Tsonda, though, is playing possum and scoop slams Jonathan Winters into the corner. Tsonda is now after Tony, pulling him to his feet and the scoop slam sends another man to the mat.

Nick: And suddenly Chandler Tsonda is in the driver’s seat. This match is wild.

Richard: With no end in sight, and neither man giving an inch... this thing could go on all night!

Tsonda goes for the cover and the referee drops down for the count.

One...

The fans join in

Two...

Jonathan breaks the count by stomping on the back of Chandler's head.

Nick: Whoa, I thought it was over there. Jonathan Winters makes sure that doesn’t happen, and the title does not change hands.

Jonathan keeps raining down his boot on Chandler, backing him into a corner where he uses his boot and the ropes to boot choke Chandler's throat. Jonathan is disrupted, however, by Tony and is doubled over by a kick. Tony doesn't waste any time, and slams Winters down with a double axe handle across his back. Winters drops to his knees, where Tony pulls him down with a modified face buster. Tony rolls Jonathan Winters over.

Richard: The Grin covers!

One...

Nick: It could all be over!

Two...

Richard: It is, it is! IT’S OVER, Tony WINS!

Max Newell rolls clear.

Nick: Wait a minute?

Richard: What the hell is going on?

Tony keeps the pin on past the point of the three count. He looks up in bemusement, only to find Newell pointing to Jonathan Winters’ foot, firmly resting on the nearby bottom rope. Tony screams out in frustration as he rolls away.)

Nick: Winters showed great ring awareness there. He just refuses to go down!

Richard: What is it with this ref and the ropes... Jeez!

Tony stands up and starts arguing with Newell, but catches Tsonda heading his direction out of the corner of his eye. Tsonda grabs Tony by the shoulder and attempts to spin him around, but Tony rolls out and Tsonda is left standing there in front of referee Max Newell with a can of hairspray in his hand.

Richard: Uh oh.

Tsonda tosses the can out of the ring, holding his hands out and smiling nervously. Newell warns him, but doesn't have much time for anything else as Winters wraps Tsonda up in a schoolboy. Gamble, who was enjoying Tsonda's little run in with the ref, springs in their direction as Newell drops down to make the count.

One...

Nick: Oh, Gamble with a dropkick right into Winters' face.

Winters releases the hold, his hands clutching at his face as he rolls around in the ring. Gamble wastes no time in kicking Winters out of the ring, knocking him under the bottom rope and out onto the floor. Tsonda slowly rises, Ellie screaming something at him from outside the ring.

"TURN AROUND!!"

Of course, it was too late. Gamble was already behind him, and as he wrapped his arm around Tsonda's neck... he hopped slightly into the air and used his weight to drape Chandler's back across his knee.

Newell dropped and slapped the mat.

ONE...

Gamble hooked the leg.

TWO...

Winters dropped an elbow onto Gamble's exposed chest.

THREE!!!

Nick: OH MY... SO CLOSE!

But it was too late.

Richard: No, wait... Newell has... HE HAS THREE FINGERS RAISED!!! TONY DID IT!!

Winters yanks at his hair. Charity is outside livid. Ellie is shaking her head.

Nick: TONY GAMBLE IS OUR NEW 5-STAR CHAMPION!!

Richard: It's about time.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'm not getting high enough DUUDE. You MUST use your lungs to help me inhale! I'm dead; it's hard for dead people to smoke weed!

Our Boss sits slouched in his luxurious office chair, holding a burning joint away from his face while fanning the smoke away with his other hand. His shirt is stained with Mild Sauce and mashed potatoes while his face looks worn. Ghost Facey still lingers, as Chet is apparently speaking to him.

Chet Worth: I told you, dude, I'm not smoking that shit. I already called a dealer, paid him, got jacked, followed him to his car, shanked him in the spleen, stole his weed, went to Circle K, bought Zig-Zags, learned how to roll a perfect joint, and gave you that fine specimen right there. If you're too much of a pussy--.

IFE: PUSSY? Dude, if I were alive I would punch the living shit out of your brown-eye; but I can't do that either, because I'm fucking dead! That's why I possessed you, so I can do the shit that I want to do!

Worth: But it's my body!??IFE: It doesn't have anything to do with you! Hey, who's the possessor?.... Who's the possessor, Chet?

Worth: ...you are...

IFE: Damn right! This won't affect you any way, whatsoever! And since I'm the possessor, I do what I want to do! And right now I want to fucking smoke! So are you going to hit that shit, or am I going to have to make you punch the shit out of your own brown-eye?

Chet sighs a defeated sigh.

Worth: Alright. But if whatever happens after this becomes apart of some pot-centric teen movie, I demand a paycheck. And an Executive Producer credit.

IFE: Do I look like that faggot who murdered me? HIT THE FUCKING JOINT.

Chet inhales the joint right as...

"WHAT IN THE LIVING HELL IS THIS?! THIS IS SOME TOTAL B.S. RIGHT HERE!!!"

Chet/IFE's good time is quickly removed as he sees the form of the man claiming to run the company, though he's only a Chairman for his affinity to beat your skull into funny shapes with said chairs. Fuming, The Silver Lining stares at Chet/IFE and points a finger at him while screaming halfway incoherently.

Silver: I MAKE YOU MY EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT TO THE PRIME STARS AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?! WE HAVE RULES AROUND HERE, PAL! THIS TOTALLY GOES AGAINST EVERY LAST RULE THAT I LAID DOWN WHEN I INSTATED THE FUCKING WELLNESS POLICY! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS EXACTLY THE TYPE OF SHIT THAT KILLS MEXICANS AND OTHER RACES?!?!

Worth: First of all, NO to everything you just said. Secondly...
(nervous as fuck) IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!

Chet puts the joint out on his desk and stands from his chair, exhaling a few coughs laced with smoke.

Worth: Listen, it's totally not me doing this! It's the Industrial Cock-Taker! He's MAKING me smoke this joint!

Sonny simply stares at Chet as if the CEO's face had magically transformed into a creature with three buttcheeks. He folds his arms, apparently not buying anything he has to say.

Silver: You're an idiot, Worth! You fat pile of crap beneath my boot, don't you know what happens when you violate MY Wellness Policy? You implode! Combust! Vanish into dust! Poof, be gone! Drugs make you do stupid things. You go around, smoking blunts. But when you do the drugs, it makes your brain block out the fact that people are flammable! And at Colossus, when The Face-Eater won the Intense Title, the drugs were too much for him and he went BOOM! So there is no possible, conceivable, probable, feasible way that you are possessed by the Face-Eater and you are simply a fatass drug addict.

He nods as if that was that. But the Illuminated Face-Eater appears, standing in place over Chet Worth as the projected image turns on once again.

IFE: FUCK YOU, BUDDY. NO ONE, AND I MEAN NO ONE, NO-SELLS A FACE-EATER ANGLE!

A mango flies from off-screen and hits Sonny in the nuts.

Worth: What the hell!?!

IFE: Power of the dead, dude.

Sonny, holding his guys, stares at the ghostly form of the Illustrious Face-Eater, then back to Chet Worth.

Silver: See? Drugs are bad, you complete fucking idiot. Obviously, all the smoke you've been blowing is making me see things! I'm not like you, Chet Worth. I am clean! I'm pure! Shit, I'm American, son! And your crap-ass druggy-induced propaganda isn't going to deter me from delivering swift vigilante justice! Be gone, foul ghost of the Face-Eater! May you rest in peace and get bitches in your next life!

IFE: AW HELL NOW!

The ghost effigy of Face attempts to hop the table and walk forward, but he can't because he's, like, dead, or something.

IFE: Goddammit! Chet, shoot this fool!

Worth: Um, what?

IFE: Shoot this mother fucker.

Worth: I'm not killing another person today. I have morals, for Hoyt's sake.

IFE: FIIIIIIINE. I'm just going to possess Lindsay Troy and sit on his face! Then he'll get the HIV! THE HIV, YOU DISRESPECTFUL NO-SELLING MOTHER FUCKER!

Calming himself down in the face of this otherwise otherworldly encounter with the supernatural being, Sonny scratches his beard and tries to rationalize the situation as best as he can.

Silver: Okay... "Face-Eater" ... Let's say you really aren't a pot-smoking induced hallucination. Let's say you really are a "ghost"...

Those rotten, rickety contraptions in his deluded mind called gears start to turn.

Silver: Wanna be in an angle where you become the first Ghost to win the Universal Title? Ghosts are like... popular and shit. We could even switch channels to Sci-Fi because there's like, two billion sci-fi geeks who watch that kind of shit! It'll bring in millions!

IFE: YOU THINK I NEED YOUR CHEST-WAXING ASS TO GET A UNIVERSAL TITLE SHOT WHILE I'M DEAD?! FOOL, I DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T NEED ANYONE! I'LL GET THAT SHIT WHEN I FUCKING WANT IT! NOW GET OUT, YOU DISGUST ME WITH YOUR CHEAP ATTEMPT TO BUY YOUR SAFETY! I SHOULD FUCKING EAT YOUR SOUL FOR YOUR IDIOTIC ABILITY TO COMPREHEND THE EXISTENCE OF MY ETHEREAL FORM! I WILL THROW PHANTOM SHIT AT YOU UNTIL YOU DECIDE TO RELIEVE ME OF YOUR PRESENCE, FAGGOT-MORTAL! AND THEN I'LL PAWN THAT PRETTY FACE OF YOURS TO THE SLAVE-DEMONS OF HELL, AND THEY WILL STRAP IT TO THEIR WEINERS AS A CONDOM AS THEY PUNISH HITLER'S ASSHOLE, AND THEN YOU WILL BE A BUTT-FUCKING NAZI ASSHOLE!

Silver grimaces and again, goes back to yelling at the Worth-Eater ghost-like thing.

Silver: ...Dude, you're so out of your pot-filled mind. Get out of my sight, or the next thing you'll be seeing is a Priest when it's banishing you back to horrible reruns on that Sci-Fi Ghost Hunters show with the fat, bald guy!

Worth: Hey, there's only room for one fat guy in this office! GET OUT.

IFE: Hell yeah, take a stand, dude! Kick this faggot out!

Worth: And you get out of my body before Robert Downey, Jr. sues us for stealing his movie plot!

IFE: Dude, no one saw Heart & Soul.

Sonny: He's right, dude.

Worth: Then how would either of you know what I'm talking about?

Both Sonny and the dead Facey tug at their collars. Nervously.

IFE: Alright, I'll go. But not until I do one last thing.

Another mango hits Sonny in the balls, flying from the looming abyss.

Once again, he holds his junk as the apparition disappears. He then turns to Chet Worth and fumes at the real CEO.

Silver: If I EVER see you experimenting with drugs of ANY kind, ever again, you are going to pay, lowly mortal. Now, I'm going to get some ice for my mighty man parts.

And on that note, Sonny turns on his heel and leaves.

Worth: Man, I almost need drugs to deal with that delusional fuck.

IFE: No doubt. So, what's stoping you?

Worth: ... Nothing. Let's do this.

And scene.

In every lifetime there are moments that define. Moments that dazzle, that inspire and simultaneously subdue. There are times where seemingly random events connect so smoothly they suggest chance as the only absent element. A portrait of events that must have been traced by a finger divine.

In every web of memories there are spots that sparkle, knots that attract the unwary, waiting to consume, delight, and revile. In layman’s terms: from time to time shit happens to everyone that makes them sit up and go "Whoa!"

This is one of ours.

Straight from the pages of legend the unlikely forecast arrived. "Snow’s coming!" were the whispered words, uttered with reverent disbelief, like desert-dwellers predicting rain, or Noah the sun. Lore said he slept with PCW, that in that home he’d nobly staked his eternal claim, that there existed no mistress so tempting as to make his interest stray.

Yet the whispers spread. They grew, they mutated, they coalesced. They became a promise, a guarantee to PRIME. They set a date and time, they teased, flirting, slipping a leg out from behind the curtain, supplying the aroma but denying the taste. They pulled the rug out with the unmitigated gall and guile only one man took such pride in possessing.

Instead of ice-capped peaks there was brimstone, clouding the ring with smoky arrogance, stealing the thunderclap that had been three years in the making.

"Surprise," was all The Deville said, his grin showing he knew just how much of a surprise it was. He swaggered standing still, taunting his former teacher in the subtle way he’d taught, well aware how deep an insult Snow – if he really was out there watching – would consider it.

Had that been the only surprise, water-coolers the world over still would have marked unprecedented business. But the very next week, every man, woman, and child – and especially every woman – felt the long-awaited release of hard-driving Snow. Suffice it to say there wasn’t a soft nipple in the building.

The Original Villain and The Devil’s Don, sharing a wrestling ring publicly for the first time, jousting verbally, promising more, building the violent climax to come.

Again bottled water stock skyrocketed, and again experts said it had reached its apex, but the storm was only beginning to brew.

Another week, another apparition. Another student of Snow, and also one of Deville. Nobody had called him Richard in a very long time, but that was the disguise he donned, assuming Richard normally wore a parka to the broadcast table.

Snow was obligated not to care, but The Deville seemed pole-axed. The Renegade was the only pupil to ever best him, ceremoniously pinning him in the first round of what The Deville affectionately called his tournament. He cut a swath through PTC like nobody else before him – not Snow, not Angelo Deville, not Doctor Curiosity. He redefined dominance.

And now, hood down, he was standing in the ring with Snow and Deville, sneering at them, letting them know in certain terms that if there was a party in town, he was the one to crash it.

Worth wasted no time signing them to a triple threat match at Great American Nightmare.

The Renegade and The Deville wasted even less crippling that notion.

And Snow? Snow was busy no-selling time.

He had been, at least, until that luxury was denied even him. The unveiling of the unholy alliance between Deville and Rollins, just two weeks shy of Great American Nightmare, was enough to pierce Snow’s stoic armour. He needed to find a partner or he was going to get slaughtered.

But who could – who would – fill that role? By G-reatness, Snow was the finest, most untouchable specimen walking the planet, but even with his towering presence there were few to match up against the Deville/Rollins duo. These were two men who, between them, had won the most prestigious tournament the wrestling world had ever seen two times out of five, held World Titles, Global Titles, Universal Titles, been the winner and runner-up for PTC’s Wrestler of the Year, and that’s just scratching the very top of the surface.

Many people thought Tchu, The Inhuman Being and reigning Universal Champion, would be the monster to fit the bill. But those people were being ridiculous, as Tchu had more than enough on his plate with Nova and Olsig hell-bent on his title.

Seymour Almasy? Please. Snow was looking for victory.

Again the whispers abounded, but in the end it could only be one man. There was only one superstar that could balance the scales, who could use the likes of Doctor Curiosity as mere preparation to his appearance.

He was as much PCW and PTC legend as Snow himself, a mentor and teacher as he had been, one of the last true ambassadors of the sport. With a past as storied as any, he waited in the darkness, some would argue for more than a year, dangling like the fabled sword over the heads of Deville and Rollins.

In one fell swoop he turned Snow’s funeral into his rebirth, shedding the retirement Deville had paid for with a scalding scolding for his successor. The final ghost had emerged, horror its heir.

Lording over the ring as he always had, Xavier Kannon threw his gauntlet into the fray, and somewhere on a beach with Hoyt, God himself marvelled.

For all four men, for everyone privy to the spectacle, it would truly be the Great American Nightmare.

Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins versus Xavier Kannon and Jason Snow.

A match from hell if ever there was one.

And it begins now.

Sympathy for the Devil by The Rolling Stones

One instant there is light, another darkness. Where there was a muted buzz now explodes pandemonium, a sea of excitement. There is no need for an introduction, but as red columns like crimson tears scatter the arena, Mick Jagger’s taunting voice seeps through the noise.

Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul and faith

As has happened innumerous times before, smoke begins to pour through the vents of the stage, billowing, as lines of purple lights come to life underneath, sweeping down towards the ring in waves.

I was ‘round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Nick: Of all the entrances we’ve seen over the years, I don’t think any fit better than Deville’s. The man really is a snake.

Richard: You only try to paint him in a bad light because you’re an apple-eating wench. Think of all the great things he brings us!

Into that purple fog – an homage paid to Nicholson’s The Joker – strides the unmistakable chiselled outline, pompous and ominous even as a smoky imprint.

Nick: And how often have his plans brought disaster, Richard? How many times have we been left horrified at the depths he’ll sink to for the sake of his plans?

Richard: Me or you?

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name

Lightning strikes the stage, returning the light with an explosion as Deville smugly spreads his arms, for all the world expecting roses and frilly undergarments to bury him.

Vince Howard: This next contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from the Great White North . . .

Nick: So Snow really is his father?

Richard: Ha. Ha. Ha.

Vince Howard: He refused to weigh in but at last check was two-hundred-forty-one pounds! He is the reigning Primetime Central Wrestler of the Year! The Cadillac of Wrestling! ANGELOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DEVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

Arms still spread, The Deville nods as if that underwear-shower had taken place, then grins as his music dies and darkness shrouds the arena once more.

Born of a Broken Man by Rage Against The Machine

Rather than a pyro show, the PRIME-a-Tron flickers to life with a close-up of The Renegade’s sneering mug. In rapid succession it goes from Rollins in the ring in his parka to Rollins and Deville stomping Caldera, to a stream of Anarchist Elbows hit over the years, before slowing to show him smeared in crimson, hooking the leg of The Deville himself, just as bloodied, for the three count a year ago this month.

Nick: Interesting choice of montage for an entrance video. I’d say this alliance is going to result in a clash of egos sooner than later! Their allegiance is tenuous at best!

Richard: Yeah, never mind that they’ve been friends for years, or that they’ve aligned on more than one occasion in the past, without ever stabbing the other in the back.

Nick: You say that as if it’s a badge of honour. Whatever happened in their distant past, I’d be more concerned with what happened recently, namely Rollins calling out Deville in GTT5, defeating him, and now constantly rubbing it in his face. If I know Deville’s ego – and it’s impossible to ignore – it won’t be long before it becomes too much.

Regardless of Nick’s speculations, Deville is still grinning and shaking his head as Rollins saunters out into the glow, pausing to chuckle at the still-shot of himself with arms raised in triumph, Deville writhing at his feet. As the pyros finally begin firing, criss-crossing over the stage like rifle blasts, the two begin to swagger in lockstep, sinuous as ghosts. Rollins’ gait is more insolent, Deville’s more refined, both equal in their arrogance.

Vince Howard: And his partner! From the Windy City of Chicago, Illinois! He weighed in at two-hundred-fifty-five pounds! He is the reigning GTT Champion! The Renegade! RIIIIIIIIIIICH! ROOOOOOOOOOLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINS!

When they hit ringside they break into a run, each heading to opposite sides of the ring, sliding in passing each other in the centre of the ring as they cross the canvas in three strident bounds, simultaneously leaping onto the turnbuckles and throwing their arms high.

Richard: Soothe yourself with any false hopes you want, Nick, but as Snow and Kannon are about to have the misfortune of discovering, these two are solid.

The GTT Champions dismount as the music falters and dies, then begin to pace semi-circles along the back of the ring, moving in opposition but never touching, always crossing at the centre, eyes never leaving the stage.

Nick: Whatever the future holds for these two, right now they’re circling the ring likes sharks, and if any other two men were planning to enter that killing ground, I’d be readying myself to witness a feast.

Richard: Any two men, period. Any three men.

Nick: But it’s not just any two men, Richard! Together they’re the five-time PCW World Champion! Jason Snow and Xavier Kannon trained those two! And now they’re going to put them in their place!

Right Next Door to Hell by Guns n’ Roses

What had been loud enough to shake the heavens becomes enough to shatter the pearly gates. Darkness falls, but lasts only long enough for the strobes to begin to pulsate. Like an adrenaline-fuelled heartbeat it pounds, rocking the arena, readying it for this battle of the ages.

Vince Howard: And their opponents! Introducing first, from Parts Unknown, he weighs in at two-hundred-thirty-two pounds!

Orgasmic fireworks explode as Snow struts into the flashing blue lightshow, striding across the stage from end to end, urging the crowd louder. His ponytail angrily bobs the promise of violence, and he doesn’t wait for the arena to light before marching down the ramp.

Vince Howard: He is the most illustrious inductee into the Primetime Championship Wrestling Hall of Fame! The Original Villain! JASOOOOOOOOOOON! SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Nick: Listen to this ovation! This man is truly in a class by himself, Richard! We’ve already seen him in action a couple of times in PRIME, and even with those matches ending with shenanigans, his ring prowess is unmistakable! He’s a general, a commander! And he’s about to gift us another showcase on why he’s the favourite to take this year’s GTT!

Richard: Wipe your chin, Nick.

Snow comes to a halt at the foot of the aisle, looking up into the ring where the domineering duo of Deville and the Renegade stand guard behind the ropes. The official urges them to back off, but gets pie-faced by Rollins, who then flashes a clenched fist as a warning not to start giving out orders. Cracking his knuckles, Snow simply shoots a smirk towards them as screeching feedback deafens those unfortunate enough to be near an arena speaker.

The crowd has been on tippy-toe almost all night, but they almost seem to rise again as

Rock is dead by Marilyn Manson

launches into it's jagged, industrial intro.

The blue strobes continue, turning the blacked-out arena into an epileptic's worst nightmare as the silhouette of a figure is seen against the video screen behind the entranceway. The anticipation breaks out another roar from the crowd as a spotlight from either side of the stage scans across to illuminate the figure.

"Anything to belong...
Anything to belong..."

Tick, tick...

"ROCK!"

Pyro then erupts across the stage in front of the entrance, as if an aircraft had just swept in for a bombing run.

"...IS DEADER THAN DEAD!
"SHOCK! IS ALL IN YOUR HEAD!"

As the deafening pyro onslaught comes to a close, the smoke lingers, a silhouette growing more opaque as it strides across the stage.

"God is in the TV..."

Through the smoke strides Xavier Kannon, already pulling of his dragon-print shirt and throwing it out into the fans, before his headband follows. While his body had relaxed from the tightly-wound explosive package it had been in his heyday, Kannon still has that same look in his eyes, that determination that age hasn't softened.

Vince Howard: And his partner! From Merlin Bay, Barbados! Weighing in at 232 pounds! He is the final Universal Champion! XAVIER KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNONNNNNNN!!!

Clenched, taped fists unfurl as he obliges the fans reaching over the barrier, slapping hands as he basks in that pre-match rush he's only had a few fleeting fixes of in the past 3 years. As he reaches Snow, his body is almost convulsing, energy that had been building up for over a year threatening to erupt out of him. The two former PCW champions share a respectful nod, and then, staring down their opponents, climb up onto the apron right under their noses.

No fear. No surrender. No retreat.

As one they duck under the top rope, popping up straight into their opponents’ faces, Snow with Rollins, Kannon with Deville. All ignore the impotent raging of Wesley James, waving his hands like an air-traffic controller lest mayhem ensue before he’s called for the bell. The standoff perseveres, no muscles twitching, the very air seemingly frozen.

Then, ever-so-slowly, the left side of Rollins’ mouth curls, and he turns his back on Snow, spreading his arms in a defiant challenge. Snow smirks, looking around, then taps The Renegade on the shoulder, filling his vision with a middle finger when he glances over his shoulder.

The music finally cuts, amplifying the cheers, as Rich turns the rest of the way around, mouth moving an incredulous mile a minute. Snow flips his hand around, folding it together like a beak, which he begins to flap. Rollins snickers, rolling his head as he rolls his eyes, then lunges forward, shooting both hands firmly into Snow’s chest.

Snow stumbles back and hits the ropes, using them to launch him back into The Renegade with incredible force. The crowd "Oooooh!"s as Rollins staggers, almost falling, but as he whips back with a snarl, The Deville finally breaks his death-gaze with Kannon and intercepts him, pulling him close and whispering something that quickly has Rich nodding.

The crowd boos the false-start as Snow and Kannon exchange a glance, but no-selling it all, Rollins and Deville casually cross the ring to their corner, apparently discussing who should start. Wesley breathes a sigh of relief and stations himself in the centre as if he might be a safeguard should the men decide the rules are merely suggestive. On the other side, Snow, a little extra pumped now, points to himself and Kannon nods, ducking to the outside.

Pacing anxiously, muttering under his breath, Snow waits while Deville and Rollins are reduced to the holy argument-ender: Rock, Paper, Scissors. The Deville’s rock smashes The Renegade’s scissors, and though his lightning-quick reflexes spread his hand to make paper in the blink of an eye, he protests Deville’s dishonesty only half-heartedly before hitting the apron.

James calls for the bell before the moment can be spoiled.

Finally alone in the ring, Deville and Snow lock eyes, all humour burned from them by the deadly seriousness of the situation. The mood changes in a heartbeat, the anticipation realized. The time for games has ended. The audience has reached its crescendo.

Deville and Snow… Snow and Deville… Ready to unite in bloodshed for the first time.

Snow leans back on the ropes and stretches his back - he’s not been in this situation in a long time. Not in years. He can feel every eye in the house on him, and it further jumpstarts his adrenaline. He can’t hear the fans’ words, but he knows what they’re saying. He knows they’ve salivated for this single moment for the past half-decade.

And Deville? This is where Deville thrives and he knows it. For him, it’s all about "the biggest stage." He smirks at Snow in the distance, and he knows too, that no matter how great the matches prior to this were - tonight something very, very special is going to happen. Tonight, the men in the ring are going to make history.

Deville and Snow... Snow and Deville...

Slowly, each man paces toward the centre of the ring, coming at angles. Their movements are casual, so not to show fear, and yet they both understand well what the other is capable of.

Nick: Y’know, this reminds me a lot of when Deville and Kannon had their million dollar match last year, only this time Deville has been the less active of the pair. Maybe he should have been the one limbering up, taking matches to prepare. Can he possibly be as well-oiled as when we last saw him in action?

Richard: Gold doesn’t rust.

Deville smirks again as they get close. Snow mirrors the action, and suddenly they lock up. The match is on!

Deville quickly takes the upper hand, twisting Snow’s right arm behind his back - but Snow is as quick as he ever was, and he immediately rolls out. They lock up again, and once more Deville takes control, locking Snow into an arm-bar and taking him to the mat. With a flash of cockiness, Deville slithers down the length of Snow’s body and applies an ankle lock.

Richard: Answer your question?

Nick: There are few in the business as technically sound as Deville, and Jason Snow, for all his brilliance elsewhere, isn’t among them. He can’t try to beat this man at his own game.

Thinking quickly, before the lock does any real damage, Snow tucks himself into a somersault and breaks free, his momentum sending Deville into the corner. Angelo turns, smirk reappearing, and suggests Snow stretch out a bit more.

Nick: Just feeling each other out at this point… Both men are more than experienced enough to recognize the importance of measuring an opponent before going for the kill.

When Deville makes his way back into the middle of the ring, Snow suddenly takes charge, rushing at him - but The Deville has always been quick on his feet. He grabs Snow for a hip-toss, which Snow effectively blocks, and suddenly has Deville in position for a suplex. But again Deville’s agility manifests itself in the nick of time, slipping him out, spinning Snow around 360 degrees, and suddenly it’s Jason Snow going up for a suplex.

Deville lets him hang there for a moment as the cameras go berzerk, sauntering effortlessly around the ring, holding Snow completely at his mercy. That turns out to be a mistake, as Snow is quite cagey himself - Deville kicks out a leg and starts the drop back, but Snow squirms out of his hands, twirling, and scissors Deville’s arm with his legs for a crucifix! The pair roll backward together with Deville’s shoulders on the mat.

. . . One!

Deville kicks out with authority and both men immediately launch themselves free of the other’s clutches. Glaring across the ring at Jason Snow from one knee, Deville nods to himself, muttering appreciatively, and rises. Snow leans forward expectantly, a coiled spring, waiting for another go-round.

Nick: That exchange definitely went to Snow, and Deville is not happy!

Richard: Yeah . . . A crucifix and a one count . . . throw in the towel now, Deville! Before it’s too late!

It’s Deville’s turn to charge, reeling back his right hand to deliver a haymaker to Snow’s temple. Snow rises, moving into it, but at the last second The Deville dives, hooking the back of Snow’s knee with his left hand, whipping around like a discus-thrower. Snow is caught by surprise, but again he recovers, translating the motion into a back-spinning kick on a collision course with Angelo’s chin.

WHAP!

His heel finds the palms of Deville’s hands, which expertly snake around the ankle and twist, tearing Snow down. Before Snow can somersault free once more, Deville scales his back, locking in a sleeperhold that’s more choke than anything else, his mouth brushing Snow’s ear, whispering a vulgar lullaby. James is there in an instant, slapping at Deville’s back, shouting his five-count, flashing the fingers in Deville’s face just in case. Just as the ref begins to threaten the DQ, Deville relinquishes the hold, bounding upright and skipping back a few steps as Snow whirls to his feet.

The Renegade: Knock that ponytail sideways already! Jeez!

Deville is too savvy to turn, but Snow still seizes the moment, rushing Deville and faking with his right, cracking Deville in the jaw with a straight left. The blow is partially deflected by Deville’s forearm sweeping up, but it still rocks him, and as his head snaps back Snow runs past him, scaling the ropes and launching from the top rung, plowing Deville as he turns with a shoulder-tackle.

His allergies to the canvas kicking in, Deville springs right back up, but Snow has already rebounded from the ropes and clips him right under the chin with a dropkick. Deville pops up again, narrowly falls back to avoid a flying clothesline, and rolls to the outside of the ring to collect himself. The crowd goes apeshit as James begins to count out the cursing Deville. Snow merely waits, crouched expectantly once more, smirking.

Nick: Wow! Snow just took Deville to school, and The Devil’s Don had no choice but to bail! Now Rollins is going to talk to him, to try to calm him down! Deville is livid!

Richard: I can’t believe I still have to explain this to you, Nick, but it’s obviously a ploy. Deville always likes to lull his opponent.

Nick: Sure thing, Richard! I’m sure he just loves getting kicked in the chops!

Snow remains silent, showing great restraint, but Kannon is all about taunting Deville, arching a mockingly confused brow and gesturing toward Snow in the ring.

Deville tries to shoot him a look, but Rollins demands all of his attention, giving a much-needed pep-talk, complete with derisive sneers and thumb-points at Snow. Finally Deville nods, grabs the middle rope, and jumps onto the canvas, vaulting himself back into the ring.

Dusting himself off, Deville holds his hands up to forestall Snow, then moves forward obviously looking for the grapple. With narrowed eyes and a smirk, Snow obliges him, moving up and forward, reaching for Deville’s shoulder. As they touch, an invisible doctor’s hammer hits Deville in the knee, and his pointy foot finds Snow square in his pride.

Nick: Oh! Bull! BULL! Cheap shot by Deville!

Richard: Huh? What?

Nick: That was an act of utter desperation, nothing more!

As Snow crumples, eyes bulging then clamping shut, Deville backs off with his hands spread innocently, completely no-selling James’ spittle-flecked warnings. Intent on his authority being respected, James grabs Deville by the shoulder and spins him around, waving an admonishing finger in his face. It only ends up earning him the threat of a backhand, and as the crowd unleashes their displeasure, Deville tags Rollins.

Nick: And now they’re going to double-team him while he’s down! These two are despic—And Kannon’s in the ring!

Richard: Look out!

Just as Deville’s fingers find Snow’s hair, Kannon’s shoulder finds his solar-plexus, spiking him to the canvas with a thunderous spear. The two trade vicious punches, Kannon dominating the exchange from the mount. Rollins instantly abandons the raised boot targeting Snow’s lower back, throwing himself onto Kannon, cinching in a choke and violently wrestling him free of Deville, wrapping his legs around Kannon’s waist as he takes his own back.

Summoning another level of heart, Snow fights through the pain and stands. Deville hits his feet at exactly the same instant and looks to intercept Snow, but James cuts him off instead, pointing toward his corner. The Deville seems ready to deck him, or to simply sweep past, but James’ patience is already sapped, and the threat of disqualification is real.

Richard: Smart move by Deville there, following that nazi’s orders. He’d have no qualms ruining this match for everyone.

Nick: If Deville gets them disqualified with his blatant disregard for the rules, he’ll have no one to blame but himself!

The Original Villain scoops down and snatches The Renegade’s fingers, prying his arm free of Kannon’s throat, laying it out and stomping on the elbow. Kannon takes the opportunity to roll free, rising to unleash some payback, but the ever-diligent Wesley gives him the same treatment he gave Deville, leaving Snow and Rollins alone in the ring.

Still holding The Renegade’s arm, Snow begins to pull him up, but Rollins, noticing Wesley preoccupied with Kannon, whips his other arm up between Snow’s legs, drilling him with the second low-blow in as many minutes.

Richard: Haha!

With a shouted curse bred of anger and agony, Snow drops to a knee, refusing to go all the way down. Teeth clenched, fists balled, he tries to force the pain away. Kannon sees this transpire over the ref’s shoulder and shoves him out of the way like a child, dumping him halfway through the ropes. Rollins turns to face him just as they come within arm’s length of each other, but before Rollins can do anything, Kannon launches into him with a knee somewhat south of the gut, doubling him over, then smoothly drops him with an uppercut.

Richard: Did anyone start a low-blow pool? Can I still get in on it?

Nick: Why is it always the matches packed with veterans that have the most cheating?

Richard: They’re wily, that’s why.

For his trouble, Kannon nearly gets decapitated by a clothesline from Deville. James, amazingly resilient for a zebra, is back on his feet, launching himself into Deville, his face beet red, demanding order. Deville points at Kannon and calls the ref an idiot, helps The Renegade to their corner, steps out, tags him, and ducks back in. Wesley is forcibly moving XK back to his corner, reminding him he can’t do anything about the alleged cheating if he has to babysit both sides.

Snow is crawling the same way, wincing every time he moves a leg, unaware of The Deville stalking him, keeping pace a foot back. Just as Snow gets to where Deville figures he could almost touch Kannon’s outstretched hand, he spins and descends on Snow’s back, locking him in a Boston crab.

Snow’s head arches back in pain, but he doesn’t make a sound, clenching his eyes tight and reaching toward his corner for all he’s worth. As always, The Deville’s keen eye was spot on, and with Kannon bending over the ropes, practically exploding with want to get in and kick some ass, their hands flap the air six inches apart.

Cursing, Xavier looks at James, who tells him with a stern look that he’d better not. With his free arm, Snow absurdly begins pushing himself up, using leverage to inch closer. It sorta reads like a Sebastian Toomes promo: five inches . . . four . . . three . . . almost there!

With a bare inch to spare Deville straightens, dragging Snow all the way across the ring so he’s sitting about three feet from Rollins. Without releasing the hold, Deville extends his arm like a t-rex, and Rollins eagerly slaps it, jumping into the ring. James begins Deville’s five count as Rollins moves himself so they’re back-to-back, locking a camel clutch onto Snow.

Nick: They’re gonna break his back!

Richard: Hey, he and Kannon like to pretend they have so much in common. May as well wheel around together in their old age.

Again Deville releases the hold at the exact second he has to, casually exiting the ring. In a rare mental lapse, his positioning of Snow leaves it so that with his legs released, they can reach the ropes, which one immediately does. Again with the five count, again with the waiting until six and a warning.

Nick: This started off really well for Snow, but two low-blows and a broken back later, he’s suddenly in critical shape!

Richard: Notice how well Rollins and Deville are working together? How do your words taste, Nick?

Springing upright, Rollins turns and begins feeding stomps into Snow’s back, laughing every time the fallen legend struggles toward his corner. After a good dozen stomps, Rollins saunters around to Snow’s head and helps him up to his knees, setting him up for a powerbomb. Snow makes a last-ditch effort at tackling Rollins to the ground, but The Renegade simply uses the momentum to more easily lift him, foregoing any showboating to instantly and severely plant Snow on his shoulders.

Pinning Snow there, he snaps at James to make the count.

. . . One!

. . .

Two!

Kannon’s halfway there, and he might’ve made it in time, but his involvement proves unnecessary as Snow rockets against Rollins with everything he has, throwing The Renegade well clear. Deville shakes an admonishing finger at Kannon and asks him why he must try to cheat, and for an instant it seems Kannon is going to go throttle him.

Again James intervenes, escorting Kannon from the ring, and again Rollins helps Snow up, this time all the way to his feet. Launching the orgasmic vision across the ring, he arrogantly collides with him on the rebound, knocking him sprawling to the canvas. Flexing his biceps, for a moment even Rollins seems taken aback by his strength, by how cut and powerful he is.

Nick: What an asshole.

Richard: Nick!

Nick: What? It’s payperview.

Richard: But you’re supposed to represent a professional.

Nick: Yeah, well, it’s my professional opinion the guy is an asshole.

This time Rollins waits for Snow to rise on his own, circling around him, waiting until he gets his feet beneath him before measuring and levelling him with a hard right hand. Snow immediately rolls over and begins rising, freeing up Rollins to drive a boot into his jaw, then to pick him up and again launch him into the ropes.

Rollins ducks down for the backdrop a split second too soon, and Snow absolutely obliterates his face with a driving knee. It sapped the very last of Snow’s strength, collapsing him, but it also laid out The Renegade. The chant begins quietly but in an instant is thunderous.

"SNOW! SNOW! SNOW!"

Then quickly morphs as The Renegade gives his head a clearing shake.

"I’M A PEASANT!" ~clap clap clapclapclap~ "I’M A PEASANT!" ~clap clap clapclapclap~

Nick: Quick! Make the tag!

Snow is crawling toward his corner, but The Renegade has recovered enough to gain his feet, and as Snow continues his slow crawl, Rollins sprints across the ring and grabs him in the nick of time, seizing an ankle and dragging him backward with some admonishing tsks.

Nick: OH!

But Snow flips himself over and drives his other foot up into Rollins’ chin, forcing the release. Rollins tries to bound back as Snow dives . . .

SLAP!

Nick: HERE COMES KANNON! FINALLY!

The chanting switches to wordless marking out as Kannon kicks a leg through the ropes and whips himself into the ring, completely fresh and incredibly pissed off.

The Renegade sneers but backs off, holding his hands out as if to ask for a timeout. Kannon obliges, but not out of any sense of generosity. Glaring past Rollins, he points a finger at the hole his stare is burning, straight into the eyes of Angelo Deville.

Nick: And he wants Deville! He’s calling Deville into the ring!

Richard: Anyone ever accuse him of intelligence? Didn’t think so.

Nick: Uh-huh! And wouldn’t you say this is a no-win situation either way?

Richard: I would, but you beat me to it.

Impossibly, the crowd grows louder, and The Renegade half-turns to Deville, quirking an eyebrow. The Deville, matching Kannon’s stare, gives one sharp nod of his head and extends a hand.

Shrugging as if it makes no difference to him which of them puts Kannon out of his misery, Rollins closes the distance and makes the tag. He turns to perpetrate the double-team, but oddly, Deville puts a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. Rollins opens his mouth to argue, then merely shakes his head and ducks to the outside.

Kannon and Deville begin circling one another coldly, their past clashes playing through each of their minds on a continuous loop.

The crowd, apparently mistaking Deville for some guy named Pedro, takes up a new chant.

"WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" ~clap clap clapclapclap~ "WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" ~clap clap clapclapclap~

Deville stops and surveys the crowd, urging the chant to gain gusto, then sneers in his lordly manner, and, like the last time they met, throws a hand high.

Richard: What? Don’t be an idiot! Last time he took one hand then eye-gouged you!

Nick: Come now, Richard. Surely this is another ploy.

Deville seems intently serious, and it’s Kannon’s turn to smirk. Closing the space between them in two gaping strides, Kannon doesn’t pretend he’s going for the grapple, but instead winds up and belts Deville right in the kisser with a sadistic right hand.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Staggering back, nearly falling, Deville looks at Kannon as if at the most scandalous person in the world, then touches a finger to his lips. He snarls fiendishly at finding blood, looking from it to Kannon with mounting incredulity.

Nick: That rocked him! And Kannon’s smiling at him! Inviting a return!

Indeed, Kannon says something cutting to Deville from the side of his mouth, then tilts his chin back. Not bothering to bite off his curse, Deville sweeps forward and tries to flatten Kannon with a left hook, throwing his hip and every ounce of himself into it.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Now XK staggers back, dipping to a knee, before finding that his lip is also bloodied. Grinning through it, he lunges at Deville at the same time Deville lunges at him, and the two meet in a whirlwind of flailing arms, socking one another with reckless abandon. After a dozen blows from each side they hit the canvas, rolling around, still punching, like a tumbleweed or a cartoon brawl.

Nick: Kannon’s on top! No! Deville! Now Kannon!

Richard: Deville! Get out of there!

Kannon has seemingly come out on top, straddling Deville’s chest, dropping fists and elbows like he wants to win by TKO, or maybe just pound Deville’s head to mush. Deville has stopped throwing, desperately covering his face with both arms. Kannon wastes only a moment pulverizing The Deville’s forearms, grabbing a wrist and jumping up, turning, hooking it and cinching in an armbar.

Greasy as his hair’s supposed to be, however, The Devil’s Don somehow slips free, back-somersaulting to his feet and stumbling back into the ropes, trying to gain his bearings. Kannon is already on his feet, charging, dumping Deville over the top to the outside with a vicious clothesline. The force is such that Kannon himself spills to the outside, landing atop Deville, smartly spinning in midair as he does to land with his knees.

Nick: If Deville still has his head, he doesn’t know it!

Wesley James is already at the ropes, demanding that they get back in the ring, but as Kannon rises it’s obvious he has no intentions of obeying that order. Scooping up Deville, he plants a knee into his gut, then whips him at the ringpost.

THWACK!

The Deville got an arm up, but it only partially deflected the blow, the left side of his face cracking against the steel. He bounces backward, goose-stepping loopily, and waltzes right into the waiting arms of XK, who lifts him up from behind as if for an atomic drop, but instead rushes forward, again smashing him into the ringpost, this time nuts-first.

Needless to say, James is having a conniption fit.

Dropping like Hans Moleman to a football, Deville lays still save his writhing. XK cuts off a few choice words for James and his threats, then scoops Deville and rolls him into the ring, following immediately behind.

Nick: And now Kannon’s stalking Deville, haunting him as he has for so many years!

Richard: Had.

Nick: Has!

The first Universal Champion crawls to the feet of the last, grabbing his pant-leg and using it to climb as Kannon watches implacably. Rollins is shouting at Deville, begging for the tag, demanding it, and Snow is clapping, stomping, urging the crowd.

Guess which obliges.

"WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" ~clap clap clapclapclap~ "WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" ~clap clap clapclapclap~

Finally Kannon’s hands finds Deville, but it isn’t to help. Oh no, never that.

Nick: THE HALLMARK! KANNON JUST HIT THE HALLMARK! DEVILLE IS OUT! COLD!

Seemingly broken, Deville convulses once, twice, then goes perfectly still. Rollins is already scaling the ropes as Kannon drops, hooking Deville’s left leg.

ONE!

. . .

Rollins leaps, but unbeknownst to him, Snow had reached the top rope at the same time, timing his jump perfectly to coincide with that of The Renegade.

TWO!

. . .

Rollins stretches out to drop The Anarchist Elbow on Kannon, lined up to break the hold at the perfect moment, but half a second from impact, Snow torpedoes into him with greater, more concentrated force, hurtling them clear of Deville and Kannon, dumping them to the canvas in a heap a bare foot to the side.

Richard: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Richard: NO!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

But James is on his feet, flashing that damnable peace sign, pointing to Deville’s left shoulder, under which you’d be hard-pressed to slide a single sheet of paper.

Nick: WHAT?!

"WHAT?!"

Richard: He kicked out of The Hallmark again! The Deville is unfinishable! Unfinishable, I say!

Kannon rises with a disbelieving roar, pointing an accusatory finger at James, slapping his hands together three times in rapid succession, as if to familiarize the ref with the actual process. James shakes his head and flashes the two fingers, then turns his attention to Snow, ushering him from the ring. Rollins is already gone, having rolled to the outside the second Deville’s shoulder lifted.

Nick: That has to be the closest near-fall I’ve ever seen! I still don’t think Deville really did get his shoulder up! If this is more bribery from Deville, I . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it’s gonna be bad!

Richard: Ahahahahaha! Gonna shock the world and say "asshole" again, you badass rebel you?

As the crowd roars, Kannon signals that he’s gonna do it again, but as he turns to grab Deville, discovers him gone. It takes a mere instant for XK to realize Deville dumped himself to the outside, and less than that for him to follow suit, heading to the top rope to do it in style.

Nick: Air Kannon! Coming in for a crash landing! Kiss your ass goodbye, Deville!

He spots Deville a mere ten feet away, on one knee, doubled over, back turned, catching his breath. XK leaps, curling into a ball before tilting his knees downward, looking to drop both onto Deville’s back, or perhaps his head.

From his vantage point it was impossible to see the weapon in The Deville’s hands, the chair Rollins had slid over to him while everyone was distracted. The equalizer Deville whipped around with deadly force when Rollins yelled "NOW!", spinning into Kannon and cracking him square in the face, swatting him out of the air like a 200-pound fly.

James, having just gotten Snow out of the ring, spins at the unmistakable noise, outrage painted clearly on his face, but his eyes find nothing.

Jason Snow: You. Fucking. Micromanaging. Peasant!

Hauling ass to the other side of the ring, James looks out to the floor to find Deville and Kannon both splayed out and apparently unconscious, with The Renegade by now almost half a ring away. The chair is gone, having been tucked under the ring by Deville as soon as it had served its purpose. Wesley rages for a moment, logic telling him that if Kannon was now unconscious Deville must have used the chair, but knowing logic wasn’t the rulebook to which officiating bent. Grudgingly he begins the double count-out.

The crowd boos ferociously as Deville begins to stir, rising unsteadily and grabbing his head as if expecting to find copious amounts of blood there, or perhaps the indent of a chair. He turns to James, opening his mouth to protest XK’s cheating, then seems to change his mind and merely shakes his head at the incompetent officiating, grabbing Kannon by the hair, throwing him into the ring.

Nick: This is a goddamn travesty! Kannon was owning Deville, and now he’s unconscious thanks to an unseen chair shot!

Richard: If a chair falls on a head and no referee is there to see it, does it make a disqualification? Obviously not.

Nick: Just shut up. If this ends like this . . .

Richard: Stop making vague threats as if you might actually do something other than bluster.

With Kannon on the mat, Deville slowly slides in and makes his way over to the ropes, slapping the hand of his partner before taking a moment to recuperate. Rich Rollins smirks at the crowd’s booing and steps through the ropes to deliver a little more damage to Kannon, who’s already in rough shape, mostly thanks to that stunning chair shot. Rollins lingers in the corner, watching Kannon crawl to his own corner, where Jason Snow is reaching desperately for a tag.

Like a cat playing with a wounded mouse, again, Rollins waits until Kannon is just within reach of his partner, and then grabs his foot and drags him back ten feet.

Snow decides he doesn’t need a tag and jumps into the ring, getting a huge pop from the fans, who think the tag has been made. But a moment later the referee is in his face, forcing him to the outside. And wouldn’t you know it? While he’s protesting, Angelo Deville slips back into the ring and he and Rollins start double stomp-fucking the hell out of Xavier Kannon.

With Kannon flat on his chest, Deville casually heads off, leaving Rich Rollins to finish the job. Rollins grabs a handful of Kannon’s hair and pulls him groggily to his knees. Jason Snow finally returns to his place beyond the ring-ropes, freeing the referee to turn around in time to see Rollins hoist Kannon up and crack the top of his head of the canvas with a piledriver!

Richard: It’s all over! I can feel it!

Not so quick, The Renegade says. Or his body language does, at least. And the tilt-a-whirl backbreaker with which he tries to cripple Kannon.

Dusting his hands, oozing arrogance, Rollins lies lazily across Kannon’s body, face up, while the referee slides into position...

ONE!

. . .

TWO!

. . .

Richard: I can feel it!

No!

To The Renegade’s surprise, Xavier Kannon’s left shoulder jerks off the canvas. Rollins, both shocked and amused, points to the corner, not at Deville, but at the turnbuckle.

A moment later, he’s climbing.

Nick: Not like this!

Richard: Anarchist Elbow!

As Rollins straightens himself, standing atop the turnbuckle, each and every member of the crowd rise to their feet. Cameras flash in the background, and a hush falls over the stadium. Rollins raises both arms high above his head and focuses on the target below.

He leaps.

For a moment, it’s as if time stops, and for many with cameras it has. Rollins hangs in the air with the hush of the crowd, high above the ring and Xavier Kannon. The entirety of it takes only a moment and yet it seems much longer.

And then he brings everything crashing back to life as he descends. A moment before impact, Rich Rollins’ eyes grow wide and he tries to tuck his elbow in, but it’s too late.

Xavier Kannon rolls out of the way.

Rollins crashes into the mat at full speed, rolls on the canvas in pain, and then finally sits up. He curses at himself for missing his signature manoeuvre, or maybe for pinning Kannon so lazily before. Either way, when he stands up and turns around, he looks directly into the piercing blue eyes of Jason Snow.

The tag was made.

Before The Renegade has time to react, Snow grabs him by the forearm and whips him into the ropes, and then on the return...

Snake Eyes!

But no! Rollins slides low at the last possible moment, avoiding the impact and rolling all the way to the ropes. He bails out of the ring to recover and kill Snow’s momentum, and is met there by Angelo Deville, who returns the earlier favour of a pep-talk.

Like a broken record no one wants to hear, James begins the count-out. Before he can screech a second time, Rollins slides back into the ring, meeting Snow halfway in a grapple. Rollins is the larger man by a fair poundage, but Snow’s experience and adrenaline, his pure outrage, make it an even match, forcing them to break away. They go to lock again, Snow’s feint drawing Rollins off-balance, using it to launch him against the ropes, leaping for a tornado kick that Rollins avoids by clinging with both arms to the top rung.

He launches himself as Snow lands, crashing into him, hugging him, doing a little hop, then snapping him head-over-heels with a belly-to-belly suplex. Both men are up instantly, but Rollins beats the quicker Snow to the punch, grabbing him and whipping him into the corner where Deville is waiting. Rollins charges in behind, diving, looking to cut Snow in half, but The Original Villain deftly leaps over top of him, spreading himself across the top rope as if he might pause there for a brief spell and nap. Rollins’ shoulder collides with the steel post.

CRACK!

Deville punches Snow square in the face, dumping him from his perch, but Rollins is tumbling down to the canvas, away from their corner, holding his shoulder, inadvertently grinding himself against the mat as he tries in vain to rise. Snow is there in a heartbeat, snatching up Rollins’ legs, turning him, flipping over him for a bridging pin. He nods his head angrily, hearing the count in his head . . .

. . . but it doesn’t sound. Helpless to do anything else, James meets Snow’s stare regretfully, pointing above him to where Angelo Deville, who tagged Rollins as he hit the post, is now standing.

Kannon charges in, but still groggy, he finds himself flat on his back from The Deville’s sharp right hand. Snow springs up only to find Deville’s arms, like steel clamps, encircling his head and neck, pinning his arms uselessly inside the grip. Thanking his amateur background, Deville rolls him, then does it again, relishing the move because it makes the victim’s own arms perpetrate the choke.

Nick: He’s choking him! Get in there, James!

Richard: No! It’s legal! It’s inadvertent!

Nick: What does that have to do with anything?!

Inadvertent inadshmertent, though, says James, who bellows at Deville to break the hold in one second or be DQed. Kannon and Rollins have both gone back to the outside, Kannon to the floor, Rollins to his corner, albeit still gripping his shoulder and wincing.

Deville breaks the hold, but only long enough to rehook Snow’s head, which he then uses to scoop his former teacher up, then without the foolish showboating of earlier, spikes him with a brainbuster.

Somehow, Snow reaches his feet before Deville, and with a snarl returns the move, rises, and spinkicks Rollins from the apron. Deville pops up only to get planted again, this time with a double-underhook DDT.

This time Snow has time to wait as Deville shakes the cobwebs clear, and with his body angled sideways, it’s obvious which move he plans to unleash when Deville finally rises and turns around.

But as he waits, from behind him, Kannon, amazingly recovered, slaps him on the back and enters the ring. Snow is stunned, appalled, and opens his mouth to call down even Kannon for such impertinence, but XK has already moved beyond him, seizing Deville with a vengeance and throwing him into the ropes.

Snow leaves the ring muttering about peasants, and about how this is why he doesn’t team up with people.

Kannon follows Deville to the ropes, and upon his rebound, plants a knee into his gut and looks for a hiptoss - but Deville reverses it and tosses Kannon clear out of the ring! Kannon crashes to the padded concrete, trying to flip enough that he doesn’t land on his head, but failing, ending up lying there in a daze.

Back in the ring, Deville calmly steps outside of the ropes, takes a second to catch his breath, then lets himself drop off the apron, methodically planting a foot in Kannon’s larynx. Kannon sits up straight, gagging, giving Deville all the access he needs to lay a boot into the small of his back.

While Kannon leans against the side of the ring, Deville reaches under it, grabbing the dented chair he planted there earlier.

Nick: Again?! What is he thinking? What does he think he’s going to do?

As if he hasn’t seen it a thousand times.

Nick: James is looking right at him! He's going to get himself disqualified!

Richard: James wouldn't dare!

Kannon rolls himself onto one knee, and with the help of the ring apron, presses himself up until he’s standing. All the while, Deville is waiting, tapping the chair against the ground, counting down like a timebomb. Groggily, Kannon turns around, walking right into the . . .

Richard: YES!

NO! Snow makes the save from behind, pulling the chair from Deville’s hands and holding it tight against his chest. After leering at Deville, Snow pulls the chair back and takes a swipe - but Deville alertly grabs Kannon by the wrist and Irish whips him into the full force of the shot!

Nick: NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Kannon takes the chair directly in the face, catching him so hard that he nearly flips in the air. He ends up on his back, staring up at the lights, while Snow leans over him, trying to bring him back around.

Deville laughs with great mirth, and, ever-aware of the referee’s count, slides back into the ring. The double-count-out James had begun now applies solely to Kannon, and it’s halfway there.

Six!

Snow is working on Kannon, but Xavier is in rough shape. There’s a cut open on his forehead and his nose is bleeding so bad that it might be broken.

Seven!

Nick: Don’t tell me this is how this match is going to end! No!

Richard: Stop saying that!

Eight!

Kannon still isn’t cognizant.

Nine!

Without any other choice, Snow pulls Kannon to his feet and reluctantly rolls his partner into the ring where The Deville is waiting, that telltale grin plastered on his face as he takes great care in coming his hair.

Snow resumes his place on the apron, with Kannon laying strategically close, a mere roll or two away. Naturally, Deville doesn’t play that. He drags Kannon to the centre of the ring and leaves him there, struggling to move but overcome with nausea. The Deville circles him, obviously looking to lock in The Soprano, then winks at Rollins, now back in their corner, and backs his way to the opposite ropes, grabbing hold of the rope with both hands, ready to dump himself over backwards as he always does.

Nick: Now where’s he going? I can’t imagine Snow would have let Deville lock in The Soprano and keep it on, but he can’t possibly think going for the chair again is a smooth idea! He wants to win, doesn’t he?

Richard: My sources tell me Deville is no longer overly concerned with winning . . . I think he just wants to add insult to injury!

But, oh the irony, as Deville flips over hoping to add just that, Snow presses down on that same rope with all his might, and the result slingshots Deville back into the ring, his arms hopelessly trapped.

The Renegade throws his hands heavenward, overcome with equal parts disbelief and disgust. Snow himself seems rather surprised, but the shock quickly fades to a grin, then he’s shouting for Kannon to get up, to tag him in or finish Deville off himself.

Richard: What?! Release him, James! Release him! It’s your duty!

But James also has a wry smile, eyeing The Deville, caught like a butterfly in a cobweb. Liking the poetic justice of it all, he heads to the far corner and waits for something in need of officiating. Rollins considers going over there and helping Deville out, but damn it, it’s just twisted ropes, so instead he yells to Deville to stop screwing around and release himself.

Deville struggles, embarrassment and horror painting his face. Kannon begins to rise, first to a knee, then, spotting Deville’s predicament, the rest of the way with one of the widest smiles he’s ever worn.

Sauntering forward, he slaps Deville softly in the face, then again, much harder, so there’s a white hand-print against that flushed, chiselled cheek.

Kannon backs off, exuberant, and throws his head back to bellow a deep laugh. This couldn’t be more perfect, more set-up.

But when he lowers his gaze back to where Deville is trapped, The Devil’s Don is smiling back at him, nodding, finishing it off with a wink.

XK senses Rollins finally entering the ring behind him, but Snow is already moving to cut him off, a murderous look on his face.

Deville’s smile mutates into a grin. Imperceptible dread worms its way into Kannon’s gut, washing over him. Even the crowd grows quieter, ominously quieter.

Nick: No . . . NO! Damnit, NO!

Oh yes. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Snake Eyes!

Snow’s boot catches Kannon beautifully, snapping his head back much as it had mere moments ago with joy, to cackle. But this time his body follows, crumpling him to the canvas as the arena becomes a giant tugboat, moaning a soul-wrenching wail.

Nick: SONOFABITCH! NO! It was arranged all along! It was never Snow’s funeral! All along it was Kannon’s!

Richard: SONOFABITCH! YES! It was arranged all along! Don’t think of the deceased, think of what is being born BEFORE OUR VERY EYES!

Nonchalantly flipping himself backward onto the apron, shedding the ropes as easily as false tears, Deville climbs back through and raises Snow’s left arm high for all to see. Rollins grabs his right arm and does the same, and together, grinning fit to eat the Creshire cat, they turn, letting the masses gape.

James recovers himself and calls for the bell, throwing the match out, only for Snow to yank free of his partners and pivot, then . . .

Snake Eyes!

Resilient-for-a-ref or not, James is knocked the fuck out, flopping like a fish.

Kannon, amazingly, is starting to rise, but Deville and Rollins have a little something to say about that. Deville drops him with a knee to the forehead, then bends down and grabs his ankles, rolling back to execute The Soprano.

Meanwhile, on the top rope, Rollins raises his arms high, grinning yet again for those with flash photography, before leaping and colliding with Kannon almost ten feet above the canvas, smashing his face with a modified Anarchist Elbow! The impact rocks he and Angelo both, almost breaking the hold, but with inhuman strength Deville holds it, re-straightens their prey, holding him this time for Snow, who decks him with another Snake Eyes!

Richard: NICE! Sing it with me, Nick . . . I’m in love! OooooooOOOOOO, I’m a believer!

Deville lets Kannon drop in an unconscious heap, only for all three to descend on him, stomping ravenously, kicking him in the face, seemingly only encouraged by the rapidly pooling blood making a halo around his head.

Nick: This is just . . . wrong! On so many levels! I’m sorry to our fans . . . to Eleanor . . . to his kids . . . this man has children, for crying out loud! Somebody stop this! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!

Richard: Who, Nick? Would you go down there and interfere? No one in their right mind would!

Nick: Somebody better! Somebody has to! DOES NOBODY HAVE A GODDAMN HEART?!

Richard: Welcome to the wrestling biz, Nick.

Finally, mercifully, CSC security begins flooding out from the back, swarming the ring like a beehive defending the queen. At their first appearance, however, Snow slid from the ring and grabbed three chairs, tossing one to each of his boys before diving back in and waiting for the sheep, seemingly eager for their slaughter.

Rich Rollins, Jason Snow, and Angelo Deville stand side-by-side-by-side in the ring, each gripping chairs in expert hands, ready, willing, and capable of crippling anything that comes within their sphere of impact.

The first wave of security hits the ring, the four fastest diving in, uselessly reaching for their clubs as they rise, each one of them cracked and unconscious before they make it halfway. More flood in, and more fall, until with more than a dozen of them littering the ring, with the ring a bloodied, body-filled warzone, the rest stop, exchanging glances, then unceremoniously retreat, abandoning order, Kannon, and their fallen comrades all at once.

Nick: I . . . I don’t know what to say here.

Richard: Hallelujah! Their miracles aren’t limited to the ring!

In that ring the three kings are grinning and congratulating one other, each taking a turn to whack Kannon’s already drenched head with a chair once last time. Snaking through the maze of bodies, making the extra effort to step on James’ throat, he demands a microphone from ringside. Oddly, his accommodation is instantaneous.

The boos are too loud for sound – for thought – to penetrate, but those six eyes glaring around expectantly brings silence after mere moments, a reverent, funereal silence, into which they all grin. Deville casually proffers the microphone to his accomplices, in case either of them would like the honour, but they graciously grant him the floor. Holding the microphone to his lips, Deville rolls his hand, as if caught on how to best articulate the moment. Eventually it comes to him.

Angelo Deville: I’d say something exceptionally quaint, something along the lines of "We’re taking over!", but that would imply we’re not already in charge.

The three laugh at the absurdity of the notion, then, as Deville tosses the microphone into the crowd, resume shaking hands and congratulating one another as

When I Get Angry by Spider Loc

serenades their departure. Or, more fittingly, their arrival.

Win or loss, it’s always mentally challenging to be in a title match, and Tony Gamble knows this all too well after tonight. For despite a fine performance, something was bothering "The Grin". That something was none other than Paul Cain. Tony knew he was bigger than this, but he had to deal with someone who seemed to have gone from friend to foe in the blink of an eye with no apparent explanation for it. So here Tony was, going against his better judgment and patrolling every inch of the Mellon Arena, looking for a shadow that might not even exist. He had asked around, yet nobody had seen Cain, which proved to be even more frustrating. Tony had bigger and more important things to deal with in his life and Cain was fast becoming as irritating as herpes, although you can at least get rid of that. At the point now where he was ready to give up and call it a night, Gamble paused as he caught a whiff of something in the air.

Cigarette smoke.

Previously, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. After all, the ‘normal’ Paul Cain had never been a smoker. However, this rather edgy variant had begun seeking solace in the cancer stick, and it was the smell of these poisonous articles that alerted Gamble. For although he couldn’t see Cain, he could feel two eyes on him; watching intently from a shadowy hideout. Tony knew no fear, but the one he did know was impatience, and he was growing increasingly tired of these games already. He turned around on the spot in a full circle, scanning the area to see if he could find a sign of his adversary.

Cain: You obviously weren’t any good at hide and seek as a kid.

Despite his trademark grin, Tony’s face contorts as best as it can into a frown of frustration and annoyance.

Gamble: You’ve got my attention Paul, so come on, man to man, what’s on your mind? Or is this just a desperate attempt to get you seen on TV?! We all know what a spotlight lover you are, although judging by tonight, seems like you really need it bad this time! I’m waiting Paul, just like the millions around the world are!

What Tony didn’t think of was that this was never going to be a cut and dry confrontation. The Paul Cain he briefly knew might well have enjoyed a good bit of posturing and banter, however this wasn’t fun and games anymore, things were a lot different. Before Gamble even got a chance to realize what was happening, there was an almighty crash from the left hand side of him as a stack of equipment as high as the arena ceiling, came tumbling down. Fortunately Tony managed to dive out of the way, enough to avoid the whole collection landing on top of him. What did strike him was sufficient to cut his arm below the shoulder, not only did it hurt -- but it annoyed Gamble further, knowing that Cain had gotten the upper hand on him.

Cain: It’s less fun when they’re sitting ducks, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.

There he was, dressed in a black T-shirt, black pants, and a matching leather jacket. His shaved head was a bizarre sight to behold, given that his long hair was his trademark. From the corner of his eye, Tony caught the glint of a blade in Cain’s right hand. His eyes widened as sure enough he spotted the knife that Paul carried with him, what in God’s name could be so serious that Cain was willing to put Gamble’s life at risk?

Cain: So come on Tony, what’s it like being in the big time then?! You seem to be doing very nicely for yourself, although I’m guessing that you forgot to acknowledge those who got you here, right?!

Tony hauled himself to his feet, snatching up a steel chair to use a shield. He glared in the direction of Cain with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Gamble: That’s what THIS is all about?! You’re pissed off because you feel neglected?!

With a look of disgust, Cain stalked toward Gamble as he drew the blade to his mouth and ran his tongue along the blade.

Cain: It’s not nice being used, and you’re just another member of the human race that thinks it’s okay to use me... then throw me away when they don’t need me!

Gamble: Damn, your mother should have breast fed you more.

Tony took a swing at Cain's head with the chair, trying to keep him at a distance until he could figure out a way to get the knife away from him.

Gamble: Seriously, Cain, if I would've known that you'd get your panties in a bunch... I would've read you a story and tucked you into bed at night.

Tony's mouth was simply angering Cain even more, but angry people make mistakes... and that was what Tony was hoping for. Again he took a swing at Cain's head. This time, as he was at the end of his swing, Cain charged in.

Gamble: Shit.

He dropped the chair, grabbing Cain by the wrists as the two tumbled over into the wall. The two began to struggle a bit, rolling into stacks of chairs as each attempted to gain the upper hand. Tony wasn't smiling anymore, well trying to anyway, as he fought hard to keep Cain from freeing his hands from his grasp.

Cain somehow ended up on top, bearing down on the smaller Gamble who was already tired from the 5-Star title match. Cain drove a knee into Gamble's ribs, causing him to loosen his grip long enough for Cain to slam a fist into Gamble's jaw.

Staggered, Gamble's eyes welled up with tears as the pain had reached its threshold. He was dazed, his vision slowly blurred as the silhouette of a man perched atop his chest looked down at him. Then he felt the the cold steel of the blade press against his chest, piercing through a layer and causing blood to bubble up around the blade.

Gamble screamed out in pain as he felt the razor sharp edge begin to slice through his flesh, slowly. Methodically. In a last ditch effort, Tony lifted his knee, connecting with every man's weakness as hard as he possibly could. It was enough to cause Cain to drop the blade, enough to throw him off balance enough to shove him away.

Gamble: Son of a bitch...

Gamble pressed his hand against his chest, where the incision had been made, struggling to get to his feet as Cain reached for the blade once more.

Cain: What's the matter, Tony... you don't have anything funny to say?

Gamble: You're out of your damn mind!

Tony toppled over a stack of chairs, which Cain just managed to avoid by quick stepping backward.

Cain: Things have changed, I've changed, and you're going to be my example to the world.

Tony staggered around a corner, as Cain watched the sticky crimson syrup drip from the razor sharpened edge.

Smiling.

Nick: WHAT. A. NIGHT. And what better way to end it than the Universal Title, the "summit" in PRIME if you will, and three of the best competitors in the company’s history vying for it, Rich!

Richard: I gotta tell you, Nick, Olsig’s done nothing but impress me in the weeks leading up to this match!

Nick: Rich, Olsig’s done nothing but orchestrate deplorable acts of violence and deceit in the weeks leading up to this match!

Richard: I KNOW!

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, the next contest is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit. It is your MAIN EVENT of the evening… and is for the PRIME Universaaaaaal Championshiiiiip.

"Shallow" by Abortion Candy kicks in to (attempt) to drown out the buzz of the crowd, and though it isn’t successful in silencing their screams, it does change them to a resounding chorus of boos.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger, standing Six feet and One inch...he hails out of Bogota, Columbia and tips the scale at 223 pounds. He is the longest reigning champion in PRIME history, holding the Intense Championship for ONE YEAR! Ladies and Gentlement… the Prince of Delusion…VAAAANGELUS OLLLSIG!!!

The former Intense Champion slowly makes his way down to ringside, spotlighted for all the fans to see, though he no-sells their booing and yells of profanity (and hurling of beer cups in some cases).

Nick: It’s a kind of déjà vu, isn’t it, Richard? It was a few months over a year ago when Olsig and Nova last main-evented a PRIME Pay-Per-View, and what a time to step up! Nova came in two years ago just after the Great American Nightmare, the PPV many refer to as PRIME’s breakthrough show! And Olsig, Dani Furher back then, participated in Ignatius Lisieux’s Alias League, which culminated at that show! And then there’s Tchu! Tchu won the Universal Title for the first time at the Great American Nightmare last year! There’s a lot of history here, Richard!

Richard: Take a breath, Nick!

Nick: Screw breathing, Parker! I could die a happy man after a show like tonight’s!

Richard: Let’s just watch some of the action, and you take Tony Montana off your speed-dial, Psycho.

Olsig makes his way up the ring steps and steps between the ropes, looking as focused as any man possibly could be.

While one challenger waits in the ring, ready to do whatever it takes to walk away at the end of the night with the top prize in the business firmly in his possession, another challenger paces just behind the curtain that separates him from the sight, but not the sound, of thousands of screaming PRIMEates.

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

And suddenly, a whole lot of jeers turn to cheers.

Richard: …Okay, let’s talk.

Nick: I was talking about history before, Richard! And who has more in-ring history in PRIME today than Vangelus Olsig and Nova, who’ve locked horns…I don’t have my notes here…at least five or six times, I know! In every format imaginable, including tag teaming together, they’ve become veteran’s of each other’s styles, you can believe that!

Richard: That’s not the only place they mimic one another, Nick! Neither can GET THE JOB DONE! But maybe Olsig can change that tonight.

Nick: Or Nova?

Richard: Pffft. Sure.

As thunder booms over the speakers, lightning flickers through the darkened clouds on-screen, causing them to glow in a random blinking pattern. And while the light show dances across the electronic equipment, 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, signaling the introduction to Funkadelic’s "Maggot Brain," the stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars.

Vince Howard: And the second challenger…

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."

A spotlight hits the entrance ramp, where Nova is knelt, trademark cigarette dangling from his lips.

Vince Howard: Standing Six foot Three, weighing in at 256lbs… he is a former Intense Champion… a former 5 Star Champion… The Rising Star… NOOOOVAAAAA!!!

The challenger rises to his feet and makes his way to the ring with the sound of cheers following him. He slides under the bottom rope and takes his place in the ring across from Olsig… and there… on opposite sides of the squared circle… both men await their destiny.

Nick: But for all we talk about who could finally take the big one, you can’t underestimate this next man, not in the slightest.

Richard: I don’t have a bit for that one, Nick, though I might be able to do something with the whole ‘Clyde Walkins’ thing.

Nick: That’s because Tchu is the genuine article! The greatest record in the company, defending his second Universal Championship, a former Tag Champion, #2 Finisher in the Dual Halo last year…all after winning last year’s Jewel in the Crown Tournament! He’s practically invincible, Richard!

Richard: Except when he faces Cly…oh, God, I still can’t think of anything.

In the pitch black of the arena, all lights temporarily vanquished, the buzz of the fans builds.

And then, "I Fucking Hate You" by Godsmack tears through the arena.

Vince Howard: And noooow… their opponent. From Dayton, Ohio… standing 6 foot 2 and weighing in at 245lbs… he is the reigning Jewel In The Crown of PRIME and THE Universal Chaaaampiiiooon… The Inhuman Being…. TCCCHHHUUUUUU!!!

As blue lights begin to blink on and off across the arena, casting the fans in an eerie blue, the champion emerges, title wrapped firmly around his waist. The fans shower his arrival in cheers.

In his steady, cold, manner, Tchu walks down the aisle way to the ring and hops onto the apron before stepping between the cables. He makes his way over to the far turnbuckle and scales it, forming a "T" with his arms before throwing them apart with a guttural roar as the fans chant the chorus of his theme.

Nick: Tchu’s really gathered more fan support here in recent months, and I think we all welcome the change in his demeanor either as the cause or effect of that support…

Richard: Whatever, Dr. Phil. He hangs out with a stoner. Neat. I did that for years, and all I ever got for it was shit.

With the lights returning to normal, Tchu steps back down to the canvas and plants himself right between his two challengers.

Each man burns a hole in the champion with their gaze, both knowing that the gold around his waist can soon be theirs.

The Inhuman Being unsnaps the title and holds it in front of him. For all the mania in recent PRIME… for all the returns of legends, debuts of future stars… for all the backstabbing and betrayal… for all the chaos surrounding arrested HoFers… the twenty pounds of gold that Tchu slowly raises above his head… it is the sole desire of every superstar. It is the pinnacle of success. And tonight… one man hopes to retain the glory… two others hope to rip it away.

Nick: You know, Rich…for all the returns of legends, debuts of…dammit, got that one stolen away, didn’t I?

Richard: Suckaaaaaa~!

Tchu slowly turns his head and shoot a cold, intense glare at Olsig, then turns and fires the same look towards Nova.

Each man returns the favor.

Head official, Bernie Roberts takes the belt from Tchu, folds the straps behind the center plate and hoists it high in the air to display what is at stake. And as the man in stripes steps over to the ropes to hand off the belt for safe keeping at ringside… he calls for the be..

DING! DING! DING!

And it has begun.

Olsig is the first to make a move, charging forward and dropping Nova with a stiff clothesline. From there, he begins to lay the boots to The Rising Star. In a moment that catches many of the fans offguard and leaves them with an unwanted surprise, The Inhuman Being quickly joins the former Intense Champion and begins to stomp away on Nova right alongside Olsig.

Nick: Whoa! Did you ever think you’d see this, Richard?!

Richard: HELL YES. This is for all the marbles, Nick! Alliances melt like butter when gold is on the line!

The fans begin to get worked up over the unusual alliance, and it is only made worse as Tchu reaches down and drags Nova to his feet by the hair, then hoists him overhead in military press position.

With a bit of a push, Tchu drops The Rising Star and lets him fall, where Olsig is waiting with a knee jutted out, offering Nova the most unpleasant of landings.

"Boooooooooooooo!!!"

As Nova rolls on the mat, clutching his ribs, the crowd lets the champion and his hated challenger hear their disapproval.

Richard: What were you babbling about at the beginning of the match…"oh, we’re so happy with the change in character, blah, blah, blah…"

Nick: …

The boos, however, don’t last long.

When Olsig raises to his feet, pushing off his one knee, Tchu greets him with a stiff right fist. A second punch follows, then a third, working Olsig back towards the ropes. Once to the cables, Tchu locks his arms around the torso of Vangelus and spins quickly, then tosses Olsig out of the ring with a massive overhead belly to belly suplex.

"Whooooooooooo!!!"

Richard: Awww, rats.

Nick: You said it yourself, Nick! ALL bets are off!

Seeing that there is no alliance, the crowd erupts into cheers, and Tchu responds with an animalistic roar in the middle of the ring. The champion has no plans on relinquishing his championship without making sure it’s well earned.

Meanwhile, ribs still hurting, Nova pulls himself up with the ropes and immediately takes issue with the teamwork shown between his two opponents, no matter how short lived it might have been. The Rising Star steps towards Tchu with purpose and both men meet face to face.

The buzz of the crowd begins to elevate to deafening proportions, and to appease the fans, neither man bothers with words… instead, they fight.

A left hand rocks Tchu, who responds with a right. Each man continues to exchange blows. Left, right, left, right. Each one stings, as knuckle bounces off of skull, but neither man will go down, fighting on as if immune.

What they are not immune to, is the third member of the battle, who crashes the party in major fashion.

Olsig hits the ring with a clubbing blow to Tchu’s back, then slams a forearm into the face of The Rising Star. Both superstars crumple to the mat and Olsig doesn’t let up for even a second. Displaying an incredible mean steak, the challenger kneels over The Inhuman Being and wails away with a series of rapid fire punches. After connecting with something near a baker’s dozen, he immediately hops over to Nova and offers him equal treatment.

Nick: And it’s Olsig now, interrupting the slugfest!! Vangelus Olsig is reminding the former friends that he’s very much in this fight!

Richard: Damn right!

Satisfied with his actions so far, Olsig moves back over to Tchu. Lifting the Universal Champion by two handfuls of hair, Vangelus hoists The Inhuman Being overhead with a vertical suplex, then holds him for a moment, before snapping down to the mat, converting the move into a devastating brainbuster.

The former Intense Champion goes for the pin and Bernie Roberts shows why he’s lead official, instantly dropping into position to make the count.

ONE…


TWO…


TH…

Nick: NO!!

Of course, things won’t end so early, but it’s not due to a shoulder being thrusts off the mat from the champion, the prolonged battle comes courtesy of an elbow to the back from the other challenger.

With the pin attempt broken up at two, Olsig curses The Rising Star for stealing away his moment in the sun.

Nova’s apology comes in the form of a boot to the gut. He follows up by spiking his doubled-over opponent with a DDT. And now, it is The Rising Star’s turn to try and realize his destiny.

Nick: Nova with the pin!!

Richard: I hate those words together!

ONE…


TWO…


T…

Olsig pushes his right shoulder off the canvas, forcing Roberts to end his count at two. Not wanting to let up on his advantage, Nova wraps around the waist of Vangelus Olsig and slips behind him, arching back and driving Olsig’s skull into the mat. Rolling, he pulls himself and Olsig up and delivers a second german suplex. Then a third.

Nick: Nova in charge here, and letting Vangelus Olsig have it!!

Richard: It’s just a school bus, Jesus. You’d think Olsig killed his parents.

Nick: He wouldn’t be above claiming it.

Each one saps some energy from Nova, but each one further brutalizes the neck and back of the man who personified intensity for twelve straight months.

Slowly, and struggling, Nova rises and flings Olsig overhead for a fourth, and final, german suplex… this time releasing his grip and letting his opponent sail uncontrollably through the air. The landing is nothing pretty.

Olsig folds in half, legs flipping over shoulders, then falls limply onto his stomach. It is the perfect opportunity to try and end the match, only someone has an objection to Nova’s plans.

As Nova makes his way over to his opponent, he is thrown off course in violent fashion by a spear from The Inhuman Being, who blindsides the former 5 Star champion out of nowhere.

Nick: Nova hit by the train there!

Nick & Richard: *Rolling eyes at cue-cards* A TCHU-TCHU-TRAIN…

Putting his intelligence to use alongside his strength, The Inhuman Being lifts Nova and tosses him overhead with a fall away slam. The rising star crashes down right onto Olsig, essentially delivering an unplanned and unorthodox body splash. Both challengers clutch their torsos and roll across the mat in pain, while The Inhuman Being takes a second to catch his breath and stare at both men with venomous eyes.

The Universal Champion makes his way over to both men and chooses to focus his attention on Olsig. A massive spinebuster plants the former Intense Champion, nearly pushing him through the canvas. The fans roar in approval as the Inhuman Being begins to firmly take control of the match.

"Let’s Go Cha-amp, Let’s Go! Let’s Go Cha-amp, Let’s Go!"

Turning to Nova, Tchu tucks the challenger under his arms and sets him up for a reverse DDT, however, before he can drive the Rising Star down, Olsig is back to his feet enough to offer a distraction.

A distraction Tchu quickly deals with.

One kick to the gut, stops Olsign’s advancement and sets him up perfectly to be tucked under the champ’s free arm. What is about to become and awesome double, reverse DDT soon falls apart. Nova twists free and spins around, thrusting a shoulder into Tchu’s torso. This allows Olsig to twist over, and now, the teamwork comes from the two challengers who flip Tchu over with a double suplex.

Nick: And now it’s Olsig and Nova on Tchu! As much as I love a good old-fashioned one-on-one Main Event, there’s something to be said for the insanity of a Triple Threat match!

Richard: Goddamn, Nick. I’m trying to watch this thing.

The move launches the champion out of the ring and he lands in awkward fashion, one foot driving into the mats, causing his knee to buckle and leading him to crash head first into the barricade.

With a potential concussion and one leg, the reigning champ is effectively out of the match, and both challengers instantly can taste gold.

In a scene that mimicks the slugfest between Nova and Tchu from just a few minutes earlier, both men lay into each other with repeated fists to the face.

Recovering from the shock of the sudden (and potentially tragic) turn of events, the crowd starts to work their way out of their silence, cheering for the intensity being displayed by both challengers.

Richard: Yeah, forget about him! The gold, you idiots! Anyone can win it!

It is Olsig who gains the advantage, pulling Nova in and executing a perfect Northern Lights driver. The move is followed by a demand from the challenger for Roberts to make the count.

ONE…


TWO…


THR…

Nova keeps his dream alive at two and a half.

Though the near fall doesn’t give Olsig the championship he has desired since joining PRIME’s roster, it does give him the confidence that he controls his own fate. With this belief, the former Intense Champ irish whips Nova into the corner where he smashes against the turnbuckles with a sick crack. The Rising Star slumps to the mat, sitting prone in the corner, his arms draped across the ropes.

Nick: What’s he doing her…OHHH!!

Olsig sprints forward and rams a knee into the face of The Rising Star. Busting open his opponent’s nose, Olsig backs off only to charge forward again. This time, he drops down at the last moment and delivers a sliding dropkick right into the gut of Nova, further damaging the ribs.

Richard: Thaaaaaat’ll do it.

Knowing that the Rising Star is in a bad way, the fans begin to rally behind the sentimental favorite.

"Noooovaaa! Noooovaaa! Nooooovaaaa! Nooovaaaa! Noooovaaaa!"

The cries seem to work as Nova pulls himself to his feet. Olsig sneers, not impressed and leaps into Nova with an attempted Superkick.

But The Rising Star catches the boot and uses it to spin Olsig around. Face to face, Nova leapts up and flips his opponent over with a hurricanrana.

Nick: Surprisingly agile offense from the Rising Star, and we’re moving at 90 miles-per-hour here, Richard!

Richard: I don’t pop a boner for anything under 175.

Nick: …

Olsig hits the mat and rolls through. Back to his feet, he is once again dropped, this time by a clothesline from a motivated Rising Star.

The crowd cheers as Nova acknowledges their support. When Olsig once again pulls himself up, Nova charges for a second time; however, the Prince of Delusion is ready on this occasion and ducks under the arm so that he can connect with the Superkick right in the back of the head.

CRACK!

The sound is disgusting and causes many of the fans in attendance to wince. It causes Olsig to grin, sensing that victory is firmly within his grasp. Bernie Roberts drops into position to test the challenger’s senses.

ONE…


TWO…


THRE…

At what could most simply be described as the last possible second, Nova lifts a shoulder from the mat.

Nick: No! No way is Nova done yet! He’s waited too long to lay down on a Superkick!

Richard: Superkicks hurt, Nick.

Now growing a bit frustrated, Olsig begins to show the brutal nature that earned him the Intense title. He begins to slam his boot into the face of Nova with aggressive form. Each time his foot finds its mark, the blood from Nova’s nose smears across the sole of Olsig’s boot. It seems to fuel the Prince of Delusion who reaches down and rips Nova to his feet and once again whips him into the ropes, catching his rebounding opponent with a powerslam that rocks the ring.

A standing elbow drop follows the move, then a knee drop, each one causing more damage to the battered body of The Rising Star. Olsig decides to take the moment to climb to the top rope and display some of the high risk that earned him quite the reputation in the business.

Nick: Olsig wants to go airborne…but Nova’s got something to say about it!

His intentions, though, have to be altered as Nova climbs to his feet. So, instead of some suicidal moonsault or corkscrewing, dizzying leap, Olsig opts for the simple but effective double axe handle smash.

Only it isn’t quite as effective as he’d have hoped.

Nova steps to the side and stick out his right arm, slamming a fist into Olsig’s stomach, doubling the Prince of Delusion over. With that, Nova jumps and lays his leg across the back of his opponents neck, shoving him face first into canvas with the Dying Star Drop.

The crowd erupts at the sudden swing in momentum, and with their cheers energizing his bloody body, Nova picks Olsig up and drops him with the high angle fisherman’s suplex he has dubbed the Falling Star.

Nick: NOVA WITH A BIG PIN HERE!

Richard: FIGHT IT!!

Roberts does his job as The Rising Star pulls himself across the former year long champ and hooks the leg.

ONE…


TWO…


THREE!

No… not three. While one leg is hooked, the other finds cable, and Roberts has no choice but to break his count with Olsig’s foot clearly on the bottom rope.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: I have to agree with the fans here, Rich! I’d much rather see the Rising Star get his due than the psycho-maniac standing in the ring with him!

Richard: We’ll just have to agree to disagree, Nick!

Though they are not pleased with the lack of a three count, the fact remains, Nova has re-established control of the contest, and taken a step closer to the destiny both men desire.

The Rising Star grabs his opponent and attempts a snap suplex, but Olsig makes the block and attempt his own version of the move. Nova is able to do the same, hooking his leg to block the momentum.

With each man struggling to show their dominance, a forgotten soul re-emerges. Though Olsig and Nova may both desire to capture the object that offers a man near immortality, one man is determined to remain immortal.

Nick: TCHU!!

Richard: Ohhhh, come on!!

Still locked up, neither man sees as The Inhuman Being approaches and grabs each man by the back of the head. Before they realize what is occurring, Tchu smashes their skulls together.

Both men stagger backwards and Tchu smacks Olsig in the face with an elbow. Nova avoids the same fate with a quick dodge, but as he tries to throw a punch, he is caught and snapped overhead with a head an arm suplex.

"YYYYEEEAAHHHHHH!!"

The crowd fires up as the champion limps over to Olsig and leans over to pick him up. The Prince of Delusion is alert enough to quickly reach up and grab Tchu by the neck, pulling him down, crushing his face into the knees. And the emotional comeback is cut off just like that.

Nick: WHOA! And a momentum shift and now a pin from Olsig on the champ!!

Olsig hooks Tchu’s leg.

ONE…



TWO…



THRE…

Tchu kicks out at two and two thirds. For his resiliency, he is merely placed into position and spiked with a picture perfect piledriver.

This time, he shows no motion other than the rising and falling of his chest with a feeble breath. Roberts once again does what he is paid to do…

ONE…


TWO…


THRE…

Nick: NO!! NOVA FROM ABOVE!!

Richard: I HATE THREE-WAYS!! In wrestling. Professional wrestling. Guy-on-guy profess-

Nick: We get it.

From high above, The Rising Star breaks up the pin at the last possible moment in the most spectacular of fashions. A top rope leg drop that carries him across three-quarters of the ring finds its mark right across the back of Olsig’s cranium.

For a moment, Nova moves to cover Olsig, but notices that his fellow challenger is under the ropes and safe from any pin attempt in his current position. Instead, he switches his focus to the battered champion.

Nova drops Tchu with a savage T-Bone suplex and this time, he is the man who looks to pin the dominant force that became the King of Kings one year ago in the JITC.

ONE…


TWO…


THR…

Tchu rips his shoulder off the mat, once again refusing to be defeated.

Nick: The champion hangs on, and something has to give here soon, Rich!!

Richard: Seal it, Olsig!

No time is wasted, as Nova delivers a crisp looking standing moonsault, smashing The Inhuman Being under his 255 lbs. This time, Nova is sure to hook a leg with the pin attempt as Roberts slides into the right spot.

ONE…



TWO…




THREE!

No!

While replays show Tchu’s shoulder rising off the mat, Nova looks at Bernie Roberts hand and wonders if a piece of paper could even slide between his palm and the canvas. Still, no matter how small the space between victory and further battle, Tchu had once again refused to relinquish his immortality.

Nick: What will it take?!

Richard: THIS MAN!

Olsig re-inserts himself in the picture, grabbing Nova to whip him into the corner, but the momentum is reversed and it is the Prince of Delusion who slams back first into the turnbuckles.

The Rising Star lifts his co-challenger and sits him across the top rope, then climbs to the second himself. As he drapes an arm across his shoulders, he feels the ropes move under his feet. A quick turn of his head to the right shows him that The Inhuman Being has joined him on the second rope and has slung Olsig’s other arm across his own shoulders.

Without saying a word, without even so much as a nod… both men spring back in unison and all three competitors fly through the air, crashing onto the canvas with a near deafening THUD!

The spectacular double superplex brings every single fan to their feet… but it leaves all three warriors motionless in the ring, a mess of lifeless bodies just strewn about.

As the seconds tick by, each man begins to stir. Olsig is first to his feet, followed almost immediately by Nova. Both men stagger towards each other and connect with sluggish punches in the middle of the ring.

Against the ropes, Tchu struggles to try and regain his footing. Twice he nearly makes it to a vertical position, and twice his right knee gives out and sends him crashing back down. All he can do is watch the two men who wish to take everything away from him battle it out to the delight of the fans.

Nick: I don’t know if Tchu can stand! Whatever is wrong with that knee appears to be extremely serious.

Richard: It looks like he’s going to have to sit and watch as two men decide the fate of his title!

Connecting with weak punches, each man shows exhaustion, but Nova finds a sudden burst of strength and literally picks Olsig up by the waist and tosses him to the ground in a modified powerbomb.

Nick: What a huge move by Nova! This could be his chance! This could be it!

The awkward move sends The Rising Star stumbling backwards, and in a shocking moment, his great burst of strength leads to his

Nick: DOWNFALL! DOWNFALL!

Seeing the perfect opportunity, The Inhuman Being had quickly pushed pain and limitations out of his mind and jumped to his feet to catch the off balance Nova with his infamous sleeping neckbreaker.

The champion drapes himself across the challenger and half-heartedly hooks the leg as Roberts arrives for the three count

ONE…



TWO….



THREE!

Nick: He did it!

Richard: What the hell just happened!

Winner: Tchu

Vince Howard’s voice comes through loud and clear thanks to the silence of shock that has overcome the crowd.

Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen… your winner of the match… and STIIIILLLLL Universal Chaaaampiiiiooon….. TCCCHHUUUUUUUUU!!

Coming out of their state of shock, a good number of the fans explode into cheers. Still, others remain heartbroken that Nova has fallen short of his dream.

Richard: What the… that… that all happened so fast. This can’t be… Olsig didn’t win?

Nick: The Inhuman Being somehow managed to retain his gold! This is unbelievable!

Richard: No, this is bullshit! Olsig was never pinned! He never lost.

Olsig seems to agree. Coming to his senses in the ring, a look of pure hatred covers his face. Nova, meanwhile, begins to stir, a look of shock quickly giving way to disappointment and frustration.

For the champion, there is no celebrating. Grasping his knee in clear pain, he can do nothing more than lay and wait, his title draped across his chest courtesy of Bernie Roberts.

Nick: I can’t believe this! All three men left it all out there in that ring tonight! It’s a shame only one could win.

Richard: It’s a shame Olsig couldn’t win!

Nick: What a night, folks! Be sure to join us for ReVolution 110! Uuuunnnbeelievaaaable!

Officials and EMTs from backstage come out to the ring and surround the superstars. Olsig violently shoves them away, Nova does the same, though slightly less enraged. But for the champion, they are his only means of transportation. Two EMTs lift him to his feet and slide under his arms, helping him exit the ring and make his way up the ramp. His right leg hangs limp, unable to support any weight.

His title remains on the canvas in the center of the ring, both challengers staring at it’s gold surface, shining under the arena lights.

The PRIME logo and copyright appear in the corner of the ring as the camera follows the gaze of both competitors, zooming in on the title as the screen fades to black.