Instead of the regular PRIME open, a digital clock ticks, the time stopping at 1:17:05PM, before the picture fades up from black to a large airstrip, specifically, the large tarmac at OR Tambo Airport. There, US soldiers stand at the ready as Chet Worth, Lindsay Troy, and Blaine Blair pull up behind a Boeing C-17 Globemaster.

Lindsay Troy: Okay, seriously. Who are we coming to meet?

Chet Worth: Just... shut up. Okay? I liked it better when I thought you were dead.

Lindsay Troy: I didn't have to come, you know. I could have gone off to do a parody of "Catch a Fire."

Chet Worth: But you're here instead. Hooray for you. Can we do this, please? I paid a hefty price for this, and I need to make sure he's in good condition.

Lindsay Troy: Goddamnit, WHO?!

Chet Worth (waving her off): I'm done talking now.

As the three exit the vehicle, Troy balling a fist ready to punch Worth and Blair wisely stepping between the two, looking at Chet with a shake of the head and putting his hand in the air as if he's going to slap him.

The back end of the C-17 opens slowly. Dramatically. Tooooo slowly. Toooo dramatically.

Chet Worth: What the hell? I paid for smoke machines.

Blaine Blair: The South African government wouldn't let us do that at the airport.

Chet Worth: Wait, we listen to the government here?

Blaine Blair: Uhm, yes?

Chet Worth: Oh. Okay. Let's get this over with.

The rear of the airplane touches the tarmac as two men walk down the ramp, reaching out to shake hands with Chet Worth. The group waits for Blaine to make the introductions, because that's what he gets paid to do, but he's too busy trying to hide the confused look on his face. That's when Troy steps in.

Troy (sighing): Fine, I'll play hostess. Mister Buchanan, Mister Manning, this is Chet Worth, CEO of PRIME. This is Blaine Blair, Executive Assistant to Chet, and I'm Lindsay Troy, PRIME wrestler and foil for Chet.

Bill Buchanan, Special Agent In Charge, CTU, Los Angeles: Mister Worth, it's our pleasure.

Chet Worth, CEO of PRIME: Yes, it is. Mister Manning, how do you do?

Curtis Manning, Head of Field Ops, CTU, Los Angeles: Fine, sir. Ms. Troy, we're big fans.

Lindsay Troy, Queen of the Ring: Likewise.

Curtis Manning: We're ready for the prisoner exchange at any time.

Blaine Blair, Dumbstruck and In Disbelief: What... the... uhhh...

Chet Worth: What? Speechless? You think 24's a fucking TV show? It's a documentary.

Blaine Blair: R-r-really?

Bill Buchanan: Yes. It absolutely is. I only play James Morrison as a front.

Curtis Manning: Same here. Roger Cross is just a red herring. Well, until he got shot in my place.

Blaine Blair: Wait...but you said...Are you kidding?

Bill Buchanan: Absolutely.

And a good laugh is had at the expense of Blair, who wasn't feeling very much in the loop .

Chet Worth: Are we ready for this?

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Absolutely. Kiefer has your friend.

Chet Worth: Thank you for your help getting him into the country. We really had no other choice.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: Not a problem. We had the military plane already due to the international press tour, and we were happy to arrange this.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Do you have what we asked for?

Chet Worth: Yes. He's in the truck. Blaine, bring him out.

Lindsay Troy: Wait a second, (she looks back at the SUV) there wasn't...

Chet Worth: Yes, there was. You didn't see him. But, he was there.

Blair removes a man in a burlap bag that says "UNKNOWN #7" over it. The bag wriggles from his grasp and tries hopping away, but Chet produces a taser gun from his coat and shoots the mystery man, felling him. Everyone looks at Chet.

Chet Worth: Christmas present.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Good work, Chet. Curtis, go get the bag.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: "Curtis, go get the bag" You know, just because I took orders from you on the show doesn’t mean that-

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: (stone-faced) Curtis, go get the fucking bag.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: (quietly) yessir

As Cross shuffles away to fetch the sacked man and commiserate with Troy, Bill/James turns to Chet.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: As promised, Unknown #7 will be constantly shuffled between covert American military prisons to prevent anyone from knowing his existence or identity. We’ll be able to tell people he’s Saddam or Osama or something like that.

Blaine Blair: Wait...I thought you guys were actors?

Bill/James looks at Blaine, then at Chet, then back at Blaine. He swallows hard, then suddenly turns away from them.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Oh, excuse me, I’m getting hailed on my invisible ear radio which you can’t see because it’s invisible and in my ear. What’s that you say? You’re ready to bring him out? Fine, lower the ramp.

The plane rumbles and the hiss of compressed air fills the scene as the hatch at the rear of the plane opens and begins to lower. The interior of the military-grade vehicle is shadowy and mysterious, with those few visible areas being spotted with a deep red light. Once the hatch lowers to the ground and provide an exit ramp, four figures emerge from the shadows. Two are hulking men, barely able to walk in the plane without ducking at least slightly. The other two are considerably shorter. One of the short men emerges first.

Kiefer Sutherland: Mr. Worth, Mr. Blair, Ms. Troy, it’s good to meet you. My name is Kiefer Sutherland, and I play government agent Jack Bauer.

At the sight of Kiefer, Troy’s eyes grow wide and she puts a hand on Chet’s shoulder, trying to brace herself.

Lindsay Troy (whispering, only not): Please tell me I'm dreaming...

Worth, Blair, Morrison, Cross and Sutherland look over at Troy as her face become flushed.

Kiefer Sutherland: No, I'm used to this. You think Snow's the only one who can CAUSE orgasms at the mere SIGHT of him?

Lindsay Troy: Ummm...I....errrr..... [speechless]

He turns to Chet and James while Lindsay retreats to the car to sit down for a second.

Kiefer Sutherland: Listen, Chet, we don’t have much time, so-

Chet Worth: No, we’re good.

Kiefer Sutherland: I’m sure, but I don’t have much time-

Chet Worth: No really. We’ve got plenty of it. Blaine, how long ‘til showtime?

Blaine Blair: Two hours or so.

Chet Worth: See, that’s like a lifetime for you. Take all the time you-

Kiefer grabs Chet by his coat and pulls him forward.

Kiefer Sutherland: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TIME.

James Morrison: He’s contractually obligated to say that every time he speaks to someone.

Chet Worth: Gotcha. Sorry.

Kiefer seethes for a few seconds, then releases Chet.

Kiefer Sutherland (to James): Did he give us what we needed?

James Morrison: He did. Let’s bring out his friend.

Kiefer motions to the three remaining figures, and they moved forward, stepping out of the plane and into full view. All three faces are far too familiar to PRIME fans.

The first two men, Jim Pibb and Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas, hadn’t been seen for several weeks, but are ultimately forgettable if not for the man behind them.

Danny Ferguson, in handcuffs and an orange prison jumpsuit, and sporting exceptionally long hair and an equally long beard, steps out of the plane, takes a deep breath and sneers at Chet.

Danny Ferguson: Hey, dickface.

Having seen the Ferguson entourage, Troy stomps over to rejoin the group.

Lindsay Troy: Wait a friggin second...HE’S your secret weapon?

Chet Worth: Who were you expecting?

Lindsay Troy: JACK BAU... (she looks at Kiefer, who just shrugs). Well, actually, I don’t know who I thought it was, but anyone OTHER than him. To paraphrase Bobby Heenan, he would’ve been my second choice, with every single other living human in the world tied for first.

Danny Ferguson: Nice seeing you, too, Legsy.

Lindsay Troy: Oh go drop the soap...

Danny Ferguson: Appreciate you bringing a chick, Chester. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman..(he holds up his hands, nodding to the handcuffs)..as the stewardess on this flight found out.

Kiefer Sutherland: He got a little grabby. We needed to restrain him.

Danny Ferguson: Hey, the girlie said she wanted an autograph. With my penis.

Chet Worth: Listen Danny, we really need to get down to business and let these guys get on their way.

Morrison moves in to unlock Danny’s cuffs while Cross carries the burlap sack into the plane.

Chet Worth: PRIME has a problem, and...I hate to say this...I need your help.

Danny Ferguson: How convenient.

Chet Worth: We have a room prepared at the arena. You can shower and shave there.

Danny Ferguson: Get bent, Boss. You think I’d fly across the globe without a quick stop at the spa?

He tears off the beard and hair, which are both, obviously, fake. Undoing a few buttons, he lets the jumpsuit fall to the ground, revealing a pinstriped gray suit with green highlights.

Danny Ferguson: That shit was just a disguise to the South African paparazzi didn’t catch on. They thought I was just a prop for these dumbasses and their "media tour."

Kiefer Sutherland: Danny, we spoke to you about the abuse on the plane. If you can’t be ni-

Danny Ferguson: (stepping away from the plane and towards Chet’s vehicle) Take a hike, Short Stack. You heard what Tubby here said - I’ve got ‘business’ to attend to.

Kiefer Sutherland: I’m as tall as you-

Danny Ferguson: (typing on his phone, which was handed to him by Dametreyus) Not listening, Kief. Got a lot of voicemail. Two months of abrupt unfair incarceration (death stare to Chet, matching Worth’s death stare for being called "Tubby") will do that. Ciao. See ya. Buh-bye.

Kiefer shakes a little bit, doing that weird "I would cry if I hadn’t removed my tear ducts surgically" face where he looks away, then returns his gaze to Chet.

Kiefer Sutherland: We’re gonna go.

Chet Worth: Thank you for all your help. We will not forget this.

James Morrison: Neither will we. We almost owe you a bit of thanks.

Chet Worth: Why’s that?

Danny Ferguson: (from next to the car) Hey, did I get sprung from prison to sit on the fucking tarmac all day long? Isn’t there a show going on?

James Morrison: For taking him off our hands.

The men and Troy all exchange handshakes, and Kiefer and James walk up the ramp as the plane begins to warm up. Over the swell of the engine, Lindsay, Chet and Blaine confer while returning to the car.

Lindsay Troy: This isn’t a good idea. You know that, right? This is like using Britney to mediate a fight between Paris and Lohan.

Chet Worth: Which one am I? Paris?

Lindsay Troy: I don’t know, do you have a sex tape?

Chet Worth: Hmm...ok, Blaine, you’re Paris.

Blaine Blair: For the last time, that is NOT a sex tape. That’s a recording of my college a cappella group’s presentation of Oklahoma!

Chet Worth: Tell that to the people who buy it on eBay.

The three approach the vehicle, where Danny has already taken the shotgun seat.

Danny Ferguson: Have I told you suckers how well I test in South Africa?

Troy looks at Chet, who doesn’t even react to it. With that, the clock comes back up, ticks down to 08:00:00, and leads us to...

Against a black void, sudden, thunderous drum rolls flash lightning across the screen, illuminating the PRIME logo in short waves. Another sudden drum roll again bathes the logo in light, before Otep’s "T.R.I.C. (The Revolution is Coming)" swirls in the background, and a video montage emerges from the darkness.

"The reVolution is coming…"

On the brink of collapsing from exhaustion, Chet Worth is shown within one of the Dual Halo structures, having his aching arm raised in victory, before the flipside is seen, and he lays a bloody pulp in the ring, only to break into a smile as his tongue produces the golden ticket from his bleeding mouth.

"The reVolution is coming…"

Jason Snow is shown catching an off-guard Xavier Kannon with the Snake Eyes, then Rich Rollins is shown shedding his disguise, before Angelo and EVL pose entwined in the middle of the ring, bleached by camera flashes.

"The reVolution is coming…"

A returning Killean Sirrajin storms the ring, fighting alongside his once bitter enemy, Tchu.

"Risin’ from the ashes to lead the wretched masses…"

Mic in hand, belt over shoulder, Sonny Silver is shown goading the PRIME fans, before turning to the camera and yelling, "YOU’RE FIRED!"

"Back to the Sufi shack - defyin’ all the fascists…"

The painted, bruised, and bloody face of Vangelus Olsig fills the camera lens with a devilish smirk, then Violence Jack is shown striding into a darkened arena, flanked by his Sect of Black Wisdom, before Devin Shakur is seen unloading a brutal string of knees to a victim’s face.

"Wurdz burn with passion -- mentally enhancin’…"

Danny Ferguson is shown wailing on Tony Danza, then Chainz is seen staring menacingly into the camera as Tracy wraps herself around him, before Paul Cain is shown knocking a victim out cold with the Reality Check.

"I'm David to Goliath or Delilah to your Samson…"

Tony Gamble pulls at a victim’s face with his "Scream For Me", Charity Manale is shown leading Jonathon Winters to the ring, then a roaring Gabriel Afeaki smashes through an opponent with his knee, and the Trashcan Man’s wild face is shown through roaring flames.

"Kickin’ ass like Cassius -- spreadin’ rhymes like rashes…"

Pierce Lavelle is seen hurling his opponent into the turnbuckles with the Whiplash, then Captain Suleimon spikes his opponent dangerously with the Whirling Dervish, then its Easton Hall’s turn, shown almost beheading Bastille with the FLYING BACK ELBOW~!

"The satellite’s in flight - how long before it crashes…"

Ethan Knight is shown Corkscrewing off the top rope, then Lindsay Troy is seen flying off to knock an opponent cold with a Swandive Stunner, then Garbage Bag Johnny flinging himself from the top into the Dumpster Dive.

"Falling like avalanches - crumbled and crushed…"

The Illustrious Face-Eater is seen spontaneously combusting, before the image of his badly hologrammed ghost takes his place, then finally a smoking and crackling, damaged Faceybot.

"My wild womyn get to sinning -- know the power of us…"

Karina Wolfenden torpedoes through the ropes with the Negasonic Lupine Warhead, Sun Tzu points the barrel of Fluffy down the camera lens, Lindsay Troy gestures to the "Bitch Patrol" motif on her shirt, and Eva van Lorne throws a kick right through the viewer’s TV screen.

"I’m callin’ your bluff -- is it freedom or death?"

Shawn Stewart almost drives his opponent down through the ring with a devastating takedown, following it up with a flurry of strikes, before Jack Murphy storms the screen, almost turning his victim inside out with a furious Spear.

"We're getting’ it on in Babylon - choking’ on gods breath…"

With a full 70’s Disco light-show behind him, Asa Fountain is shown jiving his way down the aisle, before his smiling visage is replaced by the conceited smirk of Malachi, as he spreads his arms in a Christ-like pose under a lone spotlight.

"The infinite connects true soldiers alive…"

The mysterious N is shown fighting off opponents either side of him, Captain Suleimon wields the mic and jabs an accusing finger at the fans, before Tchu is shown standing amid his blue light show, cold eyes staring dead centre.

"The tribe will survive when Armageddon arrives…"

The FUCK YOU quintet of Angelo Deville, Nova, Jason Snow, Rich Rollins, and Eva van Lorne are shown prowling the ring, the fans all around them on their feet, riled and baying for their blood.

"T.R.I.C!"

Jonathon Winters almost beheads an opponent with the Indifference Maker, then Chandler Tsonda and Ellie are shown making one of their grand entrances, then Adam is shown flying across the ring to drive his elbow through an opponent’s sternum.

"T.R.I.C!"

Sun Tzu almost smashes both feet through an unfortunate opponent’s ribs with the Beijing Cocktail, then Karina Wolfenden folds her victim up like a limp accordion with the C4, then Ember engulfs Jonathon Winters’ face in a fireball.

"T.R.I.C!"

Angelo Deville is shown admonishing a star-struck Tony Gamble in the middle of the ring, before cutting to Deville’s arm limply dropping for a third time, then Gamble hurling his arms aloft, head dropping back as he’s named the Jewel in the Crown.

"The reVolution is coming…"

Backed by a confident Chet Worth, the trio of Lindsay Troy, Killean Sirrajin, and Tchu spread out across the stage, each making their own gesture down towards the ring.

"The reVolution is coming…"

The titles end on a shot of Nova staring straight into the camera’s lens, slowing raising his Universal championship with a mixture of smug satisfaction and pride, before the PRIME logo smashes through the screen.

We cut backstage to see Angelica Brooks, walking with purpose, a sheaf of papers in her hand. The fiery redhead looks determined, and determined she is. For she had decided that she was going to be the one to get the scoop on the actions of one Michael Kriegman, his plans and goals that he might have in his return to PRIME, his reaction to his loss on his return match against the incredibly talented Pierce Lavelle, or his thoughts and motivations in regards to his recent conflict with the also returning Negasonic Lupine, former Universal Champion Karina Wolfenden... The problem of course being that she'd have no idea who'd she'd run into.

That's kind of a problem with the former PRIME Intense Champion. Michael Kriegman was a known sufferer of multiple personality disorder, and in the past he'd seem to stick to just one personality at a time... but this time he seemed to switch between personalities like Sonny Silver choosing old wrestling legends to impersonate.

Angelica, aspiring professional that she is, did her best to prepare, delving into the internet, watching old tapes, learning everything she could about the various sides of Michael Kriegman.

Such as the core persona PRIME's publicists have dubbed the Pyrocore Legend, the Trashcan Man. One had to wonder if Chet Worth's motivation for hiring the pyromaniac was to attempt to throw a wrench in the machine that was Fuck You. Watching Trashy's history you'd think this would be a great decision, as he had a history of throwing himself into these kind of situations. In Primetime Championship Wrestling it was he who gathered up the beginnings of the now legendary stable Asylum to fight off Tyler Nelson and his Media group, as well as Clyde and his Dark Age, not to mention Ivan Stanislav and his Red Army. In Old School Wrestling he had continued to protect the federation he called his home after wresting control of it from his former "master" Alan Kriegman, once again from Ivan Stanislav, as well as Dave Gibson's Power Play.

If Chet wasn't looking for an ally against Nova and his crew, perhaps he hired the Trashcan Man just for the brutal matches the hardcore legend was known for. From the first time the Trashcan Man dived from the PCW letters on his first pay per view, to the brutal Stairway To Hell matches he had in both PCW and OSW, the amazing elbow drop from the top of the Dual Halo through the windshield of Hoyt William's golden Cadillac on his PRIME debut, or the sickeningly bloody Glass House match that found the Trashcan Man victorious over the likes of Aimz, Nick Brocken, and current Universal Champion Nova, there was always crazy bumps and spots to pad out any highlight reel with.

And it seemed the Trashcan Man had once again made an explosive entrance in that fiery way only he had, exploding Karina Wolfenden's super bike... and yet he actually hid from her the next week. Not exactly the fearless hardcore legend that the fans have loved for years.

But perhaps she would meet the second of Michael Kriegman's personalities... the masked Mr. Smiley Face. His eternal grin and high pitched cackling struck terror in the heart of his targets and brought a smile to the faces of audiences all over the word. From kidnapping Danny Bonaduce and driving around in the stolen Partridge Family bus, to filling entire locker rooms with yellow smiley face balls, to trying to drop anvils on the head of Vangelus Olsig, the Original Prankster was almost always good for at least an amusing sound byte...

But last week there was a distinct lack of laughter... one wondered if behind that square yellow cardboard mask his grin had faded, replaced by worry. While still rather mocking... he seemed to be lacking the cutting edge he usually exhibited... and Angelica Brooks was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Of course, she could also encounter the unnamed third persona that had erupted for just a brief moment last week. Delving into the history of Michael Kriegman, there had always been hints of something... darker. Even more dangerous than the other two more well known personalities. Never before had it surfaced so publicly, and the look on the Trashcan Man's face afterwards spoke volumes. If this "dark side" was going to be making itself a part of PRIME, Angelica was going to get to the bottom of it... and she had the pepper spray on her keychain to make sure that what happened to the K-Wolf would not be repeated with her.

Clutching the keychain in her hand, she starts to fumble through the sheaf of notes in her arms as she continues to walk backstage. Not paying attention to her surroundings, she of course walks directly into someone, scattering her papers everywhere. Kneeling down, trying to hide her embarassment beneath some incoherent apologies, she starts gathering up her scattered papers, clutching them to her chest. She looks up to stare into a pair of ice blue eyes, lost for a moment before she realizes that he's trying to hand her some of her crumpled up notes.

So handsome she thinks to herself as she rises to her feet, trying to compose herself as she straightens up the papers in her arms. She then takes a step back as she takes in the whole sight in front of her. And what a sight Michael Kriegman is. His normally shaggy brown hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail, his scraggly beard trimmed down to a sharp goatee, his normally sad brown eyes now ice blue as his lips part into an easy smile, barely parted to show the perfectly straight, almost blindingly white teeth. But this change, drastic as it may be, is nothing compared to the rest of the spectacle before her.

He is clad in a bright jumpsuit with fingerless gloves that starts off a deep red at his feet and fades quickly through orange to a bright yellow at the top, slit to the navel to show off the hairless expanse of his well muscled chest and abdomen, the pale scars on his chest offset by... oh my god, is that glitter sprinkled on his skin? Glancing down, she notices that his outfit is so tight that she could tell that whoever Michael Kriegman's real parents were, they believed in circumcision.

At his chuckle, she blushes like only a natural redhead can, stammering yet another apology which is cut off as he presses a single finger against her lips.

???: Shhhhh...

He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of her titian hair behind her ear before running his fingertips lightly along her jawline. His smile widens as he hears a light catch in her breath. With a wink, he nods his head and begins to stride confidently past her. She takes a quick step forward, placing a hand on his bright yellow shoulder. He turns and arches a what has to have been recently plucked eyebrow at her, awaiting her to say something.

Angelica Brooks: Please... Trashcan Man...

He shakes his head in amusement.

???: Do I look like that mangy mutt of a man? I don't even think he knows what hair conditioner is, much less anything resembling basic fashion. Black t-shirts...

He shudders dramatically.

???: How 80's metal of him.

Angelica Brooks: You're not Trash... but you're not Mr Smiley Face... and you don't seem to be...

???: No, I'm neither that fashion victim Smiley Face, nor am I the so called "devil"...

He's interrupted as he staggers back, his eyes rolling back into his head as he slumps against a wall. He hunches forward a bit, his confidence suddenly gone as his eyes, still showing ice blue underneath what are sure to be colored contacts, twitch back and forth in a panic as the Trashcan Man takes over the body.

Trashcan Man: You idiot, don't talk about Him! He's trying to escape, don't draw His attention...

Angelica, nonplussed by the sudden change in the man in front of her takes a step back as the Trashcan Man glances behind her.

Trashcan Man: Stay away from Karina... for some reason He wants to hurt her... and I don't want...

His eyes roll back again, signifying another change. Straightening back up, easy smile back in place, the unnamed persona laughs at his alternate self's comments.

???: Stay away from her? That's the last thought on my mind. Really Trash, if you weren't so hung up on Tempest, or this Suzanne chick you knocked up, you could stop and smell the roses, like this ravishing beauty in front of us.

Again, the eyes roll back, this time opening wide as his mouth spreads in a manic grin. Throwing his head back, Mr Smiley Face, sans smiley mask, cackles wildly as he takes control.

Mr. Smiley Face: This ravishing beauty's probably wondering who shot the pimp they skinned to make this outfit.

And yet again, his eyes roll back as the unnamed persona retakes command of the body, shaking his head at the Smilin' Dude's comment.

???: Baby, I look delicious, and don't you forget it. By the time I'm done tonight, Karina's panties will be so wet that she'll be able to wring them out and put out whatever Trashy boy sets on fire next.

Glancing at the speechless reporter, the unnamed persona bows graciously.

???: Beautiful, if I had the time, I would stand here for the next three hours telling you exactly why I prefer redheads to lesser women, but I've got another fish to marinate in her own juices. We'll just have to take a raincheck. Ciao.

With a flip of his hand, he turns and starts to walk away. Angelica, seeing her scoop flying out the window, tries to get at least one piece of information before he strides off into the distance.

Angelica Brooks: Please, sir... your name?

His voice fades off as he turns the corner, but he can still be heard...

???: You can call me Jumpin' Jack Flash.

The young reporter's eyebrows furrow as she tries to process the name of the newest personality of Michael Kriegman.

Angelica Brooks: Jumpin'... Jack... Flash?!

Nick: And now fans, we’re set for a grudge match between Chainz and Diego Delgado!

Richard: Must you be so excited about everything? Are you on prosaic or something?

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall!

"Enemies" by Wayne Wonder

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring first…

With the slow tempo of Enemies pounding away, Diego makes his way onto the stage, surrounded by a sheet of sparks falling from the entrance way, the flag of Puerto Rico sits majestically on the Jumbotron.

Vince Howard: Hailing out of San Juan, Peurto Rico…The Latin Disciple and self proclaimed Latin King of Kings….I present to you, DIEGO DEEEEEEELLLLGADDDOOOOO!!!!

Sporting the trademark yellow banadanas covering nearly all of his face, Diego proceeds towards the ring, slapping the hands of a few fans leaning over the railing on the way to the ring. He hops up into the ring, and onto the nearest turnbuckle as he crosses both his arms across his chest and extends his fingers giving his usual sign.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

"For You" by Korn

Vince Howard: Hailing out of Hell’s Kitchen, New York…

Mike 'Chainz' Sloan walks out from the back, Tracy holding his hand and looking stunning as always. The boos emanating from the crowd nearly drown out the boos as they show their hatred for one of the most hated men in wrestling history.

He looks at them, staring intently at a select few, his cold eyes chilling the unlucky audience members as Tracy waves to the screaming public, mostly males for her.

Vince Howard: He is a former AWC Veteran, proclaimed to be one of the most lethal competitors in the business….I present to you, Mike Sloan….CHAAAAAAAINZ!!!

He slides into the ring and stares out into the crowd, oblivious to the fact that he's about to be in a match.

Nick: And with both competitors set, we’re ready to begin this contest.

Richard: Oh goody…

And there sounds the bell.

With great enthusiasm behind him, Chainz charged forward looking to spear a hole through the opposing Diego Delgado, but to his surprise he found himself catching nothing but sharp air as he went crashing through the second and top ring rope and unto the ring apron, courtesy of a side step by Delgado.

Seeking to take full advantage of the pre-weakened AWC veteran, Delgado quickly ascends the near turnbuckle, perching safely as he awaited Chainz to reach his feet. Once done, Delgado leaps off of the turnbuckle with a picture-perfect hurricanrana that sends both men flying off of the apron with Chainz taking the larger half of the damage with his body violently slapping the concrete floor.

Nick: What a hurricanrana! Did you see the way Chainz’ body slapped that concrete flooring?

Richard: See it? Did you HEAR it!?

Taking his time, Delgado slithers back to his feet, issuing a few stomps to the downed Chainz in order to maintain his taming. With great force, he yanks up the superstar, irish whipping him into the padded barricade. Chainz smacks the barricade with great impact, barely finding time to properly react due to the sight of Delgado charging full speed toward him. With no where to go, he does the first thing his instincts direct him to do…he ducks down and backflips the charging Delgado over the barricade, watching as HE smacked the concrete this time!

Nick: This thing has quickly spilled out and is now reaching a point of getting out of hand.

Richard: Hardcore…just like I love it, Nick.

Nick: I…bet you do.

Taking a few moments to regain his composure, Chainz proceeds to show off his tremendous athleticism as he springboard unto the barricade, leaping off with a dastardly clothesline into the crowd that connects with Delgado and sends him to the pounding concrete floor with great force.

The fans nearby are going ballistics at the sight of the action taking place before them, and to see Chainz fold up one of their chairs and raise is above his head only amplifies their intensity. With everyone holding their breath…

S M A C K!

Nick: Holy Peter!

Richard: That chair has more dents than your mother after that shot, Nick!

But did you think Chainz was done? Of course not.

S M A C K!

S M A C K!

…and the only thing that stops him from dishing the fourth shot is the fact that the chair has been totally obliterated. A round of applause erupts from the surrounding fans at the sight of such gruesome action as Chainz takes the useless chair and…well…makes use of it by pressing the end deep into the neck of Delgado, causing him to kick and scream while struggling for means of air support. After practicing pre-caution, the referee finally decides that it’s time for him to step in. He begins the count out, managing to reach a count of three before Chainz even realizes that the count is in play.

Richard: Aww…the ref’s always have to ruin the fun.

Nick: He’s doing his job, and after watching what’s transpired already, I’m glad he is.

Now in a more hurried manner than before, Chainz quickly yanks up Delgado, tossing him over the barricade and back unto ringside. He quickly follows, sure to roll both himself and Delgado back inside of the ring as he does.

Back inside of the ring now, Chainz delivers three sizable stomps into the back of Delgado’s head prior to assisting him up to his feet. Chainz whips Delgado into the ring ropes and catches him with a jumping big boot on the rebound that not only sends a wad of spit hurling out of Delgado’s mouth, but also causes blood to begin a nasty rush out of his lip.

Nick: Look at that!

Richard: You mean that fat dude in the front row? Hol-..wai-…Nick, that’s your mom!

Nick: No you idiot, I mean the blood rushing from Delgado’s lip. He’s taking a fatal beating here!

The same blood that would cause sympathy in some only motivates the dastardly Chainz. He proceeds to push himself to the top turnbuckle, swiftly leaping off with a flying foot stomp into the bridge of the down Delgado’s nose, possibly crushing it. Delgado goes for the quick pin afterwards.

ONE!

TWO!

…but it’s not enough to put away the heartfelt Delgado.

Nick: And Delgado is still in this!

As if he’d just filled his heel meter in Smackdown vs. Raw 2007, a violent glow comes over Chainz, causing him to yank Delgado back to his feet, whipping him into the ropes and catching him on the rebound with a clothesline straight out of the pits of hell!

Nick: It’s become apparent here that Chainz isn’t exactly looking for a wrestling match…he just wants to fight.

Richard: You won’t hear me say this much, but I tend to agree. He’s pounding Delgado like your mothe-…

Nick: Don’t even try it, Richard.

Chainz makes the cover once more.

Once more he gets the one.

He also manages to get the two.

But STILL Chainz cannot find the three.

Oh, now he’s pissed, and such anger leads him to the outside of the ring where he snags a brand new still chair, tossing it inside of the ring. Once inside himself, Chainz attempts to utilize the steel chair, but the referee quickly intervenes, reminding Chainz that this is not a hardcore match and that usage of a steel chair will cause him to be disqualified. Suddenly, we have a tussle in the middle of the ring between the ref and Chainz over the steel chair.

Richard: Let go of the chair, ref!

Nick: That chair is illegal, Richard. Chainz knows that!

Distracted by this very tussle, Chainz now finds himself totally oblivious to the slowly reviving Delgado who takes it upon himself to dropkick Chainz in the back, sending the brawler hurling into the steel chair held by the referee, knocking both the steel chair out of the officials hand, and also knocking the referee out cold.

Richard: Okay, someone seriously needs to fix the fragility of these referees.

Nick: That’s a near 300-pound wrester, Nick. I’m sure he’d probably sending you crashing down to the mat as well.

Chainz fights to his knees after the assault and finds Delgado hovering above him with the steel chair in hand and revenge in his eyes. Delgado lifts the chair above his head and motions to bring it down across the back of Chainz, but Chainz stops him in his tracks with a boot to the cupcakes!

Needless to say, Delgado immediately drops the chair and bends on in immense pain thus allowing Chainz to shoot to his feet and connect with an evenflow DDT unto the steel chair! Chainz quickly pushes himself back to a vertical position after the attack and proceeds to yank Delgado in the process. He places the groggy Delgado up against the ring ropes and snags the steel chair, tossing it at Delgado Terry Funk style…

BUT…

Delgado ducks the flying chair, causing it to bounce off of the ring ropes and come shooting right back into the face of Chainz!

Nick: What a defensive maneuver! I think it’s safe to say that the momentum has took a 180 here!

With Chainz barely able to stand in the center of the ring, Delgado runs and bounces off of the ring ropes, catching him with a momentum-filled clothesline. The impact causes Chainz to bounce right back to his feet right into another clothesline from Delgado! The process repeats once more with the final blow leaving Chainz steady on the mat. Delgado proceeds to bounce off of the ropes and connect with a modified rolling thunder that catches Chainz perfectly. With dried blood all over his chin, he makes the cover…

But no referee.

Delgado slaps the mat in anger but decides that he must keep up the momentum. Ghostly, he ascends the top turnbuckle and awaits Chainz to reach his feet. Chainz indeed reaches his feet, but doesn’t stay there long enough for Delgado to execute his aerial attack. Instead, Chainz shoots forward and pushes Delgado violently off of the turnbuckle.

Delgado totally misjudges the leap and, instead of crashing on the barricade, snaps his neck against the cold concrete floor.

OOOOOHHH

Nick: Oh my word…

Richard: I-…Is he okay?

Small ‘Holy Shit’ chants emerge from the crowd until they realize just how serious this injury truly is. The now revived referee fights through his seeming pain and quickly makes the countout before signaling for EMT’s who quickly rush to the ringside area.

Nick: Fans, this is not scripted nor is it a part of our program. Delgado is seriously injured here.

Richard: Did you see the way he folded up against his neck? That was nasty.

Nick: Fans, we’re going to take a quick break while the EMT’s take care of this situation. Stay tuned.

Slowly, the scene fades as a quiet hush falls over the gathered mass of fans.

The hustle and bustle of the PRIME locker room seemed to dim somewhat, as Jonathan Winters ploughed through the bodies like a hurricane cutting through buildings in the zenith of storm season. Behind him, Charity Manale reluctantly follows, with a disinterested expression spread, liberally, all over her face.

Charity: I just don’t understand this, Jonathan!

Winters: Perhaps you’re not supposed to understand it.

Charity: Why the hell are you bothering with this clown? He’s not important and as far as I can tell, he’s done nothing to you obtain your interest.

Still driving forward, Winters glances backward, over his left shoulder.

Winters: Agreed.

But he doesn't stop. If anything, his speed increases.

Charity: Then why? You don’t usually involve yourself in anything, unless it directly involves you…

A smirk slides across his face.

Winters: Do the math.

Charity sighs.

Charity: All's I’m saying is, last week you were in the Main Event and had a PRIME Universal Title shot. Excuse me for saying so, but whatever hell this is, it seems to pale in comparison. We should concentrate on getting you back up to such great heights again.

This time Winters doesn’t even bother looking back.

Winters: I concur, but there's something I need to do first.

Charity curses in complete frustration; a daily routine one must stick to religiously when in the company of a man like Jonathan Winters.

Winters: This is about pride, about honor--

Charity: No it isn’t. This is about your damned superkick and we both know it.

Winters develops a confused expression and Charity grins.

Charity: I saw you when you were reading up on the latest roster additions yesterday. I saw that glint in your eye, the one you always get when you discover some fuck has taken the last apple doughnut.

Winters whirls around on the spot, coming face to face with his alleged ‘lovely’ manager. He ignores the other trivialities within her inate ramblings and instantly selects the most important section.

Winters: Correct. MY superkick!

Charity shakes her head and Winters continues towards his target. But Charity just can’t leave it be...

Charity: Your superkick? You didn’t invent the damn thing and you’re definitely not the first to use it. How does that give you any kind of dominion or moral superiority in this scenario?

Winters remains silent for a few seconds, as he stalks closer to his prey.

Winters: Irrelevant.

Charity shakes her head.

Charity: Irrelevant? How is that irrel--?

Winters stops in his tracks.

Winters [whispering]: Silence.

Charity’s eye’s fill with rage.

Charity: AND WHY THE HELL SHOULD I BE SILENT?

Winters sighs and raises his right hand up to his midsection.

Winters: Because I intend him harm.

It’s only at that point does Charity realise Winters is carrying a rather substantial plank of wood. Her hatred is quickly released and promptly replaced by surprise.

Charity: What the fuck…?

Then a firm hand is placed deftly upon Winters right shoulder. He cocks his head slight and sneers. Unlike Tony Gamble, Winters doesn’t like to be touched by other men. Ever.

"Can I help you?"

The voice adopts a bizarre familiar/unfamiliar tint to it and Winters sneer, quickly morphs into puzzlement to reflect this. At last, realisation washes over him and quickly, he palms the blunt object into the unwilling arms of his hapless manageress.

Winters: Dusk…

He turns around and establishes eye contact with his prey.

Winters: …I’ve been looking for you.

Dusk develops a look of scepticism.

Dusk: Why?

Winters: We need to talk.

Dusk raises a speculative eyebrow.

Dusk: Since when do you talk to people? Animalistic grunts and growls maybe, but—

Winters [interrupting]: Pure speculation.

Dusk sighs.

Dusk: Whatever. So, what do you need to talk to me about?

A half-smirk creeps across Winters face.

Winters: Theft.

Dusk: Theft? Of what? And what does it have to do with me?

Dusk then nods over towards Charity.

Dusk: And why the hell does she have wood in her hands?

Winters sighs.

Winters [muttering]: When doesn’t she have wood in her hands?

Dusk chuckles and Charity develops a scowl, before dropping the plank of wood to the floor, and then striding into the fray. She barges Winters to one side and squares up to Dusk.

Charity: I’ll handle this. Dusk, my client feels like you’re infringing on his trademark rights and would like you to cease and desist.

Dusk develops a blank expression and simply glares back at her. Charity sighs.

Charity: You currently use the superkick as your finishing manoeuvre and Jonathan here would like you to stop.

A wave a realization sweeps across Dusk’s face.

Dusk: No.

Charity looks at him with anger etched into her face. Dusk, however, doesn’t back down and instead, decreases the expanse between them

Dusk: And just to make sure it’s crystal clear: hell no.

Winters sighs. This isn’t getting him anywhere and he knows it. He pulls Charity out of the way and manoeuvres her to one side, his manger struggling throughout

Winters: The superkick is mine. Once your limited capabilities rival my own, I may reconsider my position...

Dusk: I‘m sorry, my limited capabilities? Sure, you may have accomplished a few more things than, but other than that what‘s the basis of your argument? Have you gone through two different wrestling organisations and just completely destroyed everyone put in your path? Three Time World Champion for the UEF. International Champion in Global. Nobody could stop me. So, what makes you think you’re any different?

Winters smirks, visibly unimpressed.

Winters: Irrelevant. You’re in PRIME now, using my superkick and that is unacceptable.

Dusk refuses to back down, despite Winters overbearing presence. Quite the opposite in fact, his eyes grow colder and fiercer. Dusk doesn’t like to backed into a corner and it’s clearly visible for all to see.

Dusk: I’m going to give you a chance right now, Winters. Walk away and forget this ever happened. If you don’t, then it will be your worse nightmare. I promise you that.

Winters: Whatever.

Dusk kneels down and scoops up the discarded piece of timber, never taking his eyes off Winters as he slowly rises upright.

Dusk: This meant for me? Looks rather pleasant. Nice and firm. I’m sure that’s what you like Winters. Nice and firm hard things in your hands.

Winters rolls his eyes, unimpressed with the cheap euphemism.

Dusk: But, if you don’t get the hell out of my way, then I’m going to jam this up your ass. Understood?

Winters chuckles to himself, laughing off Dusk’s seemingly idly threats. However, Charity clamps her hands around his arm and desperately attempts to drag her client away from the conflict.

Charity: Let’s go Winters. He’s not worth it and we both know it.

Winters resists, his firmly rooted to the spot.

Winters: Seems a test is in order.

He eyes up the PRIME technical staff swarming the area and Dusk follows his gaze. His face is enveloped in immediate understanding and his quickly fill with rage.

Dusk: Don’t.

Winters develops a defiant smirk, clears a bemused Charity out of the way and takes a couple of steps backwards.

Winters: Hey, kid.

The techie in front of him turns, he young eyes filled with suck hope...

Techie: Yes--WHACK!

The superkick is lightening fast and connects sweetly with the victims chin, sending him sprawling helplessly backwards, onto the locker room floor.

Dusk: Was that really supposed to impress me? Then, keep watching. Because, I plan on putting that to shame, Winters. You’ve started something that you shouldn’t have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a match to prepare for. Unlike you, I don’t waste my chances, and unlike you I don’t lose shots at the Universe Title.

Dusk then turns away from Winters, two-by-four still in hand. Charity whacks Winters across the chest fiercely.

Charity: Was that really necessary?

He glares her sternly and turns to walk away.

Winters: Yes.

The backstage is quiet, but the thundering sounds of feet against stone awaken the camera as it spins to see none-other than the Fijian Lion, Gabriel Afeaki, strolling through the halls, his mind elsewhere as he walks.

A distant figure is nothing more than a blur as it moves swiftly toward the Fijian, his eyes burrowed deep into the floor, his steps slow and heavy.

The figure approaches and is instantly recognized as Pierce Lavelle, dressed in wrestling attire and eyes pinned on Gabriel Afeaki.

Lavelle: Well I’ll be damned, out of all the places in the world to run into you again, I find you in PRIME.

The man known simply as GA maintains his path brushing shoulders with Lavelle rather forcefully, continuing on his way: his focus aided by the infectious beats of Nas playing into his ears. Lavelle turns in a somewhat confused manner - they had never seen truly eye to eye but this was damn right insulting.

Lavelle: Well, that’s just rude!

Pierce paces after Afeaki grabbing the Fijian Lion by the shoulder and spinning him around. GA slowly removes his adorning hood, then removes a solitary ear bud, gazing deep into the eyes of Lavelle.

GA: What...?

Lavelle: You dumb, deaf and blind now too? Or you just happy to see me!

Lavelle releases his hold on the Fijian Lion, a cocky smile along his lips. Their past was anything but normal or healthy, they were two muscle men thrown into a room with conniving and ruthless businessmen.

A wry smile pervades GA: removing his other ear bud he cocks his head slightly. He knew Lavelle perhaps better than most; keep your friends close, your enemies closer and all that psychobabble bullshit.

Truth was... Afeaki knew Lavelle was a dangerous man. The urge to unleash a hellacious right hand, the same right hand that knocked out fellow MMA combatant Shawn Stewart last week, was overwhelming.

GA's hand tensed... and Lavelle noticed it - goading the Lion would be a very bad idea in such a small space. In the same way GA knew all about Lavelle from their Empire exploits, Lavelle had witnessed first hand the pure destructive power of Afeaki.

GA: Pierce Lavelle... so we meet again.

Lavelle: Hey, I ain’t exactly breaking out in song and dance either but here we are.

Lavelle moved back slightly, he knew that being too close to GA would affect any chance in returning whatever was thrown at him physically. GA was a foreboding presence of a past Lavelle wasn’t all too comfortable remembering but here stood a huge part of it, emphasis on huge, it always struck Lavelle at how daunting and monster like GA was.

GA let a smile escape... he always knew Lavelle deep down was a good guy.

GA: How is life keeping you since... since...

Lavelle: The Empire...?

GA: Yeah... how are things?

Lavelle raised an eyebrow; there was an intense focus in the eyes of GA, possibly brought about by the words of a certain Easton Hall the previous week. Yet... with that focus there was something more human about Afeaki.

Lavelle: It’s good, Afeaki.

Lavelle relaxed a little more as he noticed GA’s fists loosen.

Lavelle: So where the hell did you go when the Empire collapsed?

GA's gaze moved swiftly from Lavelle's, sweeping the floor below. The mood clearly changed... Lavelle had delved.

GA: Look... Pierce. I did some things I'm not proud of for that man. If you can call the motherfucker that... there just comes a point in every person’s life when enough is enough. I mean... you saw what Harber was trying to achieve? I was just a fucking pawn - and what could I do about it? Fuck. All. I had to get out of there Pierce, so I ran. It just so happened that I found out some rather useful information with regards to my... detainment if you will... and contractual duties to Harber. All the... all the Sasha stuff was just a consequence of his actions. I never meant for anything to happen, I just... well... just had to do what was necessary.

He looked up at Lavelle... their eyes meeting...

GA: You sure fucked him over though...

Afeaki smiled.

Lavelle: Damn, I spend four months with you in the Empire and I can get a single word and now, you don’t stop.

Lavelle paused, his nerves around the Fijian Lion were bringing out his sarcastic rebuttal but as he looked toward GA, he saw something different,

Lavelle: What happened in the Empire, that’s all done, I think we all got what we wanted out of it …

GA: Why...? I mean... I heard things. Whispers if you will: but that backstage was so... so fucking rumour driven.

Lavelle was frozen for a second, the cogs of his mind turning slowly with each revealing thought. His mind switching to his past with Harber, the lies and deceit, the drugs and banning … He shook the thoughts from his mind, what’s done is done and here was a product of Harber’s in front of him, changed.

Lavelle: Rumours that were all true and aside from our past, it seems we’re been brought together in PRIME. So this is our present …

Lavelle turned around with a smile.

Lavelle: … pays better and smells better than some of the places we went to, right.

Ah... the present. The thoughts turned slowly in his mind. Could he tell Pierce? He could imagine it now... "I ran off with a Fijian gangster's daughter... and now they want me dead. I'm doing this to keep busy..." It wasn't the best plan of action - but wherever he was known as Gabriel Afeaki, and not Umaga Reihana, there was always a chance of surviving.

Lisa was tucked away safely at home, and they'd be too busy searching the cage fighting scenes of Europe to even think of scouring the pond at a wrestling promotion. It was clever and dumb... but at the moment it was working. Fuck it. He'd lie.

GA: L2E never truly took off... and I love this game. I've got some unfinished goals, some unfulfilled potential to work toward. I dunno man - it just seemed like a good option for me; there's only so much money in fighting. Got to think of my retirement plan! What about you... why PRIME?

Lavelle: Love of the sport … and …

Lavelle paused, GA was completely different.

Lavelle: Are you on valium? The Afeaki I know doesn’t openly speak about life.

GA: Not quite Pierce. Just... let's say I've had a bit of an eye opening experience of late.

Lavelle smirked.

Lavelle: That means one of two things: Firstly you’ve met a woman or you’re on prescription meds …

GA: Catch you around.

With that, the mercurial figure of Gabriel Afeaki turned and just like many times before seemed to simply vanish. He still had those Batman qualities.

Lavelle: That’s just creepy; he’s always doing that on me.

Lavelle stood alone in the hall now, arms folded and a smile on his face.

Lavelle: Change is good, Afeaki … Change is good …

N marches out, placing a finger on his hat and bowing, then makes his way to the ring with a stroll. Ascending the steps, he stands in the middle of the apron and does a flamboyant pose and bows to the crowd again, then places his arms on the rope, facing the outside of the ring and leans backwards, falling over the rope and flipping over in time to land on his feet. He takes a final bow, then removes his hat and cloak before turning to face Horace Tully, who had already entered the ring while no one was paying any attention.

Nick: Nice matchup we have here, with the man simply known as N, facing off against a member of the Sect of Black Wisdom.

Richard: Which will come in handy next month.

Nick: Next month?

Richard: Yeah, February is Black History Month... These guys will know all the answers.

Nick: Somehow I doubt that's what they're talking about.

While Nick and Richard had their little conversation, the bell rang and the match began. Circling the ring for a little bit, each man trying to get an upper hand over the other, people start to chant out 'boring'. But nonetheless, the amount of moves and holds running through these guys mind would make them sit back in awe if they ever started to wrestle.

That's how good these guys are.

Finally, N steps forward, his hands locking up with Tully's as they begin a test of strength. Neither man budges, so they unclasp their hands and back away. A simple nod between the two expresses the mutual respect that is going on in the ring right now. It's as if they know exactly what the other one has in mind.

It's scary when you really think about it.

Richard: Hey, do you think you can wake me up when this is done?

Nick: What are you talking about, you can cut the tension with a knife.

Richard: I think that's John's bullshit.

Nick: Pete, Chris, now John... Who in the hell are all these people you keep name dropping.

Richard: It's 'Them'. I hear them in my head sometimes... They tell me to say stuff, and I just do it.

Nick: Yeah, I think I'm going to talk to Chet about getting you some help.

As that small amount of filler ends, we head back into the ring where things have really picked up. Well, Tully has N in a headlock and doesn't want to let go. That is, until he gets the bright idea to whip him into the ropes. N hits the ropes, bounces back and ducks a clothesline attempt from Tully. N hits the ropes on the opposite side and comes back to duck a big boot from his opponent, only to turn around and chop block the big man to take him down. He capitalizes with a few kicks to Tully's back, putting him in a Boston Crab for a moment to put added strain on his back.

The match ends up going back and forth like this for quite a while. Each man getting a nice set of moves on the other, rinse and repeat. The match ends up spilling to the outside, both men exchanging punches all the way up the ramp as the referee counts both men out.

Winner: Not me, due to Double Countout.

Following Horace Tully's match, the camera zeroes in on Garbage Bag Johnny, who is backstage behind the curtain, doing his best job to hide in a garbage can. Conspicuously, however, there is a parascope rising from the top of the can.

As Tully walks backstage, the periscope turns to follow him, and suddenly, the garbage can stands, naked legs protruding out of two holes in the bottom as the parascope bobs up and down in quick pursuit of Horace, who is heading back to the Sect of Black Wisdom's locker room.

Obviously a walking garbage can is prone to getting attention; you don't see a metal disposal container sprouting dirty feet and a rudimentary scope, running reconnaissance every day. Backstage staff leer at the oddity skitter by before coming to rest only a feet feet from the Sect of Black Wisdom's enclosed territory, the door closing only moments before the camouflaged GBJ resets himself on the floor. With all the skill of an old-school Solid Snake, GBJ lifts up the lid and listens intently at the door. Voice echo within, mostly unintelligible through the barrier. He only makes out bits and pieces amongst shuffling inside.

Tully: ...of the impostor. What......Father Shanahan....upon his return....

Knight: He....any moment. Be patient...

GBJ doesn't catch much. Not simply because its hard to hear through a thick metal door, but because something else draws his attention away from the stellar detective work he's carrying out. The imposing frame of a man to his blind side, looming over him with a glower. Before he can react, the hands of Bruce 'Violence Jack' Shanahan close like a vice around his neck and hoist him from his hideaway, slamming him against the wall. The other's eyes burn with rage.

Typically his body odor would have a chance at offering him a clean (no pun intended) escape from danger, but not with the hands of PRIME's sinister zealot grippping his throat. Violence Jack speaks, his words quiet yet menacing.

VJ: It seems we have a rat scurrying about our abode. But I suspect you're not after any cheese are you, friend?

Garbage Bag Johnny: Not particularly, no. Why? You got any cheese? If you got some, I'll eat it. I'm starving.

Shanahan sneers but doesn't relent in his deathgrip on the spy's throat. He hasn't been happy in the wake of his inability to compete in the GTT6 final. Smartass retorts do nothing to lift his spirits. Even if it is more of Johnny's nature than an actual attempt to show impudence.

VJ: No. But if we did, I'd be sure to lace it with poison before I fed it to you, you filthy mongrel.

Garbage Bag Johnny clumsily backs up a step, the mangled garbage can now dented onto his body like a metal leotard.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Whoa, there's no need for the bad vibes. I just noticed my friend Adam was acting a little strangely since I arrived here in PRIME, and I was just wondering if you noticed it too.

VJ: Of course I've noticed. I'm the reason for it, you swine.

He pauses, for a moment thinking he might have said too much. However, after studying the disheveled, can-wrapped investigator for a long moment, he dismisses the thought. Garbage Bag Johnny is no threat to his plans and that does much to free his own tongue.

VJ: But tell me...why does this concern you so much that you choose to spy on us?

He's well-aware of GBJ's close-knit association with Adam Dick. But he wanted to measure PRIME's resident whino a bit more.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Well, I saw all of his opponents from the Facey Invitational Gauntlet file into your locker room after the match. I figured you might know something.

Garbage Bag Johnny thinks for a moment, attempting to free his arms so that he can scratch his beard.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Besides, I wasn't spying. I'm just not good with people skills. I'm working on that, though. I'm taking an online course.

The irony dawning on him quickly, Violence Jack smiles. No threat at all. In fact, if if he altered his schemes right, perhaps an asset...

VJ: You strike me as one much brighter than they give you credit for, Johnny. In truth....you're a visionary. More than a visionary. You act where others only dream and talk empty. That's a rare trait in PRIME. Men like us are a breed thought long dead in this industry. We take action where most only make speeches about action.

Garbage Bag starts to feel a bit embarrassed from Violence Jack's sudden change in tone. He's not really used to getting many compliments.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I'm not much for making speeches. Crowds make me feel anxious. You're pretty good, though. You should teach an internet course on it.

V-Jack reaches out and lays a hand on GBJ's shoulder. Johnny looks surprised, not unlike the other day when he was offered a free meal.

VJ: We all have our roles in life, Johnny. You may not be a great orator but I can see something in you. You're destined to do something amazing. Perhaps even something that could re-shape the world someday. Even more amazing than touching lives via the internet. Tell me...how does that make you feel?

Garbage Bag Johnny: It makes me feel confused and a little violated, actually. You can see something in me? Like...with X-Ray vision?

Violence Jack chuckles. It was like taking candy from a baby. Thank Azathoth for simpletons.

VJ: No, different. But let's speak more inside. I think I may know just the way to bring out all of that untapped potential in you.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Now that you mention it, I could stand to let out some of this untapped potential- had White Castle for dinner. I should warn you, though, that we're going to have to get this garbage can pried off me first or we're going to have quite the mess on our hands.

VJ leads GBJ, who is still wondering what the fuck an Azathoth is, through the locker room door before the door swings to a close in front of the camera lens.

Chainz seemed like a man on a mission. What kind of mission that was, who the hell knew? But, with Tracy at his side, he felt like he needed to extract some kind of punishment or pain upon somebody. Yet, he couldn’t find someone to unleash his furor again. As he turns the corner, he hears a voice from behind him.

Random Person: Hey…

Chainz, unsure if the person is talking to him and really not caring, turns around hoping to extract some pain upon the man. Unfortunately for Chainz, he doesn’t see it coming. The Superkick.

BAM!

The impact from the kick echoes throughout the entire hallway as the people look down the hall to see that Chainz just nearly had his head kicked off by one of the newest PRIME superstars, Dusk. Dusk looks down at the fallen Chainz as Tracy looks up at him in fear almost. Dusk walks over to Chainz, keeping his eyes on Tracy to make sure she keeps her distance. He then kneels over Chainz and looks down at his dazed eyes.

Dusk: You fucked with me last week. This is your comeuppance. Next time, I set your career to… dusk.

Dusk then gets up and walks away, with a focus on his face. As he walks away, you can hear him speaking to himself.

Dusk: Hope that gets Winters attention.

Then, just as fast as he came in Dusk is gone, getting ready for his match for Paul Cain. Tracy checks on her fiancée who is starting to sit up from the shattering blow from Dusk.

Tracy: You okay?

Chainz sits up, his eyes coming back and his composure coming back. Tracy offers him her thin hand and he stands up.

Chainz: Looks like someone else just made the list.

He pulls out a pad of paper and jots the name "Dusk" down alongside others like Paul Cain, Devin Shakur, and Malachi.

Meet Kevin. It's Kevin's first time in South Africa and he is excited. He's not about to mess this up, though, no sir. He's clad in his PRIME t-shirt and blue jeans and he's ready to go! His headphones are over his ears and his eyes are glued down to his clipboard as he makes sure he's done everything he needs to do. Boy howdy, Kevin is a good American worker.

And who, of course, comes bursting around the corner and knocks such a paragon of labor than that eternal stoner, the Illustrious Face Eater!

Ha ha ha, oh, Facey!

(Laugh Track)

And Facey's got a problem! You see, people with Facey's ganja-blessed lifestyle can't risk being caught by… the man. Or, really, by any of the numerous people who happen to be chasing him. So he's like your paranoid friend that doesn't smoke weed but tries it to fit in every once in a while. Facey's head is on a swivel as he makes his way down the hall, obviously worried. Of course, if the man was chasing you, you'd be scared too!

(Laugh Track)

Seriously, though, Facey is really worried. Of course, who then does he bump into but that bearded assuager of worries, Easton Hall! Easton looks like he's got something on his mind, too.

Easton Hall: Facey!

Face Eater: WHAT!?

Easton Hall: Spare a sec, kid. Look, I was wondering if you'd sell me your—

Face Eater: KID?! FUCK YOU, PAL, THE MANLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER SELLS HIS SOUL TO NO-ONE! (except violence jack)

(Laugh Track)

Easton pauses for a bit, grinding his teeth.

Easton Hall: No, man. I don't know any dealers in South Africa and I'm not about to walk out and get stabbed. I know you've got green on you, man, and—

Face Eater: You CANNOT have my soul, dammit!

(Laugh Track)

Easton Hall: The fuck is with that!?

Face Eater: With what?

Easton Hall: Nevermind. Facey, look, how much do you want?

Face Eater: The fuck do I owe you? I get you into GTT6, you blow it. I get you into PRIME—

Easton Hall: You didn't get me into PRIME.

Face Eater: You're missing the point, man! You're going up against Amy Silveira and I know you're gonna screw this up, too. I can't waste my FUCKING TIME when I've got assholes chasing meeeeeeuuuuuuuh I mean places to be.

Easton Hall: But—

Face Eater: Scram, you dirty hippy! Save your money and buy yourself a real job!

Facey tries to move by and Easton steps aside, glaring as Facey glances behind his shoulder anxiously in his flight. Easton shakes his head.

Easton Hall: What a douche.

(Laugh Track)

Easton Hall: The fuck is with that!? God!

Easton stalks off down the hall, visibly irritated.

Vince Howard: The following match is for one fall!

The Wal*Tron lights up with the sun slowly setting over a distant horizon. The blue sky fades to pinks and oranges as the sun disappears. "Headstrong" by Trapt starts to blast out over the Ellis Park Stadium as a figure steps out through the curtain.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Los Angeles, California, weighing in at 250 pounds... he is the Lost Soul... DUSK!

Dusk steps out to a decent pop from the South African crowd. He makes his way down the ramp, rolling into the ring and springing to his feet and starts to run the ropes, getting loosened up for his match.

Nick: You've got to think that Dusk is here looking for some payback after being abandoned by Paul Cain last week, leaving him to the not so tender mercies of Garbage Bag Johnny and the Illustrious Face Eater.

Richard: So much for the big man from GLOBAL. He got pinned by a bum, Nick. A dirty stinking bum.

The lights fade out as the introduction for "You Don't Know" begins. The music starts to swell as red strobes flash before pyro explodes on either side of the entrance ramp. The beat kicks in as we see Paul Cain step out, his head bowed at the top of the ramp.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Denver, Colorado, weighing in at 235 pounds... The Anarchist, Paul Cain!

The lyrics kick in as Cain's head snaps up, scowling as he makes eye contact with Dusk who is awaiting him in the center of the ring.

Richard: And he didn't abandon Dusk, he was provoked into leaving!

Nick: By the disgusting action of the most controversal of Chet Worth's recent hires, Chainz. And afterwards, Cain did get himself a taste of revenge.

Cain strides down the ramp, glaring at all and sundry before sliding into the ropes. Dusk makes a motion towards him, but the referee intervenes, quietly trying to talk him down as Paul Cain nonchalantly removes his coat and t-shirt before slumping back into a turnbuckle, arms spread wide as he stares at the fuming Dusk, his eyes daring him to make a move.

Nick: If looks could kill, Paul Cain would be a smouldering cinder right now.

The ref turns and calls for the bell, and Dusk rushes at Cain, surprising him with a series of forearm smashes to his jaw, rocking him back against the turnbuckle. Dusk lowers his head and grabs the ring ropes, driving his shoulder once, twice, three times into Cain's midsection, trying to drive the wind out him.

Nick: Dusk is wasting no time in trying to take Paul Cain apart.

Dusk slings Cain hard back first into the opposite turnbuckle, following him in with a clothesline. He grabs the top rope and starts stomping away at the Anarchist, driving him to the mat with a serires of boots to his chest. The ref starts a five count, and Dusk backs off at three, taking a few steps back as he motions for Cain to get back to his feet. Cain, a bit staggered from the onslaught, reaches behind him and pulls himself up. Showing great timing, Cain drops back down to the mat, reaching out with his legs as Dusk charges back at him, sending the Lost Soul face first into the bottom turnbuckle with a drop toe hold.

Nick: Paul Cain's showing some great ring savvy with that drop toe hold, reversing the momentum of this match.

Richard: That's what Dusk gets for being... stupid.

Nick: What, that's it?

Richard: Yeah, I got nothin'.

Cain wastes no time, dragging Dusk back from the turnbuckle by his ankle before lifting his opponent up by his foot and driving his knee into the mat. Dusk rolls away, clutching his leg as Cain follows him, delivering a series of stomps to that same knee.

Richard: See how he's going after that knee? Cain's like a shark, he smells blood and attacks.

And indeed he continues to target the knee, pulling Dusk's leg straight before dropping an elbow on his thigh muscle. Dusk tries to roll out of it, but Cain rolls over with him, spinning around and wrenching back with a single leg crab.

Nick: Dusk's in some trouble here.

Dusk, agony on his face, reaches for a rope but not quite reaching it. Cain sits down and wrenches back even harder, the veins popping out in his neck as he pulls back with all his strength, trying to force the Lost Soul to submit. He screams at the ref to check to see if Dusk is going to give up.

Richard: Give up, you putz!

There's quite a bit of fight left in Dusk however, as he waves off the referee's concerned question and reaches out once again, fingers almost reaching the bottom rope. Cain, somehow sensing that his hold was about to be broken, stands up and pulls Dusk closer to the center of the ring. He goes to sit back down on the single leg crab, but Dusk uses the opportunity to roll over, his legs scissoring together sending Cain falling forward. Showing off his technical abilities, Dusk catches Cain and rolls him into a small package.

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWO!

And Cain kicks out, rolling to his feet, anger in his eyes as Dusk pulls himself back to a vertical base, hanging onto the rope and favoring his right leg. Cain charges at him, but Dusk lowers a shoulder and sends him over the top rope and too the concrete before.... oh so he thought. However, Paul Cain had held onto the rope as he was slung over it, and rises to his feet on the ring apron. Dusk turns around to check on his opponent and is shocked when Cain reaches up and grabs the back of his head, dropping off the apron and snapping Dusk's neck across the top rope. Dusk staggers backwards, clutching his throat as the Anarchist rolls back into the ring, coming to his feet long enough to duck a wild clothesline and send Dusk stumbling back to the corner with a heart kick. He charges at Dusk, but meets turnbuckle instead as the former GLOBAL star sidesteps out of the way. The Lost Soul then grabs Cain in a rear waistlock, sending him over his head in a German suplex.

Nick: Looks like Dusk is going for the Sunrise.

And it appears that Nick is correct as Dusk rolls back to his feet, still clutching a dazed Paul Cain from behind as he sends him for the ride again, his back and neck crashing into the mat for a second German suplex. As Dusk rises again, pulling Cain up, he tries for the trifecta, but this time is blocked as Cain slips a leg behind him, stopping him from lifting him up. Cain then throws an elbow back, catching Dusk in the jaw. He spins around with a right hand that Dusk ducks...

Heh, Dusk ducks... say that ten times fast...

Anyway, Dusk ducks the right hand and wraps his arms around Paul Cain's waist, sending him up and over, this time with a Northern Lights suplex. He holds on for the bridge...

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWO!

THR...

The ref's count is interrupted as Cain rolls out of the pinning predicament. Both men lay on the mat, gasping for breath for a few moments as the arena erupts in thunderous applause for the great exhange they had just witnessed.

Nick: Great match so far, wouldn't you say Richard?

Richard: Bah, I'd rather watch a replay of Cain stabbing Chainz in the head with a screwdriver again. That was some great tv.

Both men rise slowly to their feet, but Cain's slightly faster, advancing on Dusk and sending him staggering back with a European uppercut. He slings Dusk into ropes and brings him up and over, crashing to the mat with a back drop fallaway slam. He covers...

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWWO!

And Dusk kicks out. Cain, roaring in frustration, picks the Lost Soul up and slings him over his shoulders...

Richard: This is it! Time for Dusk to face a Reality Check!

But Dusk counters, slipping down Cain's back, his weight pulling the Anarchist down into a crucifix pin!

Richard: No, dammit, no!

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWWWO!

THRRRRRRR...

Cain kicks out at two and a half. Slamming his fist into the mat in frustration, he rises and turns to see that Dusk had already gotten up and had measured him for the...

Nick: LIGHTS OUT!

Dusk's superkick connects, and the Lost Soul falls on top of Paul Cain as the ref counts.

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWWWWWWWWWWWWO!

THRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEE!!!!

"Headstrong" by Trapt starts to play over the speaker as the ref pulls the exhausted Dusk to his feet and raises his arm in victory.

Vince Howard: The winner of your match... DUSK!

Richard: This is a travesty! How much more does Paul Cain have to take? His messiah get's beat to within an inch of his life, his daughter's being threatened by a psycho like Chainz, and now he has to suffer a loss on his record against a guy named after a sunset?!

Nick: It was a tough match, Richard, and Dusk was just the better man this time.

Richard: Dusk is a sissy. Cain deserves better.

In the ring, Cain slowly rises to his knees, crushing disappointment in his eyes as he watches the victorious Dusk exit the ring as we cut to commercial.

Lindsay Troy takes a moment's pause in front of her locker room, having made a trip to the catering area to grab a bottle of water. Taped to the outside of the door is an envelope, which wasn't there before she left. She quizzically narrows her eyes and snatches the letter, turning it over in her hand to see of there's any sort if indication as to who it's from. There isn't. A look down the hall in either direction finds her all alone, not even a crew member in sight to interrogate.

Troy rips the top of the envelope open to discover two pieces of fine, crisply folded, stationary paper. She unfolds them the best she can and starts to read the top one in silence, then does the same for the second one. Her eyebrows lift and fall on certain phrases and she lightly scoffs at others. Finally, she replaces the papers in their envelope and walks inside her locker room, letting the door shut behind her.

The camera starts to cut away from the scene, but Lindsay re-emerges, sunglasses now on and letter stuck in the back pocket of her jeans. She looks at the camera and, with a jerk of her head, motions it to follow her as she starts to walk off down the hall. Like an obedient puppy, it does, and fades the scene out...

When I Get Angry by Spider Loc

The crowd rains down boos as the Original Villain steps out onto the stage, the first member of Fuck You to make it through the curtain. No more than a couple of seconds pass before the Devil’s Don and the Risen Star follow, the three men forming an unintentional triangle as they make their way to the ring. Bringing up the tail is Gamble, grinning from ear to ear as he is oft to do.

Nick: Rollins is conspicuous by his absence, but I know that he, along with Deville, had a vicious contest over in…

Richard: You bite your tongue, Nick. The three letters dangling on the tip of it make me want to hurl.

Nick: I never knew you to be so patriotic.

Richard: I never knew you to be a fan of women’s lingerie.

Nick: College was an experience, for sure.

Nova pulls himself up onto the apron as the other three shoot under the bottom rope. The Risen Star steps through the middle rope, taking care to keep PTC’s Extreme Title on his shoulder as he does.

Richard: Peep the gold, Nick! The Universal Title around his waist, the Extreme Title over his shoulder, and the hottest niggas in the game backin’ him up!

Nick: Oh. My. God.

Richard: I’m sorry.

A ringside techie tosses Nova a microphone. He lights a cigarette first before turning his eyes to the capacity crowd.

Nova: Well, holy fucking crap. Fuck You is pulling an in-ring. I bet Johannesburg is the only place on the globe that isn’t surprised.

At the mention of the city’s name, the capacity South African crowd pops like your mother over the phone when I say I’ll be there in five minutes. Little does she know that means five minutes after I ROLL THIS BLUNT AND ROAST THAT SHIT.

Nova: That’s right, we aren’t dead. We aren’t gone. Our mission statement remains, as always, firmly intact. As a matter of fact, it’s been reaffirmed…at least for me.

The Risen Star looks back at Deville, Gamble, and Snow, who nod in support of the reaffirmation that has gripped them emotionally in the same fashion as the Universal Champion.

Nova: The original fourth leg of this Table o’ Pwn couldn’t make it tonight, South Africa. I’m sorry. If you had to listen to Steven Caldera harp on like a menopausal bridge player every day, you’d catch something, too. Get well, Rollins. But I’m digressing, and I apologize. Let me tell you all something about reaffirmation. Two words, then two more...

…CHET. WORTH.

FUCK. HIM.

I’m dead serious. Could he do a better job of steeling my resolve? Could he?

/end crazy dialogue spacing. I know it’s trippy.

Nova looks into one of the cameras panning the ring, and it goes to a close shot of his face.

Nova: As I’ve made mention to at every opportunity since King of Kings, Chet’s vendetta against me – for whatever fucking reason – has been hilariously unsuccessful, and I know it burns him. Eh, Chester? You didn’t want to give me another chance, so my friends took it from you. Then I beat your champion clean in the ring and legitimized one of the goals of this crack group of the industry’s finest.

The Risen Star laughs, but since he’s still smoking he coughs out a little nicotine cloud. Thaaaaaaat hurts.

Nova: But now…now you’ve taken the liberty of legitimizing all the others on our checklist. Way to show your true colors, fat boy. Can anyone doubt us now? Can anyone doubt that we were right to push back when we knew that Worth was out of line? Look at this shit. Booking me in a handicap match against five other men was only the beginning. I mean, holy crap. Never in PRIME’s illustrious history has a champion been booked in three consecutive Universal Title defenses after winning the belt. Never.

The South African crowd is quiet as a mid-morning snowfall as Nova continues after a moment’s pause.

Nova: ReVolution 115…El Rayo Azul XMCMXMII. Okay, not exactly the subject of an epic poem, but a defense nonetheless. ReVolution 116…Jonathan Winters. Hot prospect gets shut down. Sweetness. Breather for the champ? FUCK NO. Line up number three! Could it be more obvious that dude is a fucking psycho bent on ruining me because his pride, the pride that mind you didn’t exist when he entered this damn company as a sniveling emo’d-out anthropophobe, got injured when Fuck You delivered the goods at King of Kings?

Boos fill the Johannesburg stadium, but Nova holds his hands out as if to absolve himself of the crowd’s ill sentiment.

Nova: Hey, I thought it was a good night, I have to say. Snow got a solid check in the ‘win’ column over Killean, who hasn’t been seen since. Go figure.

The Risen Star turns back and offers Snow the devil horns (known also colloquially as the ‘rock-out sign’), and the Original Villain replies with a respectful nod.

Nova: Then yours truly gained about twenty pounds that night, as we’re all aware of by now…and renewed respect for Matt Ward.

Oh, that one gets the boos flowing (like that wordplay?).

Nova: I understand how you all feel, for sure. I didn’t wish ill upon him, and it came knocking at ReVolution 115 for Tchu, there’s no doubt about it. But what did everyone expect? Me to turn around, oh I dunno, right now perhaps and start swinging on my teammates?

The Universal Champion abruptly does an about-face and charges Deville with clenched fists as the crowd pops, but the cheers turn back to boos as the Devil’s Don feigns surprise before Nova offers a few weak shadow-boxing punches before turning back to the crowd, cocking an eyebrow and offering them a disdainful smirk.

Nova: Come on. Seriously. If Worthless wants to make this into a war, he gets the responsibility of knowing that he’s going to have casualties on his hands…

Nova jerks a thumb back at Snow and Deville, who survey the crowd coolly. A smile spreads across the face of the Risen Star.

Nova: …because I can’t control these fucking guys. We’re all dangerous, Chet, so keep pushing. Keep reinforcing what I’ve been saying for months. We’re only getting stronger, which can’t be said for "Team PRIME" or whatever the hell you consider your rag-tag opposition to our chariot of pwn. You can’t hide behind the Amazon forever, Chet, and from the looks of things, she’s all ya got.

He slaps the PTC Extreme Title that hangs over his shoulder.

Nova: Yesterday I walked into a PRIME ring wearing this belt along the 5-Star Title. Today I carry it next to the company’s top prize. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

The Risen Star tosses his microphone over his head. It lands in the hands of the Crimson Angel, who offers the Johannesburg another taste of his trademark smirk before passing it off to Gamble.

It's funny how people's perspectives can be skewed in in so many different directions in such short periods of time.

About a month ago, a chorus of boos would ring out the moment this man's music would hit. The insults flung toward the ring the moment this man stepped through the ropes, would make a sailor blush in embarrassment. There were no words to describe how much contempt and hatred people had for him.

And in the blink of an eye – or should I say the drop of a hand – it all changed.

Suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted from over his head and the people finally noticed that Quasimodo may have been a bit different but he had a good heart, because cheers echoed through the arena the night Tony Gamble's arm was lifted in victory over Angelo Deville. The words screamed out over the PA system may as well have been 'Sanctuary' over and over again, because the crowd had someone new to cheer for. Apparently, no one remembered how they treated him, how they scowled at him for being different, because he had defeated that which was considered unholy. The man had conquered 'The Deville', and the only thing that kept the arena from becoming a live version of The Wizard of Oz when "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" was sang in unison was the damn Lollipop Guild.

Then, in the blink of an eye – or should I say the drop of a Tchu – it all changed. Again.

The boos have returned...

You can hear them now.

The insults are once again flung...

Almost drowning out the sound of their little hearts breaking.

Once again he could feel the emptiness in his heart from everyone's bitter hatred...

If they would shut the hell up you'd hear the little violin playing between Deville's index finger and thumb.

And all he can do is smile.

It's what he does.

Tony Gamble: Oh come on, it's not like you couldn't see this one coming.

It's funny to hear the crowd chanting the stable's name, since they're supposed to hate them and all, but they do.

Tony Gamble: Since the day the man stepped back into this ring, the moment he said the word 'Surprise' on Revolution 105, I've said that I was going to work with this man. And you thought that the sound of your cheers, that your acceptance, was going to make me turn my back on that. That somehow I was going to come running into your arms because you had finally opened them up to me... Fuck You!

Yeah, that didn't sit right with the crowd, and the thunderous echo as they voice their contempt simply causes his grin to widen.

Tony Gamble: Do you really think that I could side with someone like Tchu? Killean Sirrajin paid me to take his head off his damn shoulders with a baseball bat, and he tucked himself between his legs and welcomed him as a friend the moment he knew he was in over his head for calling out The Deville. Do you honestly believe I could put my trust, my faith, in such a spineless coward?

He feigns getting hit in the back, and staggers around the ring.

Tony Gamble: How could I stand alongside any of those losers? Lindsay Troy couldn't hack it in the tag team division. She blamed it on her partner and went solo, and she still hasn't done a damn thing.

Crowd: TROY!TROY!TROY!TROY!TROY!TROY!TROY!TROY!

Tony Gamble: Maybe you figured I could hang around with my old buddy Killean... Seriously, the man lost his girl to Jonathon Winters. No one should ever lose anything to Jonathon Winters. Period.

Tony manages to toss in a little Rafael Palmeiro finger wag to drive the point home.

Tony Gamble: Speaking of Winters, I told him last week that he wasn't going to win because the Culture Shock main event was alrerady being printed on the fliers. Tony Gamble versus Nova for the Universal Title. I meant that, and if I have to personally see to it that you get a Fuck You main event... I'm going to do it. And if anyone has a problem with it... from you to that wacky bastard running the show into the ground... Fuck You.

A chuckle is heard coming from 'The Grin' as he hands the microphone to Deville.

And The Deville, naturally, begins to saunter. To swagger, really. And as he begins lecturing the people about how this is just another classic Fuck You moment, we cut backstage.

Voice: OH AAAAAAAAAAAAANGELOOOOOOOOOO.....

The Deville's head snaps up and over to the Wal*Tron, as does everyone else's. There, on the screen, is Lindsay Troy, standing next to the rarely utelized Scott McKannon. Yes, PRIME has a male interviewer. Don't look so shocked.

Richard: Just like a woman, always interrupting her better!

Nick: RICHARD!

Richard: What?

Lindsay Troy: Oh, I'm sorry, Devvy. Were you saying something just now? I'm sure it wasn't the same recycled garbage you and your lot have been spewing about for the past few months. Going on and on about FUCK YOU this and FUCK YOU that and fuck Chet and fuck Tchu and fuck me...

Heh. Don't you wish...

The Deville quirks his eyebrow. Like this: ~_^

Lindsay Troy: No, I'm quite positive that you were about to say something truely awe-inspiring and earth-shattering. Give proselytizers like you and Scarface and Benedict Nova a microphone long enough and eventually something emerges from the muck and the bore. Unfortunately, no one here will be benefitting from your wisdom, since I just had your microphone cut.

Richard: WHAT? SHE CAN'T DO THAT! ... Can she?

Nick: I think she just did. Deville's tapping his microphone and nothing's happening.

Richard: Blasted woman!

Lindsay Troy: Now then, there IS the matter of this letter I have in my hand. Imagine my surprise to find it waiting for me, all taped up on my door like it was, and then imagine me finding out who its author was. Sure, Angelo, you could have just slipped it through the space between the floor and the door, but subtlety doesn't really strike your fancy as of late, does it?

So I recruited the help of Scott here to assist me in sharing your little note to the world. Sure, he's just going to hold the microphone, but I'm going to need both hands free in order to read this.

Nick: ...

Richard: ...

Angelo Deville: >=)

The camera closes in on a waist-up profile of the Queen of the Ring, who lifts her sunglasses off her eyes and clears her throat before starting.

Lindsay Troy: My Fair Lindsay,

Sincere apologies for addressing you through written words rather than beautiful-face-to-beautiful-face. Unfortunately, I’m not in the habit of suffocating my regal army under a jock strap, and dispatching women – with my fists, at least – is an evil I indulge only in the ring. My dear friend Snow passionately argues that you must be a man, for various reasons, but I know better. So you understand why I will keep my distance for the time being.

I also must apologize for delaying so long in answering your question, and also for the answer I hope will not shatter your delicate identity. I don’t remember you. I mean, I’ve been aware of your exploits for years, in and out of the business, but whatever personal relationship you seem to imagine we had exists only in your dreams. And I must say it has me more than slightly worried for you. While dreaming of me is most certainly healthy for a young lady in touch with her libido, expecting me to share the memories is absurd.

Another point of concern is your seeming allegiance with the fallen and falling. Opposing Fuck You is suicide. The Kannons will attest to that, and I’m sure Tchu already did during your ill-advised visits with him. I urge you to distance yourself from such antics immediately, and have attached a peace treaty to affirm your good intentions and ensure you don’t follow in their footsteps. The heart-wrenching pain you feel over my lack of remembrance will pale in comparison to the crippling anxiety that will come if you force us to make the whole world forget about you.

Following your present course, that is the assured destination. Think on it carefully.

Hoping not to shed your blood,


Angelo Deville

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!

Lindsay Troy: Oh, but wait, THERE'S MORE!

She switches the papers to read the one on the bottom.

Lindsay Troy: I, Lindsay Troy, humbly overcome by divine sense and in the interest of self-preservation, do hereby surrender all grievances against the esteemed members of Fuck You, especially Angelo Deville. They are the peace and the light of – the only hope for – PRIME, and I will try to earn their trust in the hopes that one day they will consider me worthy of consideration for membership.

Hereafter, to ensure a long and illustrious career rather than disgusting hospital food and bedsores, my only engagement with them shall be of the mellifluous and flattering variety. I acknowledge my eternal inferiority and will only pursue violence as a last resort, in the event that Chet Worth forces me into a match against one of them, or in defence of my dying breath. Even then with my whole heart will I regret the action, and . . .

Nick: I cannot BELIEVE the audacity of Deville here. Writing up a terms of surrender and expecting her to sign it?

Richard: This is GENIUS! And I'll bet the man has excellent penmanship to boot.

Lindsay Troy: This goes on for a few more paragraphs and came pre-signed by a witness, God, whom I'm sure everyone here is familiar with. I thought it over, maybe not quite as carefully as I'd liked, and I really don't think I'm left with much of a choice.

She drops one of her hands down to her side. After a moment, there's an audible click and a gasp from McKannon.

Richard: Did she sign it? PLEASE TELL ME SHE SIGNED IT!

The camera abruptly pulls back to a full-shot to see Troy holding the papers, which are now on fire. Deville looks FURIOUS as Troy drops the smoldering dispatch into a metal trashcan that had been sitting a few feet away from her. She looks down at the flames in unequivocal certainty.

Lindsay Troy: Yeah...unfortunately, I don't take too kindly to directives ordering me to lay down like a dog. I think I'll take my chances, if it's all the same to you, Devvy.

She looks off to the side at a small monitor, then back at the camera.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, you look kinda pissed. That's good. Actually, that's really good. In fact, I think this is something that I need to see a little more clearly.

Troy flips her sunglasses back down over her eyes, swipes the microphone from Scott and walks out of the scene, leaving him to be on fire patrol. Back in the ring, Deville starts to pace in anger and raps the microphone against his leg. Surprisingly it's working again, even though he won't need it at the moment as "The Enemy" by Godsmack begins to play. The crowd cranks it up another notch as The Queen of the Ring struts out into the arena, twirling the microphone in her hand as she walks down the aisle. One flat-footed leap onto the apron and vault into the ring later, she stands in front of FUCK YOU and, most importantly, a seething Devil's Don.

The Deville opens his mouth, his face a thunderhead, a superfluous lecture obviously aching to spill out, then snaps it shut, turning his back on Troy with a wondering laugh. Disgusted headshaking perseveres for a moment as the crowd goes wild, chanting for a swelled Troy, whom has apparently shocked silent the arguably biggest mouth in the business.

Naturally, it can't last. Whipping back around, Deville points accusingly at her before unfolding the hand and sighing.

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

The open hand flips over as if to pie-face her from ten feet away.

Angelo Deville: No, scratch that. Obviously you haven't thought about this at all, or you'd have deciphered from the generous letter that while you may be safe from these hands backstage, out here in the squared circle you're just another dickless victim. Here I am trying to be chivalrous, taking time out of my heinously busy schedule to pen your only chance at salvation, and instead of thanking me your torch it? Look around you, Ms. Troy.

The Deville gestures to his cohorts, all grinning menacingly and rubbing their hands. Sparing them a smirking glance, Troy folds her arms impatiently at Deville, urging him to continue his tired tirade.

Angelo Deville: Do you have any idea what you've done? You've doomed your career. Even leaving aside the jumpings, leaving aside the fact that I could tie your ridiculously long appendages into bows faster than you summon tears while menstruating, do you have the slightest clue how foolish I can make you look on this stick? I know you fancy yourself an exceptional smack-talker, and in some leagues I'm sure you're the cream of the crop . . . but out here? Facing me? Honey, to me, this is an art form, and masterpieces flow from my tongue with the ease of drool from yours. To you, calling me "Devvy" is the height of derisive wit.

The crowd pounds the ring with boos as The Deville sneers, eyes locked on an unflinching, unimpressed Queen of the Ring.

Angelo Deville: With that in mind, I'm going to give you one last chance to atone for this ridiculously suicidal disrespect. Drop that microphone, bow your head, and hightail it backstage . . .

A condescending finger points in case the fear of her realization chased the directions out of her brain.

Angelo Deville: Where you're gonna rewrite that peace treaty, eloquent word for eloquent word, adding heartfelt apologies between each paragraph. If you do that, I'll purge this unpleasantness from my mind and we'll pick up amicably next week. Keep standing around petulantly, oozing this idiotic and wholly senseless arrogance, and you may as well kiss that sweet ass of yours goodbye.

There's a rather substantial pause while Troy takes this all in. Pursing her lips, she slowly begins to nod her head, then gestures to Deville's microphone hand.

Lindsay Troy: I see you, ahhhh, got that thing working again.

The crowd starts to titter. Deville, on the other hand, resorts to scowling even harder. Troy returns her glasses to the top of her head and continues.

Lindsay Troy: Good thing too, because I wasn't about to give up MY microphone just to see the Cadillac of Wrestling overinflate his own tires in front of Larry, Curly and Shemp.

Lindsay Troy: I know thinking is a dangerous pasttime for people like you, and by people like you I mean other pompous, big-winded men, but what you need to get through that over-moussed, Fantastic Sams styled head of yours is that I did think this out. I thought about it as I was closing the letter the first time I read it, and when I went to grab the lighter, and when I wandered off in search of an unoccupied interviewer. With every step I took down the hallway, I thought about every other time some pompous, big-winded man told me they were going to end my career just because I had decided that complacency suits me about as well as a muzzle suits you.

Lindsay Troy: Yet, here I still am, despite every other faulty promise that was made. Still running my mouth, still not doing what I'm told, still not taking the route that's in my better interest and still not about to back down from my stance. Not for you, not for the rest of the Stooges. Not for anyone. And if that means I take a beating then, shit, it won't be the first time. Maybe I'm just a little bit of a masochist, but whenever the time comes that you try and give me a receipt for burning your insufferable, lordly missive, I'll be getting right back up and doing it again. It may be with a limp, or with a cast, but it won't be because you put me, or my career, away.

Before Deville can retaliate, a piercing guitar riff breaks across the arena’s soundsystem. It sounds like a punk song, or at least the kind of punk song that some kid who watches VH1 would be able to label as such.

The music continues to build as all eyes are turned toward the entryway. Three figures emerge, all immaculately dressed, their faces shadowed by the lights beaming from behind them. Right around the 30-second mark, the lyrics chime in:

D-D-D-Des-per-a-do!
Why don’t you come to your senses?
You’ve been out riding fences
For so long now

You’re a hard one;
I know that you’ve got your reasons
These things that are pleasing you
Can hurt you somehow

Right after the "o" in Desperado, lights flash onto the entryway, bathing it in alternating green and gold. The middle figure throws his head up and his arms out, confirming the rumors and the whispers and, for the first time in his PRIME career, getting a little pop for his effort.

PRIME’s SuperStar. Irish. Danny. Ferguson.

The two men with him are his ever-present bodyguards, and they lead the way for Ferguson as the Me First & The Gimme Gimmes cover of "Desperado" continues its assault on the speakers and the ears of all who come too close. Team Ferg approaches the ring and its leader hops onto the apron, brushing back Snow and Gamble before making his entrance. A crew member is on hand to give him a mic, since Troy won't cough hers up for him.

He takes a few steps around and taps the top of his mic to make sure it’s on, then raises it to speak. However, before he can start, a chant, or rather a pair of chants, in English and the native Afrikaans, picks up around the arena.

"Welkom terug! Welcome back! Welkom terug! Welcome back! Welkom terug! Welcome back!"

Danny seems a little moved by the display, but he looks to be egging it on a little, too, so take that for what it’s worth. Finally, after some more fake humility, he raises his hand to silence the crowd.

Danny Ferguson: Thank you. Everyone, really. Thank you. It’s great to be back...where I belong...in PRIME.

A cheer goes up from the crowd.

Nick: That doesn’t sound like the tune he sang before his untimely departure.

Richard: Prison can change a man, Nick. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. Although I’m not sure what it did to his mental state for him to side with Worth and Troy here.

Danny Ferguson: It took me a long time to bring myself to turn on that television on Thursday nights. I wasn’t ready to watch what was happening here without me around. But finally, a few weeks ago, for King of Kings, I got the guards to chip in for the show so I could get a look. And what I saw...was this.

He gestures flippantly behind him, to a mixed reaction from the crowd. Gamble tries spouting something back to him, but Deville and Snow stop him.

Danny Ferguson: Four - now five, I guess, with the Clown Prince of Crime - of the top guys in the company banding together in some sort of boy’s club, a quote-unquote fraternal order of the top guys, the cream of the crop, or whatever other cliched shit. You know, the same concept that’s been played out more times than a National Lampoon script pitch. It’s tired. Old and busted. But because everyone’s got a hard-on about how great they are, no one wants to do anything about it.

Nick: Apparently Prison Santa brought a set of balls for Danny’s stocking. He would NEVER put himself in the ring to spit venom like that. Every interview he did was half a football field away from someone who would threaten him.

Richard: Shush, I want to see where he’s going with this.

Danny Ferguson: A group like this doesn’t just hang out and do whatever they want. You don’t rely on the politics of fear to get yourself ahead, like a gang of street toughs or a wannabe mafia.

He fixed on Deville with the last remark, drawing a few "oohs." The Devil’s Don doesn’t even give him the time of day.

Danny Ferguson: And the name? How does that sell t-shirts, idiots? Try as you might to use wrestling as a metaphor for life, this is a business and your job is to make money. Beating up the popular kids and calling yourselves something that won’t get aired on most major cable networks is NOT how you rule with an iron fist. You’ve got all the talent you need to run circles around this place, but you’re never going to get anywhere without some direction.

There were gonna be more cheers, but everyone was a little confused by the last part.

Nick: Direction? Is this a motivational seminar?

Richard: You, my friend, are being treated to an entry-level class in Fergunomics.

Danny paces a ring a little before stopping in front of Angelo and Nova and finishing his thought.

Danny Ferguson: They need a sharp business mind, a marketable name and a leader who can bring them to the very top! They need...me. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the NEW A-LIST!

With the crowd being all like "Wha-huh?" and Troy spitting on the ground in his name, Ferguson drops the mic and pulls Angelo Deville in for a perfectly-manly hug.

Nick: I can’t believe this! Less than an hour on the job and Ferguson has already screwed PRIME!

Richard: He had every right to, dammit! Worth and PRIME treated him like shit last time!

Boos begin to ring out as Ferguson embraces Deville, who looks both annoyed and dismissive. He doesn’t even react to the hug - doesn’t move a hand, doesn’t even try to wriggle free. He keeps the same look of disgust as Danny pulls away and turns to Nova, sticking out a hand to be shook. Nova has a look of confused nausea and doesn’t return the gesture, but Ferg doesn’t get the hint and just slaps him on the shoulder. Turning to Snow and Gamble, Danny throws his arms around their shoulder and tries to buddy up, except, once again, they don’t play along.

Nick: FU doesn’t seem to receptive to this suggestion...

All four men are giving Danny the same dead "check out this motherf*cker" stare, and slowly but surely, he notices. Taking his arms off of Gamble and Snow’s shoulders, he backs away a little, only to run into Deville and Nova, who have stepped in to block his path.

As Danny’s eyes dart back and forth between the four men surrounding him in the ring, he begins to notice that he’s the only one in the whole damn stadium who’s smiling right now. He thinks, momentarily, that maybe he should have approved this plan of his with Fuck You beforehand.

Deville, Nova, Gamble and Snow, the uncompromising power unit of PRIME, channeled their collective energies into a dead-on impression of Ivan Stanislav, and no-sold the ever-living shit out of Ferguson’s swerve.

Cue counter-swerve.

Snow’s boot catches Ferguson square in the gut and he doubles over just in time to get an ax-handle smash from Gamble. The Superstar crashes to the mat faster than any PRIME wrestler with "Azul" in their name, and the four members of Fuck You start putting the boots to him like he was a paper bag full of dog crap left flaming on their front porch. Troy, meanwhile, exits the ring, deciding to let Danny get the beating he deserves for trying to pull that shitdick move.

The beatdown was cut short as Danny’s bodyguards each grabbed a leg and yanked him from the ring. Since his pride was what hurt the most, he tried to climb back on the apron, red-faced and spouting obscenities, but they pulled him down, holding the actor/wrestler back while Fuck You taunts and laughs at his misfortune.

Nick: Well Richard...not to suggest that I agree with Nova, Deville and company...but I think Danny got what was coming to him.

Richard: Are you kidding me? He’s a superstar! But also, Fuck You made the right choice...because...um...

Nick: Uh-oh, are you forming a well-rounded opinion? Are you torn between two heels you’re used to brown-nosing?

Richard: Shut up! This is bullshit!

Nick: What’s bullshit? That Danny got turned away, or that he tried to swindle Fuck You?

Richard: I...this...AAAARGH!

Nick: Welcome back to ReVolution folks, and over the commercial break, someone has turned the ring into this... garish display of pretension!

Richard: I have no idea what you just said, Nick, but I like it too!

Nick: *sigh* I can't help but think that somehow, Captain Suleimon is behind all this. But I wonder what it's for?

For the benefit of those without imagination, the ring has been decorated in extravagant fashion. A lavish Oriental rug adorns the entire area of canvas, gold tassels hanging over the side of the apron. A temporary wall with a tapestry depicting the Great Saladin striking down European crusaders blocks out the vision of everyone in the south seats of Ellis Park Stadium can't see. Fortunately for them, there's always the Wal*Tron.

On each side of the temporary wall stands a bronze statue. On the left, Mehmed II, conqueror of Constantinople (now called Istanbul, not Constantinople) and on the right and Suleimon I, the Magnificent, the Sultan who extended The Ottoman Empire's borders into Europe and North Africa. On the carpet there's a lavish chair next to a table that has hummus, pita bread and baklava situated on it. In front of the chair is an Ottoman and to the right of the chair stands a podium.

Richard: Well, if Sully's behind it, I can't see how it could be bad. He's much more learn'd than all of us.

Nick: Don't you mean learned, Richard?

Richard: Of course not! The e is silent.

The dulcid tones of "The Turkish March" fill the arena as Captain Suleimon bursts through the curtains in full Ottoman military regalia. White uniform, medals, fez, the whole nine yards. Behind him is his faithful manager General Rahman, waving the Turkish flag vigorously. Jeers rain down from the South African crowd as Suleimon marches to the ring.

Nick: The e is not silent, and neither is this crowd. The Captain's reputation precedes him even down in Cape Country.

Richard: That's because this country was descended from Bushmen and Dutch. Not exactly the high end of the gene pool if you ask me.

Nick: Dammit, Richard, do you want to get us kicked off the air? You'll be like Rush Limbaugh...

Richard: Oh please, I said Dutch too. White, black, everyone in this country is probably retarded. Never let it be known that I'm not an equal opportunity hater.

Nick: Fair enough.

Suleimon enters the ring and stands at the podium, while Rahman puts the flag in the stand between the two statues. Suleimon looks out at the crowd.

Suleimon: Hello everyone, and welcome to the first edition of... ISTANBULLSHITTIN'!

Nick: Istan... what?

Richard: Istanbullshittin'! It's like the city that used to be called Constantinople.

Nick: I know it's Istanbul.

Richard: Not Constantinople.

Nick: Shut up! As I was going to say, I know what he meant, but the what was out of stunned disbelief.

Richard: Shut up, the Sultan of Smackdown is going to grace us with more knowledge!

Suleimon: Now, many of you are probably wondering a few things. Firstly, what is Istanbullshittin' and secondly, why such a crude, vulgar name? Well, the latter reason is because if I named this segment anything else that had a modicum of dignity, you and all the American swine watching at home would turn away in ignorant disgust because your minds can only wrap around flashy names that possibly have curse words in them!

The crowd knows when it's just been insulted and it's just been insulted. They respond with a chorus of boos.

Suleimon: But onto the main question, what is Istanbullshittin' all about? Well, if any of you Philistines remember a day when wrestling was pure, you'll remember a segment known as Piper's Pit. In that segment, and man who pretended to be Scottish interviewed other wrestlers to confront them with hard questions to which they'd have to provide real answers. Far unlike what happens today when people like Angelica Brooks or other large-chested harlots serve up softballs to the idiot roidheads and get no answers worth rebroadcasting, if you even get interviews.

S: Now, most people are worried about dragging camera crews around with them to document their confrontations over piddling matters, like some angst-filled reality television faux-vignette is going to tell you anything other than the fact that ninety-nine percent of this roster submerges themselves in emo music while cutting themselves at night!

Nick: What the hell...

Richard: This is the greatest thing I've ever heard in my entire life.

Nick: Only you would buy into this horse crap, Rich.

Suleimon: So now, I will pledge to do what no one else has the intestinal fortitude to do. I will ask the hard questions, and I will get the real answers. That's because I am not only a world-class journalist, but I am a world-class wrestler too. If you don't answer me, I will not be afraid to strike you down.

Nick: He's 200 pounds soaking wet. How can I expect someone like Bastille to be afraid of him?

Richard: Shut up and listen!

Suleimon: Tonight, I do have a very special guest, but before I get to him, I must say, I am amazed that in such a short amount of time, South Africa has gotten its act together. Looking into this crowd, I see so many faces, integrated, like race doesn't matter.

Nick: What? Kind words from Captain Suleimon?

Richard: He better not be getting soft on me!

Suleimon: Well, race indeed doesn't matter, because black or white, none of you even come close being able to compete with an Ottoman Turk!

Even now, integration in South Africa is a hard proposition. However, the blacks and whites in the crowd have found a common interest to unite over: their hatred of Captain Suleimon. BOOOO!!!

Suleimon: None of you are even fit to shine my military boots! Your best wrestler, who is about to be dismantled by the utterly mediocre Universal Champion in the next match, is some no-name that El Rayo Azul could probably dismantle in ten seconds. Onthaal Baas... WHO IN BLOODY BLAZES IS ONTHAAL BAAS!?

Nick: He's the Afrikaans Pro Wrestling South African Champion. That's who he is.

Richard: Like he said... who?

Suleimon: If the Ottoman Empire were to rise up again and invade your sorry country, the only obstacle it would encounter would having to sack three capital cities instead of one!

Suleimon is dodging garbage as he's speaking.

Suleimon: What, one receptacle for red tape wasn't enough? You needed three? Did each branch of government have such a large ego that you needed to keep them miles apart? YOU SICKEN ME!

Nick: He's insulting the fact that they have three capitals. How lame can you get?

Richard: Please, you're just jealous because none of your favorite wrestlers have the sac to tackle such socioeconomic issues.

Suleimon: Speaking of being sickened, my guest this evening sickens me to no end. He belongs in a prison cell for his crimes rather than in a wrestling ring. You'd think he'd have gotten the hint the last two weeks after I assaulted him for his crimes!

Suleimon points to the Wal*Tron to footage first of him delivering a Whirling Dervish to Easton Hall from the crates, and then throwing powder in his eyes and assaulting him in the ring last week.

Suleimon: Please welcome Easton Hall!

Before his theme song can even hit on the PA, Hall rushes out from the back with a really pissed off look on his face. He slides to the ring and pops to his feet, snorting hard and staring a hole through the Immolator of Istanbul. Suleimon begs off, but Hall is having none of it. He stalks towards Suleimon and Suleimon stumbles backwards. He grabs the bowl of hummus from the table and tosses it at Hall, who summarily ducks out of the way. The Captain then gets behind the statue of Mehmed II and pushes it forward, causing Rahman to hit the deck. The statue misses Hall, but it buys enough time for Suleimon to get out of the ring. Hall rushes over to the ropes to chase after but someone rushes in behind him, shoving him out of the ring and smashing into the guardrail.

Nick: Oh my... that's... that's Jack Murphy! Jack Murphy just blindsided Easton Hall!

Richard: Haha! It was a set up! A set up the whole time!

Suleimon scoffs at Hall while Murphy steps out of the ring and grabs Hall to his feet, holding him in the back by the arms.

Nick: I can't... I should have seen this coming, especially after these two united at the end of Triangles...

Richard: They... what's Triangles?

Nick: AWC's last event ever.

Richard: What the hell were you doing watching the competition?

Nick: Shut up! They're PRIMEates now, and Suleimon just slapped the taste out of Hall's mouth. This is despicable!

After (cue up Ryan's PTC avatar!) two, two slaps, ah ah ah, Murphy throws Hall back into the ring. Both Suleimon and Murphy follow, and The Bull grabs Hall up right away. He positions him near the table and then...

FALL

FROM

GRACE

...through the table. Hall is left in a heap in the middle of the now desheveled set. Suleimon grabs his microphone and gets right in the face of the fallen Hall.

Suleimon: You... you and your kind are not welcome here in PRIME. Prepare to be disposed of.

Suleimon delivers a kick right to the side of Hall. He puts his mic in his pants pocket and then rips off his military jacket to reveal an orange shirt that says "Wrestling is dead..." on the front and "...long live wrestling on the back." He grabs the mic again and gets back in Hall's face.

Suleimon: Wrestling is dead, Easton Hall. Long live wrestling.

Suleimon throws the mic down and shoots up. He goes over to Murphy and they raise their hands up.

Nick: I... I can't believe what I just saw. Sickening. Folks, we're going to commercial, but when we get back, Universal Championship, Nova and Onthaal Baas...

Richard: Who?

Nick: ...ugh, next!

Kill the lights. Cue the video package: a swirling field of stars that come together to form "NOVA" before a montage of the Risen Star’s PRIME highlights that end with a shot of him being handed the Universal Title.

"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, and I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all…or drown in my own shit."

That said, "Maggot Brain (Live ’71)" explodes over the P.A. system as a spotlight hits the entrance ramp, where Nova is knelt, the PRIME Universal Title and PTC Extreme Title held aloft in each hand. He rotates them, sending reflective beams of light out across the crowd. The smoke from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth glows in the light as it drifts up and dissipates into the air, giving someone lung cancer by way of the ol’ second-hand.

Richard: *Sigh* You know what I really love about Nova?

Nick: Since you’ve never begun a sentence with those words before, I have to say no.

Richard: His composure. He carries himself like a champion. Ya know, very stately.

Nick: I’m…I’m going to put on my iPod if you don’t stop. You’re talking garbage, and you know it.

Richard: I know what that man tells me to know.

Nick: Okaaaaay, so I can go with Whitney Houston or Amy Grant…

Richard: Ewww!! That’s your playlist?

Nova climbs to his feet, and as he makes his way down to the ring blue and white pyrotechnics explode in an impressive display on the entrance ramp.

Richard: PRIME World Tour, baby! Gotta do it up!

The Risen Star wastes no time, rolling under the bottom rope and into the ring. Standing up he hands the belt on his shoulder to the ref before unclasping the other from around his waist and giving that one over as well. He turns back to the entrance ramp, a look on his face that shouts "I don’t know what to expect here."

Nick: The look on Nova’s face right now shouts "I don’t know what to expect here," Rich!

Richard: For God’s sake, this isn’t the age of the fireside radio, Nick. We can all see him.

Nick: I admit, I’m curious myself…who is this Onthaal Baas? And APW?

Richard: Never heard of ‘em. But then again, I only watch our show, because it’s the best.

Nick: Umm…how do you know it’s the best if you don’t watch any oth-

Richard: IT’S THE BEST!!!~!

"Maggot Brain" dies out, but it isn’t replaced by anything. For a moment the only sounds in the arena are the murmurings of the crowd.

Richard: Christ. They do have music in Africa, don’t they?

Nick: RICHARD! I…fans, I…

Richard: Relax. (Raising his arms in the air) I AM INVINCIBLE!!

Nick: I think we all…WHOA!

The crowd echoes Nick’s surprise, but no one is more caught unawares than the Universal Champion as the CEO of PRIME, Chet Worth, strolls out to the entrance ramp casually. In the ring, Nova is instantly alert, every muscle stiffening as he expects something to maybe fall on him…or something, I dunno, falling objects always just seem to come to mind first. Followed by spontaneous combustion.

The Worth holds up a hand to silence the crowd, who despite Nova’s diatribe earlier in the night still offer the man in charge an encouraging welcome.

Chet Worth: I can tell you’re surprised to see me out here interrupting the course of tonight’s Universal Title defense, but it is my duty as company CEO to inform you all of some bad news, and some good news. I’ll do bad news first.

Nova steels himself, but he relaxes shortly after Chet continues on.

Chet Worth: Onthaal Baas won’t be able to make it tonight, so African Pro Wrestling has to forfeit their shot at competing for PRIME gold.

The boos from the crowd are audible, but no one’s exactly demanding a ticket refund, ya know?

Chet Worth: Now the good news…we have a replacement.

The grin that stretches across the Worth’s face causes the one that was beginning to stretch the corners of the Risen Star’s mouth to disappear like an e-fed burnout.

Colored lights shine on the backstage curtain as Chet Worth steps aside, illuminating the enormous shadow of a figure waiting in the wings.

Nick: Good lord! Chet Worth has a monster back there!

Richard: FLY, YOU FOOL! Take the Universal Title and flee the scene!

Nick: That wouldn’t be very stately, Richard.

The color drains from Nova’s face as his eyes fall on the shadow, and he nervously pulls a single cigarette out of his tights and lights it as he waits for the creature behind the curtain to be unveiled.

Nick: Nova’s pulled out his emergency cigarette, Rich! You know he’s nervous now!

Richard: This does not bode well.

Chet Worth: Ladies and gentleman…competing for the Universal Title for the first time, but certainly no newcomer to PRIME television…I give you…the African Giant himself…

Nick: No. Way.

Richard: NO WAY!

Chet Worth: …AZALA ZAMEER!

The curtain is thrown back and Zameer storms out onto the stage as the crowd erupts. The African Giant snarls with rage, tree-trunks of his arms outstretched as he stomps down the entrance ramp towards the ring.

Nick: AZALA ZAMEER IS BACK IN PRIME AND HE LOOKS SET TO DEMOLISH ANYONE IN HIS PATH TONIGHT!

The PRIME CEO laughs on the entrance ramp as he watches Azala reach ringside and climb up onto the apron before pushing down the ropes under his weight and stepping into the ring. Fuming with bottled aggression, Zameer’s shoulders heave as the ref holds up a hand to halt his path to the Universal Champion.

Richard: DON’T BE A HERO, NOVA! LIVE TO TAUNT ANOTHER DAY!

Nick: There are maybe a handful of times I’ve seen the African Giant with this kind of in-ring focus! Nova could be in real trouble!

The ref calls for the bell and leaps out of the way as Zameer lunges forward, grabbing Nova by the neck with his massive hands. He lifts the Risen Star off the ground, and Nova dangles there in his grasp, legs kicking helplessly in the air.

Nick: God, look at the pure unbridled strength of Azala Zameer! He hasn’t lost a step…if anything, he’s stronger! Is he going for a modified choke slam?

Richard: Wait, Nick…look!

Even as his face turns blue, Nova makes frantic motions with his arms, first from his head down and outward (audible transition: "Remember the hair?") and then two fingers to his mouth ("Remember the weed?").

Richard: He’s trying to get Zameer to remember him!

Zameer’s nostrils flare once more, and he continues to hold Nova aloft for a moment as the Risen Star’s messages seemingly fall on deaf ears. Still standing on the entrance ramp, Chet Worth crosses his arms confidently as he watches the Universal Champion wriggle in the ring…

…but oxygen comes at last to Nova’s charcoal lungs as Zameer drops him to the mat. Nova rolls over, clutching his neck and gasping for air as Azala stares down at him blankly for a moment, and then shouts with delight as he recognizes his old friend.

Nick: He knows him! Azala Zameer has identified his old smoking buddy, and look at Chet Worth! He’s furious!

Richard: Hahahaha!! Well-played, Nova! Serves Fatso right for not doing his research!

Zameer reaches down, scooping up the Risen Star and pulling him into a hug. The crowd sit in stunned silence, most unaware of the era of PRIME’s past when Nova and Azala Zameer steered the famed FUNK SHUTTLE across the U.S. More outraged than any fan is Chet Worth, whose face is somewhere between violet and indigo as he trembles with indignation.

Richard: Back-fire!

The ref taps Zameer on the shoulder, who turns to face him with the breathless Universal Champion still cradled in his arms. The zebra ducks Nova’s foot, which swings overhead, and informs the African Giant that this is a sanctioned wrestling match. Receiving confirmation from Nova, Azala dumps him back on the mat. Nova rolls away and stands up, loosening himself up for the contest. Azala stretches his back, the grin across his face evident that he’s game for a tussle with his pal.

Nick: It looks like they’re gearing up to get this match actually underway!

DONG, DONG, DONG!!

The amplified sounds of a dinner bell interrupt the contest as Zameer’s head whirls in the direction of that noise that has always led to tasty treats in the past. The attention of the crowd is also diverted to the top of the stands on the stadium’s east side, where Angelo Deville stands, clad in a black pinstripe chef’s hat and apron, next to a roasted pig that rests on a stand-alone spit. He’s holding the dinner bell into a megaphone.

Nick: The Deville! But what could he…waaaaait a second…

Richard: The gears in your head creaking along to the obvious conclusion here, Nick? Deville had to have gotten word about the replacement in the match, if Onthaal Baas was ever even supposed to show up tonight!

DONG, DONG, DONG!!

It doesn’t take a third series of bell rings for Azala to sprint for the ropes, practically launching himself over the top. He barrels over the barricade, trampling rows of innocent fans as he charges up the stands towards Deville and the image of the glorious hog. Shrugging, the ref begins the count. On the entrance ramp, the Worth throws his hands up in frustration as he watches his plan unravel in front of him.

Ref Man: EIGHT!
.
.
.
.
.
.
NINE!!
.
.
.
.
.
.
TEN!!!

WINNER: NOVA

Nick: And the Risen Star survives another week, in one of the oddest Universal Title defenses I think we may have ever seen in the three-plus years that PRIME has been open.

The bell sounds, and the ref hands Nova the Universal Title. The camera switches to the top of the stands, where Zameer holds the pig aloft, saliva pouring out of his mouth in anticipation. In the ring, Nova turns to offer Worth the finger…

…but there’s no one on the ramp, only a curtain still moving from the Worth’s passage through it.

Backstage, Sun Tzu is almost skipping down the corridor, verging on ‘the hills are alive’ fashion. And, by skipping, think stamping in skull-crusher boots, but with a bit of a spring to her step. The kinda spring a young girl would get from thinking about the first time she tortured a Tibetan.

There’s only one person who could ruin such a happy-bouncy-killy mood.

PRIME‘s l‘enfant terrible.

Boots skid to a halt on the tiled floor, and fierce eyes zero in on Karina Wolfenden’s face, which sports a rather conspicuous smile.

Sun Tzu: What?

Kari simply nudges her pierced eyebrows up a notch.

Sun Tzu: WHAT?

Suspicious, the Artist of War looks either side of her, then over both shoulders. Grabbing her top, she eyes it over to try and find whatever has caused the grin to dawn across the lips of the Eternal Sunset.

Sun Tzu: I DEMAND to know why you’re smiling.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Sun scoffs, spinning on tip-toes, then striding off the better woman.

Sun Tzu: Well, I don’t care. We both know that if I wanted to, I could smile a smile that everyone would agree was far superior to yours in both style and execution.

Her strides slow, awaiting Karina finally divulging the information desired by Mao’s Little Red Bitch. Her stride slows, then she stamps to a halt, spins back, and storms at the K-Wolf, (verbal) guns blazing.

Sun Tzu: I AM AN OFFICIAL ENVOY OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLES REPUBLIC OF CHINA AND IN MAO‘S NAME IF YOU DON’T TELL ME WHY YOU’RE SMILING I’LL BE ON THE LINE TO THE EMBASSY SO FAST IT’LL MAKE YOUR HAIR ALL TURN THE SAME COLOUR, AND HAVE YOU THROWN IN GUANTANEMO BAY, THE ONE GOOD THING YOUR COUNTRY HAS BUILT, UNTIL YOU TELL ME!!!

Clearing her throat, Sun calms herself back down, adjusting her collar nonchalantly.

Sun Tzu: Or… I’ll shoot you in both your kneecaps.

Having gotten her rise out of Tzu, Kari is glad to spill.

Karina Wolfenden: I was just thinking about the stonking cheque I’ll get when they finally turn my script into a movie.

For a split second, Sun’s thoughts drifted back to China, where not getting straight to the point could be punishable by removal of the tongue… and puncturing of the brain by a bullet-hot projectile.

Karina Wolfenden: It’s the touching story of a young Chinese girl who was born in a test-tube of growth hormone who escapes to the west and proceeds to play the dating game with oh so hilarious consequences.

Those with acute hearing could probably pick up the grinding of Sun Tzu’s teeth.

Karina Wolfenden: There’s this one scene, where she practically throws herself head-first down some Italian guy’s pants, only to land flat on her face when he runs to the hills.

Sun Tzu: I’d wait and buy it on DVD, that way I can watch the deleted scenes where said Chinese girl forces some ‘alternative’ American scene-following sheep to drink mercury until her eyes explode.

Just as the verbal volleys are readied for launch as PRIME’s cold war threatens to erupt, a booming voice echoes down the hallway.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YESSSSSS!!! OL’ JUMPIN’ JACK HEARS HIM SOME FIGHTIN’ FINE FROLICKIN’ FEMALE FUN!!!"

Both Karina and Sun’s eyes narrow in mistrust, before they turn their attention to the source of the voice, where following in its wake is the gaudy jump-suited persona of Michael Kriegman.

Karina Wolfenden: I want to look away… but… it sparkles.

Sun Tzu: Okay, that’s it, I’m out. He’s your nemesis, not mine.

Approaching them with an entrancing mixture of a strut and a prance, Jumpin’ Jack Flash slaps both hands down over his heart, pretending to faint at the sight of the two women. Wanting to leave, Sun Tzu tries to back away, but for some reason, can’t look away. Probably the same force that stops her clawing her eyeballs out.

Jumpin’ Jack Flash: Be still my beating heart... Aphrodite herself hides her face in shame at these two visions of feminine perfection. You, my deadly little killing machine...

He flashes that oh so gorgeous smile at an incredulous Sun Tzu.

Jumpin: Jack Flash: Your hair flows like an ebon waterfall. It would be pure ecstasy to run my fingers through it. And you... oh Karina, you feisty little minx... The fires of your passion light up your emerald eyes with such a spark... please allow me to try to quench those fires in my warm embrace.

He spreads his arms out expansively, his lips parted in a wide smile, confidence exuding out of his every pore despite his ridiculous words...

Jumpin' Jack Flash: Ladies, come with me tonight and let me show you the magic that only I can perform. Waves of pleasure will overcome you, crashing down on the reefs of your every orgasm, sending you into a crescendo of wild abandonment, we three sailors adrift on a sea of passion!

Feeling the taste of vomit seeping up into her mouth a little more with every words he spills forth, Karina drops her head to the side, whispering to Tzu.

Karina Wolfenden: Could I PLEASE borrow… I can’t believe I’m saying this… Mr Snugglepants?

Sun Tzu: Nobody from a country that doesn’t cull these types from their population every spring deserves to touch Mister Snugglepants or Kookoo Bear. You can use this, and only because my eyes won’t stop gravitating south, and I don’t want to have to trust these African doctors to give me a lobotomy to rid my brain of this moment.

Reaching into her sleeve’s pocket, Tzu retrieved a tazar gun, slapping it in Kari’s hand.

Karina Wolfenden: Who’s this? Binky?

Sun Tzu: Please, I’m not a child. I stopped naming my non-lethal weapons when I was 10, just like every other girl.

Jumpin’ Jack Flash: Oh, ladies, ladies, ladies… Jumpin’ Jack has his own lil’ supply of toys back at his hotel room, you didn’t need to bring your own.

Kari again drops her head down towards Sun.

Karina Wolfenden: NON-lethal?

Sun Tzu: Well, when used externally.

Not even wanting to think about whether she’d deduced it by practice or theory, the K-Wolf shoots Jack a wink. Before he can even absorb the gesture, Jack’s bare chest is punctured by two barbs, shortly followed by 50,000 volts.

As both womens’ faces sour at the smell of scorched spandex emanating from Michael Kriegman’s shuddering body. Somehow staying on his feet, the harsh shock therapy not seeming anything new, Kriegman even seems to impress Mao’s Little Red Bitch a tad.

Sun Tzu: Remind me to get some of his DNA, we could use some durable clones.

As the shock continues to surge through Michael’s system, Jumpin’ Jack Flash begins to lose his sole custody over the smouldering body. He bursts out in high pitched cackling as the manic Mr Smiley Face ascends.

Mr Smiley Face: Why do I feel like I'm a convict in a Texas prison?

The grin fades as the Smilin' Dude loses control to the Trashcan Man, clutching his head and falling to his knees.

Trashcan Man: Not again! Not the chip! The pain, the pain...

His head leans back as he screams out to the world...

Trashcan Man: MY LIFE FOR YOU! MASTER, MY LIFE FOR YOU!!!

He collapses in a heap like a puppet who's had its strings cut. Shudders wrack his frame as he weeps, hiding his face in his hands and muttering to himself.

Sun Tzu: There’s a reason so many people in your Mao-forsaken country need therapy.

As the short-circuited Trashy shuts down, Sun Tzu makes a quick exit, wanting to wash the West off of her quick-smart. Eyes watering from the smell of roasted waxed chest and second-skin jumpsuit, Karina decides that Sun might have the right idea, stepping over the shuddering Kriegman as she leaves to get ready for her match.

Vince Howard: This next match is scheduled for one fall!

Darkness swallows the arena, punctured only by the pale blue flashes of overeager cameras intent not to miss anything.

Map of the Problematique by Muse

The crowd goes insane at the telltale music, dulled for a moment as a massive explosion sounds, drawing back the lights, roaring all the more to drown out eruption and music both as they spy the figure on the stage. Head down, breathing measured, Pierce Lavelle stands as a statue shaking free of stony slumber.

Vince Howard: Introducing first!

He raises his head slowly, his chiselled face quirking with an arrogant smile as he spies the empty ring. Very soon a long-time enemy will share with him that confined space, and his eyes dance with the promise of pain.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he weighs in at two-hundred-thirty-five pounds! The three-time AWC Transatlantic Champion! He is . . . PIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERCE LAAAAAVEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

The lack of attention he pays the fans as he saunters down to ringside only seems to ignite them further. When he finally rolls in, jumping up and rocketing to the far turnbuckle, hitting a crucifix pose and bellowing with primal rage, they return the sound with gusto, throwing their own arms high in salute.

Hopping down, Lavelle rolls his head, loosening, his glare searing a hole through the backstage curtain. The arena goes obediently quiet as his music slows and dies.

Nick: If anything is certain in this business, Richard, it’s that there is no love lost between these two. This promises to be a great match.

Richard: No it doesn’t. Check the credits.

Nick: Huh? Your TiVo kung-fu is obviously stronger than mine, travelling forward in time.

Richard: Then check the roleplay board.

Nick: Richard! You can’t say that!

Richard: No?

Nick: No!

Richard: Pretty sure I just did. Check those credits again, sport. I’m predicting a squash.

So am I, but aside from Nick at least one other man isn’t.

Vince Howard: And his opponent!

Various Gangster Tunes by Various White Guys Pretending to be Gangsters

There is no rocket ship, no gold- or bitch-stealing, and certainly no triumphant retreat to planet love as the audience chimes back in, cheers and boos warring for supremacy in the bedlam. If he wasn’t wearing a goofy mask, you’d undoubtedly see an uncharacteristically humourless cast to his face, evidenced by his angry march down to the ring.

Vince Howard: He hails from acronyms I don’t know the meaning of, and is like a finicky insecure woman in his refusal to mount a scale! He is the smoker of mad ganj! King Dick! He is . . . THE ILLUSTRIOOOUUUS FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEEEEER!

Richard: What the hell? Where’s the comical nonsense? Where’s the tongue and the threats of baby-eating? Where the hell is Facey?

Nick: Apparently Mr. Dick isn’t in the mood for fun and games tonight, not with this man as his opponent. I told you earlier, Richard: this is serious!

Richard: I don’t like it.

Nor does the crowd, quieting with equal parts confusion and expectation as Facey slides onto the canvas and springs up, eyes gleaming through the slit with unmistakable menace. The unmoving staredown lasts only long enough for the music to cut and Wesley James to call for the bell, then the Face-Eater is charging, apparently looking to start things with a bang, or perhaps end it all early.

Lavelle matches his charge, ducking under a clothesline and hitting the ropes as Facey does the same. This time at centre-ring they collide, with Facey launching into a picture-perfect shoulder tackle. Smoothly twisting into it, Lavelle loops one arm around his neck and hooks the other around his knee, dropping back with the momentum and rolling up the pin.

James jerks in surprise, then hits the canvas, slapping his hand down as he does.

ONE!

…

TWO!

Facey’s legs kick – and very seriously, mind you – but Pierce has him sewn up tight.

THREE!

Nick: WHAT!

Richard: I hate to say I . . . No, wait. I love this. I told you so, Nicky.

Nick: Wow. Just wow. It’s like Facey didn’t even show up!

Map of the Problematique by Muse

Vince Howard: And the winner of this match! PIIIIIEEEEEEEEERCE LAVEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

Nick: Unfortunate, too, because it seemed like they were both ready to go. Quite an impressive feat for Lavelle, dispatching The Illustrious Face-Eater so quickly . . . What was that – ten seconds?

Richard: Nine and two-thirds. Screw you and your rounding.

Nick: I guess he should really stick with what works . . . Down-to-business Facey didn’t do himself any favours.

Richard: Try a new strategy next week, Dick. Or an old one. Anything other than this.

Lavelle struts around victorious as Facey sits, shell-shocked, head buried in his hands.

Paul Cain was having a rough night, more so than usual and it was only fitting that things would go from bad to worse.

As he walked through the backstage area which was once again crawling with activity he happened to hear some soft music coming from far away. A familiar music that beckoned him to come to it, like the sirens’ song it would lead him to his doom.

He walked through a series of small corridors until he stood in a lounge area. Several sofas lined a rug; a place where workers inside the arena could relax.

Unfortunately for Paul Cain it wasn’t just another worker, but it was the most feared and hated man in wrestling Michael Sloan and the thing in his possession was the real problem. He had a child soother in the shape of Winnie the Pooh and he was intently listening to its song.

As if he had been waiting for Paul Cain all along he turns his head and flashes him that same cocky, sinister smile that sent chills down people’s throats.

Chainz: Lovely toy don’t you think?

He said, chuckling to himself.

Paul Cain took a closer look at the soother and noticed something peculiar about it. It was the same kind that hung in his daughter’s room and it even had her initials scribbled on it. In fact, it was her soother. His worst nightmare had become reality.

Paul Cain: Where the fuck did you get that?

Michael Sloan didn’t respond, just flashed him his infamous smile that repulsed him to the core, but then he spoke.

Chainz: It was a parting gift from her to me.

He had nightmares about his daughter in this monsters hands and hearing him mention her name just reinforced the notion that she wasn’t safe.

Without hesitation he leapt at Michael Sloan and knocked him to the ground. With fists clenched he began to wail on his enemy, looking for a repeat of a week ago.

Michael Sloan was more prepared than Paul Cain had expected and within seconds Chainz flipped Paul Cain off of him. The two rose to their feet and began exchanging punches.

Michael Sloan got the upper hand and drove a knee into Paul Cain’s gut. He grabbed the man behind his neck and through him through a flimsy door, sending Paul Cain crashing into an office.

Paul Cain rose and grabbed a coffee mug from the desk. As Michael Sloan entered the office with rage in his eyes Paul Cain heaved the mug, connecting it with Michael Sloan’s forehead. The monster stumbled back a bit as blood trickled down his forehead, but quickly regained his stance.

Paul Cain picked up the office chair and heaved it at Michael Sloan who took most of the bottom into his face. He dropped to a knee and tried to shake the cobwebs out as Paul Cain ripped the phone out and chucked it at Michael Sloan who tossed it aside with a hand.

Paul Cain grabbed a glass vase and as Michael Sloan rose to his feet he smashes the vase over the bald, bleeding head of the monster.

With a surge of adrenaline Chainz kneed Cain in the gut and threw him into the wall. As Paul Cain bounced off the wall Chainz lifted him in the air and slammed him onto the large, oak desk sitting in the center of the office.

Paul Cain arched his back from the pain but managed to grab a pen knife lying on the table. As Michael Sloan rested his arm on the desk Paul Cain drove the pen knife into his forearm.

The knife penetrated a bit, but didn’t stick although it caused cut that proceeded to bleed profusely.

Chainz pulled his hand back and shook it, trying to alleviate the pain. Paul Cain speared the monster out of the office and back into the lounge area, but that would be the last offense he would have.

Chainz threw Paul Cain off of him and rose. As Paul Cain stood Chainz wrapped his arms around his neck, lifted him in the air and slammed him through a glass table standing between the sofas.

Glass shattered and went everywhere as Paul Cain’s body became immersed in glass. His body was bruised and now was bleeding from several wounds in his body.

Chainz: Your bleeding reminds me of your daughter’s puss after I tore it up.

Paul Cain had a second rush of adrenaline and charged at Chainz, but was tossed aside. He rose again and Chainz locked him in a choke hold. Paul Cain tried desperately to break it, but Sloan’s arms were muscular and powerful; they weren’t gonna break.

Chainz: You know how sweet your girl looked as she slept? Her pretty lips trembling as her infant lungs breathed.

Paul Cain (through deep breaths): You don’t… touch her.

Chainz: Who says I haven’t already.

He flicked out his tongue, centimeters from Paul Cain’s ear.

Chainz: She tastes sweet, even better with whipped cream. Much better than that bitter and sour cunt of your wife’s.

Paul Cain’s eyes shot open with rage as he finally broke the choke hold. He threw a punch and connected, but it didn’t do much. In return Chainz swung his elbow and dropped Paul Cain.

Chainz: You know you should keep your bitches on a short leash, that wife of yours was practically begging for it.

Paul Cain: You lie.

Chainz: Well technically she was asleep, but I could smell her juices flowing.

Paul Cain rose and charged Michael Sloan, his steps labored from the loss of blood. He threw a punch and had his hand caught.

Chainz: You shouldn’t stick your fingers in my business and you shouldn’t think that you can take me. You’re nothing like me; you’re a fucking piece of shit. That’s why your woman left you and your daughter doesn’t know you.

He pulled Paul Cain down to the concrete and stomped on his head.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blood screwdriver.

Chainz: Look familiar?

He had a sick smile on his face as he traced the screwdriver around Paul Cain’s face.

He tossed it aside and stood, reaching for the soother he had earlier. As the song started to play he began to rub himself and making loud, sensual grunts and moans.

Chainz: Eh, I can do one better.

He pulled a photo out of his back pocket and stuck it in Paul Cain’s face.

Chainz: Look familiar?

It was a photo of Paul Cain and his family, his face had been unceremoniously cut out. He licked the photo, focusing on his baby girl and reached into his pants.

Chainz: You know how sexy these bitches would look stacked up one on another? Oh man, I could bust a nut right here right now.

Paul Cain uses his hands to stand up, but can’t get further than all fours.

Michael Sloan hums a tune as he walks away for a second and grabs a baseball bat from behind a large plant. He shakes the bat and smiles as he whistles along.

Chainz: Oh what oh what shall I do with this bat?

Paul Cain: Fuck you Sloan.

Chainz: Tisk tisk, sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.

He raised the bat and swung at Paul Cain’s hand, which was resting against the concrete floor of the backstage area.

The shattering of bone can be heard throughout the arena and is quickly followed by the loud and piercing screams of Paul Cain as he felt his hand being crushed.

Chainz swung once more and crushed Paul Cain’s hand once more. He screamed in agony.

Chainz: Oh whaa, whaa, cry me a river why don’t you. Fucking pussy, sound like your daughter. You’re so damn pathetic I shouldn’t even be wasting my time with you. And you should thank me for crushing your left hand; at least you can still have your fun with Mr. Righty over there because there’s no way your wife will ever touch you again, not after I introduce myself to her.

He laughs as he chucks the baseball bat at Paul Cain and walks away, whistling and laughing.

Devin Shakur strolled through the halls quite effortlessly, dressed immaculately in an expensive suit number and shined shoes that dazzled the light overhead. His hands rested in his pockets as he ground his teeth with the thoughts of finding Sun Tzu - she was the apple of his eye right now. The object of his affection, and she didn't even know he existed, but that'll change he thought.

Yet there was one person who he was trying to avoid at this point, which would explain his walking pace picking up considerably. This person was somebody who Shakur could beat up quite easily, but he did not feel like indulging this person in any kind of conversation whatsoever.

Her name was Angelica Brooks and she had been unable to pin down the ‘Reject’ of PRIME ever since he got here. The only words that he spoke were when he was in a confrontation or in his debut dropping a solo promo. Shakur walked down another corridor, using his longer legs to his advantage, and once he could hear no footsteps behind him, he turned around to confirm that nobody was there…

Only to turn around to see her three inches from his face with a microphone.

Shakur: Daughter of a bitch….What do you want?

Brooks: All I want to do is ask some questions. What’s the problem with that?

Shakur: I prefer to do talking in the ring, not with reporters.

Brooks: Let me ask three questions and then I’ll leave.

Shakur: …I better get a fucking Sonny Silver string pull doll for this. Alright, go ahead.

Brooks: I’m here with Devin Shakur. After the brutal beating last week at the hands of Chainz, how are you feeling?

Shakur: Like a million dollars. Chainz can go through former Universal Champons like K-Wolf without batting an eyelash and barely breaking a sweat, but I can withstand his finisher and he can’t finish me off? That just proves Chainz cannot beat me and to see what he did after the match just proves how pathetic of a man he is.

Brooks: Then what about Garbage Bag Johnny. He seemed to beat you without much of an effort.

Shakur: That he did, and let me tell you why…Losing was the lesser of two degradations and that is the road I chose. I would rather have gotten out of that match with some of my dignity still in tact than to of suffered another second in the ring with that abortion of humanity. How people of his undignified status have a job in this industry is beyond my comprehension. I would consider going out quickly a win for my health. I think that man might have a sample of every known disease to ever plague our race somewhere on his anatomy.

Brooks: So then, what is your opinion of Pierce Lavelle? You two seem to have a disdain for one another. What are your thoughts on that?

And speaking of the devil, Pierce Lavelle emerged from around the corner, having heard every morsel of the conversation he slowly wrapped an arm around Shakur's shoulder, much to the disdain of Shakur who looked toward Pierce with a snarling upper lip.

Lavelle: Aside from his Blues Brothers' sense of fashion and overall lack of interest, he's a pretty nice guy when you get to know him!

Lavelle smiled, patting Shakur quite harshly on the back as he stared toward Angelica Brooks who held the microphone in between the two.

Lavelle: And disdain is such a harsh word for our friend here. He's just got a bee up his bonnet, ain't that right?

Shakur: I’m going to have a forensic scientist analyze my clothing now and I swear to God if you got one ounce of suck on that, I’ll sue you for all your worth.

Lavelle placed his palms in the air, a smile across his lips.

Lavelle: Ouch, I've gotta say, that hurt! You are actually comparing me in filth to the likes of Garbage Bag Johnny! You cut me deep, real deep Shakur …

Lavelle wiped his hands off his trouser bottoms, before looking up at Shakur once again, a grin along his lips.

Lavelle: What'd ya think Brooks? I only just used the Lavender soap, too girly?

Shakur: Do you have a purpose for being here or are you just trying to steal my gimmick and antagonize somebody into a fight?

Lavelle: Moi? Cause a fight? I'd never …

Angelica Brooks looked toward the two, Shakur was the more irate of the two as Lavelle seemed to bounce every question with a sarcastic comment, playing to the whims of the fans but also antagonizing Devin Shakur.

Shakur: Yeah, sure you wouldn’t and Chainz wouldn’t attempt to piss off Paul Cain by having sex with a stuffed pig on live TV. What exactly do you want Lavelle? Time is money and you aren’t paying me shit so I don’t have a reason to stand here and talk to you.

Shakur spat, folding his arms defensively.

Lavelle: Well I saw your attempt to woo Sun Tzu last week and I thought you could use a hand in the fętes of dating!

Lavelle nodded his head and raised his arms in a backing down gesture.

Lavelle: But if you'd rather be off trying your best to get the Chinese chick into bed, be my guest because I'm sure Ms. Brooks here would rather quiz a more willing wrestler!

Shakur: Ok, first of all, I think Dusk put that fucking trashcan there when he got his sandwich before GBJ got it from him. Why else would he be attracted to it? Second, we had an interaction, and I doubt you can call it that, in the hallway. Third, if you want to believe that Angelica over here wants to quiz a more willing wrestler, why the hell did you wait until now to come find her?

Lavelle raised his shoulders.

Lavelle: I have been a willing participant to Ms. Brooks. Gave her an exclusive last week!

Brooks raised her eyebrows but quickly played along, nodding her head and folding her arms.

Lavelle: Least you could do is afford the woman some of your time, and instead of using extensive amount of oxygen in opening that trap to talk to me; you could open it up to her! Course then maybe you might actually say something worth listening to and shock us all.

Shakur: Since your sole purpose seems to be antagonizing me, and you want to hear something of shock…I’m calling you out for a match at Culture Shock.

Angelica Brooks looked shocked, Lavelle on the other hand seemed calm and collect.

Lavelle: Is that supposed to scare me?

Lavelle paused a moment, a smile lingering on his lips as he edged closer to Shakur, inches from his face. He leant in toward him, whispering in a snake like hiss.

Lavelle: You want a match against me then you got one…

Shakur: Splendid. Now you two can willingly participate in fucking yourselves. I have other business to attend to.

Devin Shakur turns and exits the scene from Pierce Lavelle and Angelica Brooks, leaving them both staring at one another.

Lavelle: He did just say splendid, right?

Brooks: I think so!

Lavelle has gone a little red in the face as he stands next to Brooks alone in the hall.

The fans cheers can be heard faintly in the background, but Charity Manale is too engulfed within her own thoughts to, as she stood in the hallway with a small Styrofoam cup of water in hand. Her blonde hair is tied up in an ornate, yet beautiful design behind her head, which compliments her slick business suit beautifully.

Manale leans back against the corridor wall, allows a sigh and then takes a sip of her water, her mind quickly returning to her client and possible strategies further elevate him in the PRIME hierarchy.

"You usually the brooding type?"

Charity Manale whirls around on the spot, her brow furrowed, obviously not recognising the strange voice. Whereupon, she’s confronted by PRIME newcomer Pierce Lavelle, who now positions himself by her side, a cup already under the water cooler.


Charity: Not usually…

Lavelle: Yeah, kind of gathered that.

Charity takes another sip of water, her eyes scrutinising him closely; she’d heard enough hype about Lavelle, to be mildly interested in allowing this brief meeting to run its course.

Charity: And why’s that?

Pierce Lavelle: Well, your stance is all wrong and you forgot the odd sigh …

Lavelle smiles, as he pushes the plug to allow the water to churn into motion, then comes a silent gurgle commentating the union and finally a third party intrusion. Manale places her emptied cup into the small trash can next to her, as she does so Lavelle can’t help but linger.
Charity: You seem to know a lot about brooding…

Lavelle: That’s because I’m an expert.

Lavelle realises that Charity is now reciprocating his shameless flirtation and he likes it; she’s the first woman, aside from Tracy and Angelica Brooks, to hold his attention for longer than five second, since his arrival in PRIME.

Pierce Lavelle: I’m sorry, where are my manners, Pierce Lavelle.

This time it’s Charity who smiles, and nods her head, knowingly.

Charity: I know who you are …

Lavelle sips his water and raises his eyebrows, speculatively.

Lavelle: That a good thing or bad thing?

Charity: Good and I’m Charity Manale, manager to the stars…

Lavelle extends his hand and she shakes it, politely before quickly folding her arms. The lingering migrane of her client, Jonathan Winters, engulf her mind once more, but she pushes the thoughts aside with relative ease. She smiles and rubs her temple, soothingly.

Charity: Enjoying PRIME?

Lavelle: It’s great aside from the gun carrying women and perverted men…

Charity : I’m tending to stay in opposite sides of building from Chainz.

Lavelle nods in agreement.

Lavelle: That’s a great idea, really.

There’s a lingering silence momentarily, neither speaking as they looked at one another.

Lavelle: So what are you doing out here all alone?

Charity: Practicing my brooding, of course.

Lavelle [mumbling over the rim of his cup]: … Waiting for somebody?

He almost winces, losing all confidence in his chat-up technique. He leans back on the table, expecting quite the obvious answer from her: yes. Charity sighs, and folds her arms, the fans suddenly cheering in the background, reacting to what’s occurring in the ring.

Charity: No.

Lavelle freezes on the spot. Oh Crap, he thinks, what do I say now? Thankfully Charity takes the initiative and saves him from his stumbling freefall and complete loss of words.

Charity: You?

Lavelle: Well I was hoping Shakur might be around, he seems like a nice guy.

There’s a shuffling sound in the distance, quickly followed by the appearance of Jonathan Winters encroaching on their position, with a stern expression forever etched into his face.

Charity turns to see him and sighs, shooting him a week smile. Upon final approach, Winters eyes Lavelle up warily, his attention momentarily leaving Charity.

Winters: Charity.

Lavelle shies away from his stare, grabs one last look at Charity and then promptly exit’s the scene.

Lavelle: I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you Charity.

Winters turns to Charity, a smirk creeping across his face.

Winters: Another victim?

Charity shoots Winters an icy glare and fold her arms defensively.

Charity: That was Pierce Lavelle…

Winters glares back her, blankly.

Winters: Who?

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first, hailing from THE GLORIOUS NORTH, weighing in at 213 pounds and standing at five feet and eleven inches tall, he is THE CANADIAN DRAGON, EAAAAAAASTOOOOOOON! HAAAAAAAAAL!

The lights are assassinated like they're riding through Dealey Plaza in '63. The crowd lets out an anticipatory thrill of noise.

A single spotlight shines down on the entrance ramp as a vocal, piano, and bass sample repeats over the speakers. On the WAL*TRON, a sun rises slowly over a mountain horizon.

Cue GZA.

"Yo
Too advanced
Digistance
Made the CD enhanced
I move with the speed and strength of ants"

Easton Hall bursts through the curtains, marching down the ramp at an accelerated pace, the GZA's rhymes flowing and prodding him on over the repeating sample. His eyes are focused directly on the ring, his countenance severe, intense. The crowd showers him with cheers as he positively motors down the ramp. The spotlight follows him down as he leaps easily up onto the apron and slips into the ring.

"See the logo?
A monument in hip-hop
Carved out
In a giant landscape of broken rocks"

Easton paces about the ring in a quick circle before darting towards the corner. He climbs up onto the second rope and slams his gauze-wrapped forearms together three times. He then grabs a loose end on each and unravels the gauze, dropping the heap to the ground and thrusting his bare, tattooed arms into the air, showing off the Wheels-and-Dragons to a pop from the crowd. He jumps down again, turning around and flexing his wrists and limbering up arms and legs.

Nick Stuart: One of the newest superstars to jump to PRIME in the past few weeks, Easton Hall already has a victory under his belt and that’s huge considering the talent here.

Richard Parker: Picking up a victory against Bastille is nothing impressive, Nick. This week though will be the challenge as Easton now has to go up against the legendary Karina Wolfenden. That’s never an easy match-up.

Nick Stuart: It will be a good match nonetheless as these two are trying to move forward in 2007 and get it started on the right now. Karina will be interested in getting a victory after starting the year off with a loss against Chainz.

Richard Parker: And she’ll have to keep an eye out for the Trashcan Man. That’s just going to make this match that much harder as her focus may not be dedicated solely to Easton Hall.

Nick Stuart: If she wants to walk out of here with a victory tonight, she will have to focus on Hall though.

The entire arena is plunged into darkness, leaving intense beams of white and purple to slash randomly across ringside. Pulses of synth then lay a trail for pounding drums, while licks of base trigger lights to flash in series around the arena. Joining in with the "WHOOO!" chants that escape from the beats, the fans rise in expectation of the entrance.

'SUPERCALIFRAGIALISTICWHENWEDROPWEGOBALLISTIC~!'

A deafening eruption of white and purple pyro shoots out from either side of the curtain, unleashing Overseer's 'Velocity Shift' in full throughout the arena, speakers distorting with bass.

A spotlight breaks from the swirling pattern around the arena to focus on the scaffolding above the entrance, where glimpses of a sleek figure slipping between the poles can be caught. Finally emerging from the steel jungle, the K-Wolf leaps over the PRIME logo and down onto the stage, long, patch-work coat rippling in the air behind her. As she lands, crouched, a final burst of white pyro shoots high into the arena from either side of the curtain, sending Wolfenden on her way down to the ring.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Gliding down the aisle, the K-Wolf reaches out either side of her to slap the out-reaching palms of the PRIME fans, before leaping up onto the apron.

Vince Howard: His opponent… from Albany, New York… weighing in at 159 pounds… she is THE K-WOLF… KARINA WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLFENDEN!!!

Gloved hands grab the top rope, slingshotting the K-Wolf into the cable, where she balances for just long enough to remove her purple-tinted sunglasses, clipping them onto the collar of her coat before hopping down into the ring.

Richard Parker: And here is Karina Wolfenden! The fans are going absolutely crazy here in South Africa. It’s insane! But, before this match starts we did forget that she’s also got her attention on Sun Tzu as well. In her return here, she’s not making many friends.

Nick Stuart: No, she’s not, but that’s Karina’s style. The only thing is that if Tzu and Trashcan Man were smart then they wouldn’t get in Karina’s way in this match because she’ll make them pay, that’s for sure.

Both competitors are in the ring as the South African crowd is split down the middle between Hall and Wolfenden, both loved by the fans. Each competitor stays in their own corner, staring their opponent down. Karina glares at her opponent as it’s obvious that she’s focused on the task at hand.

Nick Stuart: Want to pick somebody for this match?

Richard Parker: Not in PRIME. In PRIME, the unexpected happens.

Nick Stuart: Isn’t that our new ad campaign?

Richard Parker: I thought it sounded familiar.

As the bell rings, both competitors move out of their corners to begin the match. Immediately, they meet in the middle of the ring and immediately get into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Hall, the larger of the two in terms of weight, is able to get Karina in a headlock and wrenches it hard, trying to create some pressure on her neck. Karina tries to fight out of it, but is unable to as Hall spins out of the headlock so that he’s standing right behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. Karina once again tries to fight, but it’s useless as Hall’s arms are too thick. He lifts her up and slams her back down to the mat face first!

Richard Parker: And Hall off to a fast start here as he uses his weight advantage on the Wolf!

Nick Stuart: Catchy nickname. I like it.

Richard Parker: It’s mine!

Nick Stuart: You sound like Sonny Silver from last week.

Richard Parker: The CHAIRMAN –

Nick Stuart: No.

The impact shocks Karina as Hall takes the chance to start stretching her out as he tries to lock in an STF! Wolfenden, sensing what’s going on waits until Easton is about to go for her neck and elbows him squarely in the face. This does the job as Hall releases the hold and Karina gets back up to her feet in a hurry only to kick Easton firmly in the ribs! Hall grasps at his ribs which are in some pain while Karina pulls Easton up to his feet. The fact that Karina is taller then Hall is rather shocking as most men are taller then female wrestlers and Karina intends on using that to her advantage. Karina slams her knee into Hall’s ribs two more times, making sure that he feels the pain, and then whips him into the ropes. As he bounces off the ropes, Karina nails him with a hip toss, but holds onto his arm allowing her to flip him over onto his stomach. She then leaps into the air and slams her knee into the back of Hall’s neck!

Nick Stuart: What brutality being shown by Karina Wolfenden, the hall of famer! She knows what Hall’s weaknesses are and she’s going right after them! That’s why she’s one of the greats everybody.

Richard Parker: That and she’s smoking hot.

Nick Stuart: Do we have to remind you of that restraining order that she had placed on you? The only reason you get to be this close to her is that you have to do your job.

Richard Parker: Nick. No one knew about that except for you. I trusted you man.

Nick Stuart: Oh, yeah. That’s my bad.

Hall is slow to pull himself back up off the mat due to the pain in his neck now. Karina has done her homework on Easton Hall and plans on making sure she attacks his neck and back. A smile is on her face as she sees her opening and positions herself directly behind Hall as he gets up. As he stands straight up, she plants him right back onto the ground with a perfect dropkick to his back! She wastes no time though as she bounces off the ropes and slams her elbow into the back of Easton! He grimaces in pain as he knows Karina has honed in on his weakness.

Richard Parker: The extraordinary Wolfenden continues her assault on the newcomer. She is really showing her drive and focus in the early parts of this match.

Nick Stuart: After that loss against Chainz and the things she’s been through with Sun Tzu and Trashcan Man as of late, you can tell that she’s got so much on her plate that she has to be remain focused for fear of losing sight of her dreams and goals.

Karina continues to stomp away at the back of Hall who is starting to feel the pain rather badly throughout his body. He’s unable to stop Karina from dragging him over to one of the corners. She immediately leaps to the top rope and zones in right on Hall as she has her gameplan all planned out. Wolfenden then leaps off the top rope and goes into an Asai moonsault before coming out of it and slams both of her knees into the spine of Hall who immediately yells out in pain from the punishment he was taking from Karina! Karina wastes no time in rolling Hall over and goes for the pin!

Nick Stuart: The Goodnight Moon!

Richard Parker: I love that book. Oh, and there’s the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

Before the referee can even think about going for the three count, Hall is about to get his right shoulder up, but this doesn’t deter Karina from what she has planned for Hall.

Richard Parker: Karina trying to catch Hall by surprise, but I don’t think she expected this one to be over quite yet.

Nick Stuart: She knows the talent that Hall has and knows that this will be a long battle.

With Hall back up on his feet, she whips him across the ring. As Hall bounces back towards her she lifts him up on her shoulders for a brief second before dropping him back down onto the mat with a samoan drop that lands him directly onto his spine. Once again, he grimaces in pain as K-Wolf walks over to the top rope for another high flying maneuver! As she gets up on the top rope, she just stares at Hall as the crowd around her chants her name! She smiles as she leaps off the top rope, going for a senton! Yet, Hall is able to roll out of the way just in the nick of time as Karina lands backfirst onto the mat and immediately grabs at her own back from the shot of pain that is coursing through her body!

Nick Stuart: And she went to the well one too many times apparently as Hall telegraphed that one coming and got out of the way in the nick of time!

Richard Parker: Now he has to capitalize on it or it’ll be all for naught.

Nick Stuart: You been reading Shakespeare again?

Richard Parker: I just can’t get Romeo and Juliet! It’s so confusing!

Hall, needing to pick up some momentum, pulls himself up off of the mat without the aide of ropes. Seeing that K-Wolf is getting back up as well, he rushes over to her as fast as he can and wraps his arms around her so that they’re facing each other. Before Wolfenden can do anything about it, Hall has her up in the air and slams her back down with a belly-to-belly suplex! But, instead of breaking the hold, he keeps it locked in tight as he pulls her back up to her feet and nails another belly-to-belly suplex! Once again, he refuses to break the hold as the fans are getting in his corner, and he brings her up once again for another belly-to-belly suplex!

Richard Parker: And Hall shows how unique he is as that’s not something you see often. Three Rolling German Suplexes? Sure. Three Rolling Belly-to-Belly Suplexes? Rare. But, that’s his style.

Nick Stuart: And that’s why he’s considered amazing by some.

Richard Parker: He’s got talent, that’s for sure, but he’s going to have to put it all together tonight to get the best of Karina!

Easton is a little slow to get up, but Karina looks to be a little out of it after the three impact moves on her frame. Easton knows he has her on the ropes and wants to take advantage of that as he pulls her up off the mat and immediately puts her in an abdominal stretch! With K-Wolf stretched out, he immediately pummels her with his free hand right in the abdomen to make that pain even worse! The referee warns him, but doesn’t break the hold as he isn’t ordered to do so. Karina can feel her entire stomach region burning as the stretch just keeps pulling on every muscle that she’s got there. She tries her best to fight out of it, but Hall has it locked in good. Instead of letting Karina find a way out of it, Hall takes his right leg and knocks Wolfenden’s legs out from under her so that she falls down onto the mat face first! Without thinking about it, he puts her into a reverse chin lock with a bridge to keep stretching her out!

Nick Stuart: And Hall showing off his chain-based wrestling style. He loves to keep his opponents grounded at all costs. He knows that with them on the mat and him applying moves on them, he can win a match much easier then if he’s taking a pounding, much like he was earlier.

Richard Parker: This style has it’s detractors who like the high flying, impact moves, but this is what is successful for Hall and damn if he’s got K-Wolf squirming.

With Wolfenden doing everything in her power not to tap, Easton shows no sign of giving up on the hold as he continues to apply it to her. The referee keeps on checking on K-Wolf to see if she wants to give up, but she keeps refusing even though the pain racing throughout her entire body is extraordinary! She keeps trying to find a way to fight out of it, and is able to finally slam a few elbows to the head of Hall, who finally let’s go of it. But, within a second, he has her up in the surfboard position as he continues to stretch her out! Hall however doesn’t lock into this for long as the yells from K-Wolf are sufficient enough for now. Instead, he gets back up and brings Karina with him as he whips her across the ring and into a corner. With PRIME’s l’enfant terrible looking a little worse for wear, Hall rushes over to her and slams an elbow right into her jaw.

Richard Parker: What the hell does he have planned?

Nick Stuart: Do I look like a mind reader?

Richard Parker: Yes.

Nick Stuart: I really have no idea how to take that.

Hall then lifts Karina up onto the top turnbuckle before getting up on the middle turnbuckle himself. After getting Karina up on her feet even though she’s still dazed, Hall turns his back towards her, wraps his arm around her after twisting her slightly, and then leaps off the top rope, nailing her with a twisted neckbreaker that leaves her sprawled out in the middle of the ring! The fans are left stunned as some chant Hall’s name as he immediately goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—NOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Hall showing off the inventive side of his repertoire as that’s something you once again don’t see.

Richard Parker: He’s unique, that’s for sure, but that pinfall is not going to get the job done on someone of Karina’s caliber.

Hall, sensing the match is in his control, wants to go in for the kill. He turns Karina over onto her back and immediately starts going for the STF. However, he switches it up in the middle as instead of going for the facelock on the head, he snares the opposite arm into a wakigatme so that he’s lying diagonal across his opponent’s back! Karina immediately starts grimacing in pain as she tries to fight her way to the ropes, but finds that difficult with Hall laying across her back! She starts to grunt in pain, but continues to refuse to give up as the referee checks on her. In the arena though, the fans are starting to get behind Karina!

Richard Parker: And Hall is starting to lose that momentum even though he is on the offensive! Karina is feeding off of the energy here tonight! This is amazing for her!

Nick Stuart: Karina is an amazing competitor, but she is going to need to get to the ropes if she wants a chance at this match continuing, and with Hall on her back that is not going to be easy at all!

With the fans firmly behind her, she can feel the strength return her as she starts inching towards the rope. Hall immediately retaliates with more pressure, but K-Wolf continues to grit through it as eventually she reaches the ropes! The fans pop as the referee tells Hall to break the hall to which he does so. Wolfenden is then seen pulling herself up onto the ropes, but is met with a knee to the midsection from Hall before she’s whipped into the ropes. Hall goes for a clothesline, but Karina ducks that at just the last possible second! As Hall turns around, he sees Karina leaping off the middle rope towards him! Before he can even think to react, she has her arm wrapped around her neck and spikes him down with a DDT!

Nick Stuart: One hell of a counter by Karina who now finds herself back into this match! This was the exact thing she needed right here!

Richard Parker: Hall’s head spiked off of the canvas and both wrestlers are now going to be facing a ten count if they want this match to continue on!

Both wrestlers are dazed as they’re trying to find the strength to get up. The referee starts to use the ten count on both wrestlers and slowly starts counting away! The crowd is once again split directly down the middle! With the referee up to five, both wrestlers are still struggling to get to their feet. Finally, by the eight count, they’re both up on their feet and slamming fists into each other’s jaws! With each punch though, K-Wolf starts to get the momentum back into her favor! She then slams fist after fist without Hall able to retaliate at all! With Hall back into the ropes, she whips him into the ropes! As Hall bounces back though, he leaps into the air and nails her with a flying back elbow that sends her to the ground!

Richard Parker: And just like that, Hall is back on the offensive! Just impressive!

Nick Stuart: And the fans here in South Africa LOVE IT!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Slowly, both competitors get back up to their feet and Hall immediately connects with a dropkick to Karina who goes right back down to the mat! Hall, wasting no time, rushes over to the closest corner and gets up to the top rope while he waits for Wolfenden to get back to her feet. Slowly, but surely, she does just that and before she can react, Hall flies through the air and connects with an elevated flying back elbow!

Nick Stuart: THE FLYING ELBOW! MY GOD! THE FLYING ELBOW! That could be it! K-Wolf looks to be out of it!

Richard Parker: Yeah, she does, but I’ll never count her out of a match!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Hall then goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

TH-- NOOOO!

Richard Parker: Close, but no cigar for Hall is going to need to reach down even deeper to get the victory over Karina tonight!

Nick Stuart: It’s going to take more than Hall may know he has, but if he has it then it will come out tonight.

Hall slowly pulls himself up and does the same with Karina! He slams forearm after forearm to her face before whipping her into the corner. Hall then runs at Karina only to be met by a boot to the face from the former Universe Champion! Hall stumbles around, dazed by the boot from Karina, before Karina pulls herself up to the top rope and nails a 720 DDT on Hall, causing the fans to go absolutely insane!

KA-RI-NA! KA-RI-NA! KA-RI-NA!

Nick Stuart: Wow.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I’m shocked too. I didn’t know they could say her name here!

Nick Stuart: No, I mean the DUAL HALO! Karina may be positioning herself for the Dual Halo match at Culture Shock already.

Richard Parker: It’s a move Richard, calm down, and a damn good one in that situation! But, she needs to get back into this match rather fast if she wants to pick up her first victory of 2007!

Karina is quick to get to her feet though and immediately picks up Hall off the ground! She then whips Hall into the ropes and nails him with a flying roundhouse kick that sends Hall stumbling over the top rope and to the outside! The fans pop for her once again as she gets back up and looks to her opponent who is slowly picking himself up on the outside. Karina then bounces off the ropes herself, jumps up onto the top rope, and nails an Asai moonsault onto Easton Hall on the outside, causing the fans to go crazy in the arena!

Richard Parker: Karina is absolutely insane! She has nothing to prove to anybody and yet she does an insane move!

Nick Stuart: That’s what competing on the national stage will do to you Richard! Karina may not have anything to prove, but she wants to show she can still be one of the best around, and she’s proving that right now!

Back on the outside, Karina is pulling Easton up off of his feet and slams his head into the barrier. Hall stumbles around dazed as Karina leaps up onto the barrier, positioning herself for another high risk move! As Hall turns back towards her, she leaps off and wraps her legs around her, nailing him with a hurricarana! Karina is putting it all out on the line right here for the fans in South Africa as she wants to make sure Hall feels her agony!

Nick Stuart: The hurricarana on the outside! A suicide attempt, but one that pays off for Karina! Just absolutely insane!

Richard Parker: Something tells me that we haven’t seen anything quite yet, Nick!

Karina, feeling like she’s going to need to do more to Hall, gets herself up onto the edge of the ring and looks down at her prone opponent. She then backs up a few feet to give her some room to run as she looks out at the fans to tell them that she’s doing this for them. She then runs along the edge of the ring, leaps off of it, and connects with a running shooting star press on Easton Hall!

KA-RI-NA! KA-RI-NA! KA-RI-NA!

Richard Parker: What the hell?!

Nick Stuart: All on the line!

Richard Parker: Yeah, but with each attempt, she’s risking the entire match if not more! This is insane!

Nick Stuart: Hall is going to need to reach down real deep to find something to beat Karina with if he wants a chance in this match!

Karina is slow to get up due to the previous maneuver, but as she does so, she brings Hall up along with her and looks behind her to see the steel ring steps. She intends to extract more punishment thus she whips Easton right into the steps! However, he is able to catch himself just in time as he leaps up onto the steps, and immediately flies backwards to connect YET ANOTHER FLYING BACK ELBOW! The fans in the arena immediately go nuts once again as both competitors lay there on the mat just about out of it from the pain of this match. The referee on the inside of the ring has let this go far enough and starts to count both out of the match!

Nick Stuart: This is not how you want this match to end! Not in a double countout! But, neither competitor is moving and the referee has allowed this to go on for long enough on the outside!

Richard Parker: It’s still a crappy reason to do so! These two have gone to the wire here and deserve to finish it! DESERVE!

Nick Stuart: I see your point Richard, I see your point.

ONE!

TWO!

Hall is the first one to start moving, but he’s rather slow with it. Karina looks to be completely dazed by the third flying back elbow she has taken to the face. The fans are on their feet in the arena, chanting on their beloved superstars!

Richard Parker: With Hall being the first one moving, he might find himself in a winning predicament that he didn’t see happening one bit.

Nick Stuart: This would be a huge victory for Hall if he did indeed win the match.

THREE!

FOUR!

Hall is starting to grab at the edge of the ring, trying to pull himself up. Finally, Karina starts to move, but very slowly and gingerly. It’s clear that she’s in a world of pain even though her face is buried into the mats outside of the ring. The fans are seriously split 50/50 now, but more than anything, they don’t want to see this match end on a count out!

Nick Stuart: The fans in here are now louder than they have been all evening! It’s absolutely electrifying right now!

Richard Parker: The fans love themselves some good wrestling and this has been it indeed! They just want to see it continue!

Nick Stuart: Hell, we want to see it continued!

FIVE!

SIX!

Finally, Hall is up on his feet, but still trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. Karina is now up against the barrier, looking almost as if she doesn’t even know where she is. She’s trying to clear her head, but it looks like she has taken a lot of damage to her face and senses as well as mobility. She needs time to get back to her feet, but it doesn’t look good for.

Nick Stuart: Get in the ring Hall and you’ve got this won!

Richard Parker: I’ll agree with that. Karina is just not in the best of shape right now!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Easton Hall finally rolls himself into the ring, but immediately rolls back out to break the count. The fans cheer this as they know Hall doesn’t want to win the match this way! Meanwhile, Karina is pulling herself up using the barriers, yet she doesn’t even seem to notice that Hall has broken the count and is coming up towards her now! Karina moves her head slightly towards the ring and is immediately decked by a strong right hand from Hall who has just rocked Karina’s world! Karina stumbles backwards from the blow, but Hall follows her right back up with another punch, this time his left hand, straight to K-Wolf’s jaw!

Richard Parker: Instead of ending the match, Hall wants to earn his victory, and he’s going to do exactly that if he hopes to get a victory now! He gave Karina a second chance and most people don’t do that!

Nick Stuart: Yeah, but he’s taking it right to Karina! This is impressive! Hall is showing resilience by going toe to toe with Karina Wolfenden!

Wolfenden continues to try and retreat from her worthy adversary so she has time to regroup, but it’s no use as Hall is starting to get some momentum back! After another punch from Hall, he moves around as fast as he can so that he’s behind Karina! He then wraps his arms around her and lifts her up, nailing her with a snap release German Suplex that sends Karina flying several feet as she lands on the back of her neck and head! The fans are all checking out Karina who is lying down on the mats in just a mess! Hall, feeling the fatigue himself, walks over to Karina and rolls her back into the ring as he senses a victory! He follows her into the ring and immediately goes for the cover!

Nick Stuart: With the way Karina landed, this could be it!

Richard Parker: Karina is going to need a miracle to walk out of this match!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

…

THREE!

Richard Parker: It’s all over! Easton Hall has won the match!

Nick Stuart: Not so fast, Richard! Karina’s foot is on the rope!

Richard Parker: WHAT?! NOOOO!

As the referee counts three, he sees Karina’s foot is on the rope, and immediately signals that the match is to continue! Hall, who thought he had won, is obviously frustrated by this as the match continues on, but just shakes his head at this as he knows that he can pull out the victory here. He immediately grabs at Karina and pulls her back up off the mat. He then whips her into the ropes and goes for a clothesline. This time though, Karina ducks it! As Hall turns back around, he’s met with a kick straight to the midsection! Karina then unleashes a flurry of kicks to Hall’s knees that make him drop to his knees before the hall of famer! She then nails him with one fierce roundhouse kick, and before Easton can fall to the mat or even more from the impact of the move, she snaps back and nails another one, causing Easton to fall to the mat in a mess himself!

Nick Stuart: And now Karina is in position for the pinfall and a victory! This could be it!

Richard Parker: I think Hall has more left in him. I’ll be surprised to see this end here!

Karina immediately goes for the cover after getting some of her wind back!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

…

TH—NOOOOOOOO!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: Close, but no cigar for Wolfenden! She’s going to need to dig a little bit deeper!

Nick Stuart: The fans in the arena are going crazy though for this amazing match!

The fans in the arena love is as they know the match is going to continue! Karina rolls off her opponent and is surprised at the turn of events here! She starts to pull herself back up, but Hall isn’t far behind her! The two superstars immediately start trading punches with each other! Karina seems to be picking up the steam when Hall immediately whips her into the ropes! As she comes back, Hall lifts her up and slams her back down to the mat with a spinebuster! Without a moment’s hesitation, he locks her into the LIFE FUNCTIONS TERMINATED! The fans in the arena immediately pop!

Nick Stuart: Can Karina get out of the Life Functions Terminated?! This would be amazing if she could!

Richard Parker: I think it’s all over. Hall has got this one in the bag.

Karina keeps fighting, looking for an escape out of the devastating submission hold that Hall has perfected, but is quickly finding out that this is going to take much more than she anticipated! She continues to fight and a few times, it looks like that Karina is going to get out of it when Hall just wrenches it even tighter around Karina! The fans in the arena are chanting her name and she refuses to give up as she can feel it tightening around her. She keeps moving her body, trying to gain some advantage, but Hall is a master at submission moves. The referee moves in one final time to see if she gives up. Karina hesitates for a second, the pain becoming unbearable, and taps out!

Richard Parker: And Easton Hall has done it! Karina had to give up due to the pain, but it was one hell of a match by both wrestlers!

Nick Stuart: A huge feather in the cap of Easton Hall! HUGE!

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER… EASTON! HALL!

Meet Kevin. It's Kevin's first time in South Africa and he is excited. He's not about to mess this up, though, no sir. He's clad in his PRIME t-shirt and blue jeans and he's ready to go! His headphones are over his ears and his eyes are glued down to his clipboard as he makes sure he's done everything he needs to do. Boy howdy, Kevin is a good American worker.

And who, of course, comes bursting around the corner and knocks down such a paragon of labor than that eternal stoner, the Illustrious Face Eater!

Ha ha ha, oh, Facey!

(Laugh Track)

And Facey's got a problem! You see, people with Facey's ganja-blessed lifestyle can't risk being caught by… the man. Or, really, by anybody who happens to be chasing him. Facey's head is on a swivel as he makes his way down the hall, obviously worried. Of course, if the man was chasing you, you'd be scared too!

(Laugh Track)

Seriously, though, Facey is really worried. Of course, who then does he bump into but that bearded assuager of worries, Easton Hall! Easton looks like he's got something on his mind, too.

Easton Hall: Facey!

Face Eater: WHAT!?

Easton Hall: Spare a sec, kid. Look, I was wondering if you'd sell me—

Face Eater: My soul? Fuck you!

(Laugh Track)

Easton pauses for a bit, grinding his teeth.

Easton Hall: No, man. I don't know any dealers in South Africa and I'm not about to walk out and get stabbed. I know you've got green on you, man, and—

Face Eater: Again. My soul? Fuck you!

(Laugh Track)

Easton Hall: The fuck is with that!?

Face Eater: With what?

Easton Hall: Nevermind. Facey, look, how much do you want?

Face Eater: The fuck do I owe you? I get you into GTT6, you blow it. I get you into PRIME—

Easton Hall: You didn't get me into PRIME.

Face Eater: Besides the point! You're going up against Karina and I know you're gonna screw this up, too. I don't owe you shit and I'm not selling you anything.

Easton Hall: But—

Face Eater: Seriously, get out of my way, man. This… I can't stay here.

Facey tries to move by and Easton steps aside, glaring as Facey glances behind his shoulder anxiously in his flight. Easton shakes his head.

Easton Hall: What a douche.

(Laugh Track)

Easton Hall: The fuck is with that!? God!

Easton stalks off down the hall, visibly irritated.

Johannesburg, South Africa is completely agog for tonight’s PRIME show live from its very own Ellis Park Stadium.

Nick: These fans have gone completely agog for tonight’s PRIME show, eh, Richard?

You’re welcome for the lines. Fucker.

Richard: Yeah! And tonight, we’re gonna be seeing NOVA~! Kick the living hell out of some guy that these guys have picked off the street or some stuff.

Nick: RICHARD! From what I hear, Onthaal Baas is a very superb athlete and we look forward to seeing him in action representing APW when he goes against the current flagship of PRIME in what will be a very exciting encounter.

Before Richard can get in another rebuttal, the fans stand at attention as a low guitar riff cut them all off.

Nick: Oh, jeez, no, not HIM.

Richard: Is it? IS IT? IS IT?!

"No Chance" by Dope, motherfuckers.

Richard: IT IS! YES! MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, IS MAKING HIS WAY OUT HERE! HE WHO SIGNS YOUR PAYCHECKS!

Since this is an outdoor venue there are no strobe lights, but a nice little fog machine kicks up near ringside as the fans of Ellis Park Stadium start to boo the man making his way out. Dressed in some highly chic business attire (black suit, black sunglasses, expensive-looking watch) the faux Chairman does a classic Silver-Trademarked Power Walk™ to the ring. He stops in front of the steps, shows off the title and starts climbing into the ring proudly.

Nick: I can’t believe how ostentatious this guy is. His claims are bogus and this guy'ms ego could crush this entire planet if he ever gets knocked over.

Richard: SHHH! Are you TRYING to get fired?

Silver starts to position himself in the center of the ring, calling out to the sky for something.

Nick: What’s he doing? I just explained this last week, it’s an OUTDOOR arena, there’s nothing hanging from the raf---

Sure enough, an old school announcer microphone lowers from SOMEWHERE.

Nick: --ters.

Richard: This man’s power knows no bounds.

The music of Dope gets cut out with the slashing of Sonny’s hand. The King of Sports Entertainment clears his throat before he begins his speech. Before he can begin, an overwhelming amount of jeering erupts from the African fans in attendance. He shoots a small smirk to the side and puts a hand over his eyes as if he’s looking at something in the distance.

Silver: Holy CRAP. There’s a lot of jeers coming from… I don’t know where, it’s too dark to tell.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He cackles like only the evil bastard can, as he adores his reflection in the nameplate currently placed on the Intense Title. Once he gets a look of his sexy self, he turns back to the angry crowd.

Silver: What? What are YOU guys so mad about? I spend thousands of dollars to take what my family and me have built over the last fifty years, let you all experience it first-hand, and the lot of you have the GALL to boo me? I swear I get no love from ANY of you ingrates when I lend a helping hand to a destitute species. I feel like George Bush visiting New Orleans.

And what’s that you hear? It sounds like… MORE BOOING! Sonny gives the people some time to let that jibe sink in before he continues. He sets the Intense Title on the canvas before him and continues his speech, keeping one eye on his title and the other on the fans.

Silver: I come out here for a reason. You see, I was a little pre-occupied with owning the joint last week to do what I REALLY wanted to do. Seeing as I haven’t booked myself for action tonight, what I’m about to do has been a LONG time coming for a man like myself.

Richard: He’s reached the top of Midcard Mountain, Nick! This is awesome!

Nick: Oh, brother. What’s he prattling on about now?

Sonny beats a hand on his chest and looks to the sky.

Silver: Dad… Granddad… thank you both for blessing me with the superior genes necessary to own the competition. Without you, this title win would never be possible. My career is one step closer to being complete.

Richard sniffles at ringside.

Richard: This is just… touching, man. Thank you Mr. and Mr. Silver for making this possible!

Nick: Get a grip! He’s in his own little world, don’t pander to this man!

Silver: As for the Intense Title itself…

Gazing longingly at the symbol of all that is Extreme and Hardcore in PRIME, he took it in one hand…

AND SPIT A LOOGIE ON THE TITLE BELT.

The nasty green-yellow phlegm slowly oozes off the faceplate of the title as Sonny sneers at it.

Nick: What the HELL is this maniac doing?! People bust their ass to win championships and this man is desecrating its value! He just spit on the thing.

Richard: What ARE you doing, Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME!? You wanted that title!

He lets the title drag across the ground while he presses on.

Silver: You people don’t see what I see when I look at the Intense Title. For you, you see a man who controls his destiny and stands in the face of adversity. You people see a man who defends a belt in the most extreme of environments where anything can and WILL happen to you if you don’t have a set of eyes in the back of your head… it used to be that way long ago… now it’s rubbish.

He Who Signs Your Paychecks paces the ring rapidly, letting the title continue to drag degradingly across the mat.

Silver: All the champions of the past can be named… Rock Startling… Ignatius Lisieux… Killean "Prag" Sirrajin… Trashcan Man or Garbage Bag Johnny, whichever one of those dirty-ass fucks came first… The Illustrious Cock-Sucker… Nova… And the longest-reigning champion, Vangelus Olsig. Well, there’s a few more, but screw them. They abandoned my federation, so they get no mentions. Winning this title meant that I had to beat up an Asian woman to win it; not the first time I’ve had a whoop some stupid Asian bitch with gold on the line.

Squared Circle fans remember that day a few years ago when he defeated Inoue Doi aka The School Girl. One of Sonny’s "many" accomplishments.

Silver: When I won it, I took it back to my five-star hotel room and I tried washing this thing off with Purell, Dial, Irish Spring, just about every cleaning concoction you can think of. I tried to get the stench of SUCK off this thing, but it did me no good. I scrubbed with Brillo Oxy-Action pads… GET THEM AT YOUR LOCAL MARKET NEAR YOU… and even they couldn’t get it off. Frustrated, I returned to my massive bed and took a nap. Then, it hit me.

Nick: …I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s just pissing on the legacy of a title that several Universal Champions have held, Nova included!

Richard: Well, some of them DID suck.

Silver continues.

Silver: Last week in this ring, I pinned Vangelus Olsig, the longest-reigning Intense Champion. That was a wake-up. The dark ages of this title belt being held by Emo pirates, Spanish-Canadian morons and people who get used as currency in prison came to a dead stop. What I awakened was something brilliant. I will continue to carry this title with me as a reminder of what the past held long ago. But alongside it, a NEW legacy will be born. Plus, I got money in the bank like my name was Li’l Scrappy. So I went out this week and found myself something new to show off my glory!

Several stagehands make their way down to the ring, carrying a massive display enshrouded in cloth. Fans murmured as to what it could be or what the Hell Sonny was talking about.

Richard: What’s he doing?

Nick: With him, Richard, Lord only knows.

Silver: Be careful with that! If I find a scratch on that thing, there’ll be a scratch on your asses!

They bring the display up and over the ropes and had it placed in the center of the ring right next to Silver. He smiles like a kid on Christmas morning or like Sun Tzu when she pistol-whipped her first GI. Once that’s done, the King of Sports Entertainment prepares to undo the sheet…

Silver: BEHOLD! A BELT WORTHY OF ME!

OH.

LORD.

NO.

A BIG honking golden belt is revealed to everybody. It's similar to the WCW Championship, only with several diamonds encrusted on the outer edge. The words "MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME" shine brightly on the nameplate, but the biggest atrocity of all has the fans in an uproar.

Nick: Is that… what I think it is…

Richard: IT IS! THIS IS AWESOME! I’M MARKING OUT AND I DON’T CARE WHO HEARS ME! VIVA LA NEW TITLE BELT!

Nick: That belt… has…

Yes.

A SPINNER. In the form of Sonny’s own § emblem, nonetheless. He takes the title out of its case and starts twisting the spinner around to his own personal delight. Sonny takes that massive title belt and wraps it around his waist while keeping the Intense Title over his shoulder (after wiping the spit off, of course.)

Silver: What you have seen tonight is the coronation of "The Intense Hardcore Legend" Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME! Eat it, bitches!

Nick: I think I just vomited.

Richard: I think I need new pants!

Silver laughs maniacally in the middle of the ring, spinning that stupid fucking spinner around and around, the people of Africa booing his stupid ass like it's their job.

But not for long.

A funky beat starts to play.

And the people of Africa go absolutely ballistic.

Only it isn't the normal funky beat that PRIME has come to know and love. It's "Play that Funky Music," by Wild Cherry.

Nick: Now I think I need new pants!

Richard: And I think I just vomited!

Yeah, there was a funky singeeeer! Playin' in a rock n' roll baaaaaand! And never had no problems, yeah. Buuuurnin' down one night staaaaands!

What's weird is that the person singing the song isn't the lead singer of Wild Cherry. If you listen closely, it's the deep, old, black-man voice of Froses himself. Sonny hasn't seemed to notice, but stares up at the ramp angrily regardless.

And everything around meeeee, yeah. Got to stop to feelin' so looooooooow! And I decided quickly, yes I did. To disco down and check out the shoooooow!

At this point, instead of the Ayatollah of Funk n' Soula showing up, around ten beautiful, gold laden, absolutely jaw-dropping and funkadelic black women dance and shake their groove thangs down the ramp. The people of Africa roar and cheer as they step into the ring, Silver's mouth reaching the floor.

Yeah they was dancin'! And singin'! And movin' to the groovin'! And just when! It hit me! Somebody turned around and shouted PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUUSIC, WHITE BOY! PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUSIC RIIIIIIGHT! PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUUSIC, WHITE BOY! LAAAY DOWN THAT BOOOGIE AND PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC TILL YOU DIE!

The girls dance around the ring, taking turns using the faux Chairman as a dancing pole.

Nick: I see no sign of Asa, but the voice singing that music sounds a LOT like him, and you'd have to be an idiot to think he has nothing to do with this...

Richard: You know what it is? This is Asa showing Sonny how sorry he is! He's thrown him a celebration to apologize for his douche-baggery! A class act! Even for a has-been like Fountain!

Silver has started to get into it, lost in the music...and the titties, dancing along with the beautiful golden girls.

Now, at first it wasn't eaasssy. Changin' rock n' roll and miiiiiiiinds! And things were getting' shaaaky. I thought I'd have to leave it behiiiiind!

Suddenly, the roars of the crowd go up a few decibals. Out of the crowd jives The Most Happenin' Cat in PRIME, the Fro-Man himself, a mic to his lips and belting out the words to "Play that Funky Music."

Nick: There he is! I KNEW that voice was Asa's!

Richard: See! He's even SINGING for Sonny and all his awesome!

Asa (singing): But now it's so much better! I'm funkin' out in every waaaaay! But I'll never lose that feeeelin', or how I learned my lesson that daaaaaaay!

Asa slides into the ring behind The Chairman, dancing right up behind him, the brightest of smiles on his face.

Asa (singing): They were dancin'! And singin'! And movin' to the groovin'! And just when! It hit me! Somebody turned around and shouted!

Asa taps Sonny on the shoulder.

Sonny turns around.

His smiles drops.

Asa (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUSIC, WHITE BOY!

Asa drops his mic and knees Silver in the gut, doubling him over.

Richard: Oh, fuckstains!

The people of Africa blow off the already missing roof, picking up where Asa left off with the song.

Crowd (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC, RIIIIIGHT!

Asa throws an arm up to the crowd, then swings his right leg over Sonny's neck and drills him to the mat with a legdrop!

Nick: SOUL-TRAIN! OH HELL YEAH!

Crowd (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC, WHITE BOY!

Asa claps and spins, hopping onto the ropes and throwing his arms up to the adoring fans. Sonny lies broken on the floor, clutching his aching head in pain.

Crowd:(singing): LAY DOWN THAT BOOOGIE AND PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC TILL YOU DIE!

Asa hops off the ropes and grooves over to Sonny's new Intense Title belt. He takes iff off of the Chairman's waist as the music continues to play. He takes a look at it, then looks back to the fans.

Richard: Oh no he won't...

Nick: Oh yes he will!

The fans roar out. Asa nods his head, makes some nasty gurgling noises with his throat. Aaand...

PATOOIE!

He hocks a MONSTER loogie onto the spinner of Sonny's prized possession! The din is defeaning in Ellis Park stadium. Asa raises the belt in the air, sets it down on Sonny's back, then spins the loogie-laced spinner. All Sonny can do is try and make the little sparklies go away.

Richard: DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE?! HE'S DEFILED A PIECE OF HISTORY! AND THESE PEOPLE ARE CHEERING FOR HIM!

Nick: Hey, I'm not about to tell a stadium full of angry people who they can and can't cheer for! We'll be right back!

Asa remains in the ring, dancing with the beautiful and funky ladies to the beats of Wild Cherry as we change scenes.

The night had been one of development, the people he knew before, namely Lavelle had shown and perhaps seen a change: it was as if GA's release from the clutches of AWC's Empire had imbued within him a new sense of life. He walked with no particular purpose down the corridor, the music of Talib Kweli filling his ears. His debut victory over Shawn Stewart was not as satisfactory as he would have liked, but Afeaki always set himself the highest of standards. Sure... it was spectacular, knocking out of one the more solid chins in PRIME demonstrated his raw striking ability, but much like Lavelle had earlier noticed his efforts were not fully focussed.

The voice of a girl... possibly early teens... and very early at that aroused Gabriel's senses. Maybe she was one of the other guys kid? Another voice though... familiar... too familiar... slightly inaudible. GA approached the corner to take a look and then it struck him - Michael fucking Sloan. Afeaki looked around the corner to see the tattooed figure of Chainz in conversation with a girl... a very young girl.

GA: Fuck...

The words dripped almost silently from his lips as Afeaki listened on intently. They had shared a past... a brief one... but even if GA wasn't under the clutches of Harber, he still detested him.

Michael Sloan towered over the tiny girl. He leaned against the wall and looked down on her with an unhealthy smile.

Chainz: So sweet thing, what's your name?

Girl: Amy.

She had a piece of paper in her hands with a few signatures on it, a few familiar names stuck out. Seems she was somebodies kid and was walking around getting autographs. Here she saw a chance for another one, not knowing that what she saw on TV wasn't an act from Michael Sloan.

Chainz: That's a sweet name. You're a sweet girl aren't you?

Amy: Umm, what do you mean?

Chainz: I mean you probably taste so sweet my taste buds would jump for joy.

She didn't really get what he was saying, though the look in his eyes disturbed her.

Amy: Can you give me your autograph?

Chainz: Let me see if I can find a pen.

He looks through his pockets and doesn't find one and then a sick smile creeps over.

There wasn't a lot on this earth that disturbed GA. His time in the Institution in Fiji had drained any sense of fear... any sense of repulse... any sense at all from his body - and yet... he stood here now feeling genuinely sick to the very pit of his stomach and deeper still. Michael Sloan was a sick, twisted individual and GA knew that unless he changed his ways he could be sliding down an inevitable path; he could be... just... like... him. He shuddered thinking of himself as Michael Sloan and then his mouth dropped.

Chainz: Well I don't have a pen on me, but I do have a special pen.

Amy: A special pen?

Chainz: Yeah, but the ink is at the top so it needs to be sucked out to the tip.

He reached into his pants and pulled out his penis, his rather large penis.

Chainz: Now if you suck my ink to the top I've give you an autograph you'll never forget.

Afeaki's fist clenched as if he was draining the life of Chainz, holding him then and there within his robust grip. He had to do something... surely? It wasn't his business... the kid shouldn't have been here. Fuck... what to do? He opted to stay put - his whole being enmeshed with enmity for the individual standing mere yards away. He was powerless. Fucking powerless.

Amy: That's nasty leave me alone!

Chainz: Ah come on, don't tell me you're a fucking tease like the rest of the fucking bitches around here? Here, look how big and hard it is, I can't just do nothing. You brought this upon yourself.

She turned to run away but his hand gripped her shoulder.

Chainz: I don't think so. You seem to not know what the fuck it is you're doing so let me help you.

He grabbed the back of her head and slowly began pushing her mouth towards his erect member.

A large crash distracts Chainz for that split second that the now tearful child needs to run for the sake of her very own innocence. Chainz makes a lunge for the child but she is already gone, leaving him feeling rather disgruntled. Tracy no doubt would feel the full effects of such cock teasing later. Sloan's quizzical side took over him as he began in the direction of the noise which had unfortunately allowed his pair of lips to make a bid for freedom. Passing by the corridor out of the corner of his eye he spots a man he knows all too well. Mr. Gabriel Afeaki. Afeaki's hood covers his face slightly.

GA: What the fuck are you playing at?

His voice is threatening, bringing a smile to the face of Chainz. He remembered GA, the Empire's pawn/brawn/bitch depending on who you asked: and so the games began.

Chainz: You come a knocking son? You know, you cost me what was setting up to be a very good blow job.

He finally puts his dick in his pants.

GA: She was just... just a kid...

Afeaki was almost speechless... speaking in muted tones at no one in particular. The disbelief that a person like that could actually be employed in PRIME was shocking. Even more so was that maybe a month ago, he would have just left the girl to her fate. He didn't know what was more controversial in that respect. It was the realisation that maybe... just maybe underneath all the layers of bullshit he'd endured, there still was an element of humanity there. That however, did not stop the sudden urge to knock Chainz the fuck out from engulfing his body. His eyes met Chainz's, and the two stared for what seemed an eternity. They were cold, lifeless and without remorse. Chainz was a monster. A monster that seemed to stare right through Afeaki's eyes and see into his soul, or what remained.

Chainz: For someone who seems so disgusted by it, you don't seem to really care about it. You know deep down you're just like me.

Afeaki couldn't believe how this monster could nearly see inside his mind and read his thoughts, it was an unusual and unpleasant experience.

GA: Maybe that was once true... I'm past that now...

Chainz noted once more the muted tone of GA's voice. It was as if GA himself wasn't so sure of this sudden 'good natured' person he was trying to become.

Chainz: Don't let all that "this is now and that was then" bullshit get to your head. There ain't no redemption and there ain't no change, not for people like us. There's not two sides inside of you fighting for supremacy, there's just the sick side that we all have. You're just afraid to let it go, but you don't realize the freedom you could have. Deep down I know you wish you could be just like me.

Afeaki shuddered... Chainz was right - he was like a timebomb waiting to explode. He had to combat it... this potential mirror staring back at him.

GA: Let me tell you something Mr. Sloan. One of the greatest sensations I have experienced over the past year was jumping you with that brute Kintu and caving your skull in with my fists. You see... we are different. Where in you, there is nothing... nothing that acts in any moral sense, and in me you see... I have something. I don't know what the fuck it is, and at the moment I'm a bit confused with where everything is heading. But I know one thing is certain, and with God as my motherfucking witness, I'll tell you straight up right now. I will never ever become you. When I look at you, I feel shit I've only felt once before in my life, and I don't ever want to go back there. I feel like tearing my fist into your skull, and beating you inches from your life... 'coz you know that when you look into me as you seem to do, and you look deep into me, you know I don't fear you...

A sudden stop. Gabriel saw a peculiar smile creep over Sloan's face like darkness stealing the last remnants of sunshine from a summer's evening. He was actually enjoying this...

GA: Why are you smiling...?

Chainz: Aww, how cute. Your nostrils swell when you're mad.

He laughed a sick laugh, a mocking laugh, a laugh that slapped you in the face.

Chainz: What'd they do to you in prison boy, beat you? Fuck you? Ignore you? And you bring God into the mix, but please, you don't matter to him. He could give a flying fuck about a waste of life like you. Stuck in the middle not knowing where he's coming or going. Who are you? You the good guy that saves the day, nope. You the bad ass who does what he feels, nope. You're nothing, a nobody, a whisp of smoke in the wind that will be forgotten the second you vanish from this earth. You're a pawn, there for people like me to use to further my own agenda. You see me, I'll be remembered, I'll be feared for as long as this earth has life on it. You say you don't fear me and it might be true, but you fear yourself. You fear the rage inside and you fear allowing it to escape. But why, why the fuck are you such a coward?

His words were like bullets through his soul, crushing him worse than any physical beating he had ever endured. Why had he gotten involved, why didn't he just leave the girl to her doom?

That. Was. It.

Chainz had won.

Afeaki lunged forward with lightning fast reactions pinning Chainz against the wall, his forearm cutting off his air supply as it pressed firmly against his windpipe. GA's pupils dilated as the anger rushed through his body, the tortured soul could take no more.

Chainz: That's it... that's it!

GA pushed his forearm further into the windpipe of Chainz, momentarily causing his feet to leave the floor, his other hand was coiled like a spring ready to end shit right her, right now.

GA: Give me one fucking reason... one reason why I shouldn't end your sick, pathetic, twisted little life right now? I've had enough of your fucking talk.

And still Chainz smiled...

Chainz: You can't, you can't do it because you're a little bitch, a little boy in a grown man's body. Go ahead and hit me, it won't do a damn thing.

He laughed.

Chainz: Look at your hand, it's shaking. Oh you know that's not a good sign at your age. What's the matter, nerves getting to you? Maybe you should realize who the fuck it is you're dealing with before you make a big mistake. Besides, it doesn't have to go like this. Why don't me and you go and find that girl, I bet she hasn't gone far and then you can do all the bad things your mind tells you not to and you'll see that I speak the truth, that rage and anger inside of you is a beautiful thing.

Afeaki span Chainz around locking in an extreme Katahajime choke hold, his powerful arms squeezing the air out of Chainz's lungs...

GA: You do not know who you are fucking with... I've been places and seen things not even your existence could concoct. I've been subject to more abuse than even Michael Sloan could subject anyone to... who do you think you are messing with?

Afeaki rammed Chainz into the wall, pushing his face into the bare concrete, garnering a hammerlock on Sloan.

GA: I will have no regrets with beating your face into such a pulp not even that slut Tracy would recognise the aftermath...

Afeaki raised his hand for the final blow...

Chainz: Do it... go on... be a fucking man you maggot dicked excuse for a human being.

And so he raised his hand...

SMASH

The wall beside Chainz's head crumbles slightly as the exposed knuckle's of Afeaki leave a perfect indentation in the concrete. Pushing Chainz over a nearby chair Afeaki looks down at the fallen Chainz, whose sick grin encompasses every part of his face. A bead of sweat hits the ground as GA breathes heavily, realising how close he was to truly becoming just another Michael Sloan. Everything Chainz had said had indeed struck a nerve. A nerve so deep it was perturbing that someone else really knew the real him... maybe they were cut from the same cloth. These thoughts were doing Afeaki little good as his eyes met those of Chainz once more.

GA: I swear... the next time you try any shit... I promise you Chainz, I will end you.

Chainz erupts in the same disturbing laugh as before. His hands move toward his throat as his gaze momentarily hits the floor... he'd nearly been dismembered. As his smile returns he looks skyward... then down the corridor... front... back... side to side... gone. Batman.

Chainz: Call me!

Michael Sloan picked himself up from the ground, his work was done for tonight.

Devin Shakur is walking backstage. No, actually he’s creeping backstage. And he seems more than a little nervous. Maybe it has something to do with the bouquet of red roses in his hand. He stops in front of a door that reads "WOMEN’S LOCKER ROOM. TRY TO ENTER, FACEY, AND YOU WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT." Shakur looks over one shoulder and then the other. Satisfied that no one is watching, he gently places the bouquet on the ground in front of the door. He raises a fist to knock when suddenly he hears the sounds of footsteps. Quickly, Devin Shakur takes off running around the corner. Seconds after he is out of sight, PRIME interviewer Angelica Brooks walks down the hall with a cameraman in tow. That's right... she has a cameraman with her even though we're watching this on camera. That's wrestling, folks. Just as they approach the locker room, the door flies up and out walks Sun Tzu, the Artist of War. She stops when she sees Brooks and the cameraman… right on top of the bouquet of roses.

Brooks: Sun Tzu! If we can have a word before your 5 Star title match against Tony Gamble…

Sun Tzu: I suppose. But make it quick.

Brooks: First of all… what’s that you’re wearing?

Sun Tzu: You mean this?

She motions to the t-shirt she has over her ring gear. It’s white with a big pink heart air-brushed onto it. And written in sparkling purple glitter glue are the words "Sun Tzu and Angelo TLF." It looks like something worn by the sleazy couples in high school that grope each other in the halls before homeroom.

Sun Tzu: It’s symbolic of the affection I feel to my sweet baboo. I had it made in one of those abysmal pits of decadence you Americans call shopping malls earlier this week. And let me tell you, strumpet… when the revolution comes, all malls will be destroyed and their evil outlets burned to the ground. Except for Jamba Juice. I love me some Mango Mantra.

Brooks: This is quite a scoop! I didn’t know you were involved with Angelo Deville!

Sun Tzu: Neither does he. But no matter what he may think, Angelo is my boyfriend. There is no way he could resist my charms after the little gift I sent him.

The Artist of War stares into the lens of the camera with a look of total seriousness.

Sun Tzu: After the show, Angelo, you will take me out for ice cream sundaes to celebrate my winning the 5 Star championship. Because that is what a good boyfriend does.

Brooks: Wow. OK. So I guess you feel pretty confident in your chances tonight against Tony Gamble?

Sun Tzu: Chances? There is no chance when destiny is involved. And I am destined to win that belt. The flag of the People’s Republic of China has five stars on it, a large one for the Communist Party and four smaller ones for the many peoples it brings together. So is there any doubt at all that any one deserves to wear that belt more than Sun Tzu, the Chinese Air Force? Now if you'll excuse me, hussy, my destiny... and Tony Gamble... awaits.

With one last haughty look, Sun Tzu walks away, her heavy boots leaving the roses a mangled mess.

Brooks: You heard her, people! The Rabid Panda guarantees victory tonight and swears to become the new 5 Star champion of PRIME!

Suddenly, Sun Tzu is back, once again standing right on the flowers.

Sun Tzu: What did you call me?

Brooks: Uhhh… the Rabid Panda…

Sun Tzu: Where the hell did you get that?

Brooks: I sorta made it up. You know, because you’re all fierce and stuff and pandas are from China.

Sun Tzu: I hate it. Pandas are chubby and just sit around eating leaves. Plus they always have trouble mating and my dear Angelo will soon be able to assure you that I do NOT have that problem. So don’t call me that.

Brooks: But you can’t decide on your own nicknames! They’re bestowed upon you by others!

Sun Tzu: Anyone calling me that will have my boot bestowed upon their head.

Mao’s Little Red Bitch stomps down hard with a heavy sole. She doesn’t seem to notice the sound of roses being pummeled even more. Snarling at Angelica Brooks, Sun Tzu leaves once more. Angelica Brooks watches her storm off, then gets really close to the camera and lowers her voice to a whisper.

Brooks: Rabid… Panda…

Angelica Brooks quickly checks to make sure Sun Tzu didn’t hear her and isn’t coming back to boot her in the head, then she leaves herself along with her cameraman. Wisely, they go off in the opposite direction of the Artist of War. Once they’re gone, Devin Shakur comes out of hiding and walks over to the pile of pulverized petals. He stares down mournfully at the roses lying broken on the ground… just like the pieces of his heart.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall…AND IS FOR THE FIVE STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!

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!

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!"

Sun Tzu stops near the ring, then leaps from the floor to the apron. She briefly sneers haughtily at the audience before stepping through the ropes.

"You think I'm funny... Funny how?"

The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica's 'Better Than You' begins to blast through the PA System, the new calling card of PRIME's 5 Star Champion; Tony 'The Grin' Gamble. He walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance toward the crowd before making his way toward the ring once the lyrics of the song kick in.

## I look at you, then you me
Hungry and thirsty are we
Holding the lion's share
Holding the key
Holding me back 'cause I'm striving to be ##

With the 5 Star title wrapped around his waist, Tony Gamble marches proudly down the small portion of ramp, no-selling the crowd's jeers and snide remarks as he remains focused on the ring. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.

## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##

Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. The Wal*tron now shows footage from Revolution 106, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his 'Stop Laughing At Me' signature move.

## Lock horns, I push and I strive
Some how I feel more alive
Bury the need for it
Bury the seed
Bury me deep when there's no will to be ##

He unfastens the title from around his waist, holding it up above his head by one end of the leather strap; a wide grin painted on his face as he hears the negative reaction from the crowd. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.

## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##

Gamble hands the title to the referee as his music dies down.

DING! DING! DING!

Sun Tzu and Tony Gamble come to the center of the ring and don’t waste any time in the verbal altercation department.

Richard Parker: What do you think they are discussing?

Nick Stuart: Probably making a bet that the winner gets to suck Angelo Deville’s di-

Richard Parker: Hey! Don’t even go there.

Sun Tzu ducks under the right hand from Tony Gamble and delivers a forearm to the side of the head. She moves forward at Gamble and delivers a knife edge chop, a roundhouse kick to the side of the knee, an Uraken spinning back fist, then a dropkick that sends Tony Gamble over the ropes and down on the floor. Sun Tzu wastes no time in running off the opposite ropes, charging back toward Tony Gamble, launching herself over the ropes in a somersault, connecting her legs with Gamble’s neck, and flipping him over in a hurricanrana that sends Tony Gamble up against the barricade!

Nick Stuart: Sun Tzu wasting no time in proving that she wants to become the Five Star Champion.

Richard Parker: Saying you can beat Tony Gamble and then actually doing it are two different things Nick, you know that.

Sun Tzu gets up quickly and delivers a forearm smash to the rising Gamble. Sun Tzu then takes eight steps back, charges forward and delivers a front dropkick to the face of Tony Gamble that sends the Champion back down. The Artist of War brings Tony Gamble back up to a vertical base and throws him underneath the bottom rope. Sun Tzu then climbs up to the top rope and delivers a somersault Legdrop across the back of Tony Gamble’s neck. Sun turns him over and makes the quick cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

Tony Gamble gets the shoulder up. Sun Tzu immediately goes to work with roundhouse kicks to Gamble’s ribs, causing the Champ to grab her right leg, get up to one knee, roll through, ducks under the anticipated Enziguri to the back of the head, spins Sun Tzu around, grabs her around the waist and throws her overhead in a belly to belly suplex. Tony Gamble quickly goes over, grabs Sun Tzu up off the mat, delivers an uppercut, gets behind her, puts his head in her right arm, lifts her upward and drops her backwards in a belly to back suplex. Gamble goes over, grabs Sun Tzu, lifts her up again, gives the elbow to the back of the neck, puts her head in his right arm, and drops her straight down in the DDT. Gamble goes for the cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"TH-"

Sun Tzu kicks out. Tony Gamble then turns Sun Tzu back over, gets both of her arms, puts them at her side, slips his arms underneath and pulls back for a Full Nelson submission. Tony slowly moves Sun Tzu out to the middle of the ring to prevent her from reaching the ropes with one of her feet. Once he is satisfied that he is in the middle of the ring, he lifts her upper body up and slams her face down into the mat. He lifts her upper body up a second time and repeats the procedure. Gamble then releases the hold, runs off the ropes, and drops a leg across the back of her neck. Gamble then gets up, goes over to the right side of Sun Tzu, drops a knee into her lower back, gets down on the other knee, grabs her by the head with his left hand and by the legs with his right, and then proceeds to pull back in a bow and arrow in the middle of the ring.

Nick Stuart: You seem to of called this one accurately Rich. Ever since they have gotten back into the ring Tony Gamble has dominated the match.

Richard Parker: Just a matter of time before Angelo and Gamble will be sipping on some champagne in the back celebrating this one.

Nick Stuart: …Yeah that’s weird, you know that?

Sun Tzu is shaking her head no at the inquiry made by the referee asking her if she quits. Tony Gamble pulls back harder on the neck, causing Sun Tzu to once again be asked by the referee, to which she repeats her earlier sentiment. Gamble yanks even harder on the neck, which gives Sun Tzu to fold up like an accordion, breaking the hold, kipping up, hooking Gamble by the head with her legs and flipping him over in a hurricanrana. Sun Tzu and Gamble both scramble up to their feet, Gamble comes charging in only to receive a spinning heel kick that sends him down to the ground in a heap. Sun Tzu then lifts Gamble up to a vertical base, runs off the ropes behind him, runs back toward Gamble, grabs him by the head, and drops him down to the mat with a bulldog. Sun Tzu with the cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEE-"

Tony Gamble gets the shoulder up at 2 and 1/4ths. Sun Tzu lifts Gamble up once again, shoves him hard into the ropes, and this causes Tony to be tied up in the ropes at the mercy of Sun Tzu.

Richard Parker: This is going to take some years off of Tony Gamble’s career.

Sun Tzu backs up and delivers a roundhouse kick to Gamble’s ribs, one to the upper torso, a spinning backfist to the forehead, a roundhouse kick to the right leg, one to the left leg, and then one to the groin that makes the eyes of Tony Gamble go into the back of his head. Sun Tzu then makes a vicious run off the ropes, comes back toward Gamble and delivers a devastating Yakuza Kick to the face that untangles Tony Gamble from the ropes and sends him flat down on his face.

Nick Parker: YEESH! That could have broken the champ’s cheekbone right there!

Richard Parker: Screw that, his face is probably broken after that!

Sun Tzu, now with the clear advantage, lifts Gamble up to a vertical base, delivers a knife edge chop, a forearm smash, shoves Gamble back into the corner, then gives him a hard Irish whip to the diagonally opposite corner, which causes Gamble to slam up against the turnbuckle before falling flat on his face. Sun Tzu then walks over to the Champ, brings him up to a vertical base, gives Gamble a roundhouse kick to the ribs, grabs him around the neck in a sleeper hold, jumps on his back and applies the body scissors as well. Tony Gamble has no choice but to fall down to his knees and eventually onto his back in the middle of the ring.

Nick Parker: Sun Tzu now has complete control over this match and it could only be a matter of time before Tony Gamble ends up conceding the Five Star Championship.

Richard Parker: Come on Gamble, do it for America. I swear to God if I have to inject some steroids into him and put a yellow bandana on him to get up, then by God I’ll do it.

Nick Parker: For the love of God let’s not go there again.

Sun Tzu is keeping the pressure equally painful on both the anatomy and the head of the Five Star Champion. He is in desperate need to get out of this hold before he loses his title. Gamble makes one last surge of energy to attempt any kind of counter, but he barely makes an observable change. Gamble’s eyes slowly start to shut, which causes Sun Tzu to look up at the referee and make him check the arm of the Champ.

Nick Parker: This could do it right here!

The referee lifts Tony Gamble’s arm up, holds it there a second and then drops it down. The crowd shouts out one. Sun Tzu locks in the hold as tight as she can while the referee raises Gamble’s arm up a second time, holds it, and drops it back down. The crowd shouts out two with a bit more concern, especially the 30ish year old looking fellow in the front row wearing his "I’m Fruit" T-Shirt. The referee goes down to raise the arm a third time, lifts it up, holds it there, and…Gamble is still kicking!

Richard Parker: BOOYAH!

Tony Gamble starts to feel the adrenaline pumping through his body as Sun Tzu tries to keep as much pressure on his body as possible. This seems to do little as Tony Gamble rises up to his knees and a couple of seconds later to his feet. Sun Tzu is still on his back with the body scissors locked in. She is going to wish that this was not so as Tony Gamble drops straight back, causing her to be squished in between the canvas and Tony ‘Montana’ Gamble. Gamble for the win!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Sun Tzu manages to get her shoulder up and the two wrestlers roll away from one another to catch their breaths. This match has been hard hitting from the opening bell, but the referee is bringing the count down on them. 1…2…3…4…5…6…Sun Tzu is the first one up to feet followed quickly by Gamble. The Artist of War comes in with an attempted forearm, Gamble beats her and delivers a right hand to the face, another one, and then one more, Sun Tzu comes in with an attempted forearm smash, Gamble ducks, gets behind her, put his arm around the front of her neck and drops backwards in a reverse DDT.

Nick Stuart: Gamble able to make a comeback here. Let’s see if he can go all the way to the win.

Tony Gamble and Sun Tzu both scramble up to their feet, Gamble comes out of no where with a jumping enziguri kick that sends Sun Tzu down on her face. Gamble goes through the second and third rope, climbs up to the top rope, gets himself perched, and then launches himself out toward the middle of the ring in a cross body splash that makes some people in the front row cringe. Gamble turns Sun Tzu over the cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Sun Tzu kicks out. Tony Gamble looks up at the referee and shakes his head in disgust, wondering what it is going to take to beat this woman. Gamble then lifts his foe up to a vertical base, gets behind her, hooks her waist, and flips her over backward in a German suplex that would have been extremely devastating…If Sun Tzu didn’t land feet first on the apron. Tony Gamble turns around, only to get Sun Tzu’s shoulder in his midsection, which sends him back into the middle of the ring doubled over. Sun Tzu takes the advantage, springboards up to the top rope, and does a dazzling enziguri with a twist that sends Tony Gamble over in a flip.
Nick Stuart: This one could be over! Sun Tzu going for the Five Star belt!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Tony Gamble gets his foot on the rope at the last second. Sun Tzu was so close there to getting the belt. She brings Gamble up to a vertical base, delivers a forearm smash, kicks him in the ribs sending him down to a kneeling position. Sun Tzu bounces off the ropes behind Gamble and attempts the Marxecution, Gamble manages to anticipate it, duck underneath, grabs Sun Tzu by the arm, turns her around, kicks her in the midsection, gets both of her arms behind her back, lifts her up, holds her upside down, and drops her down on the back of her neck. Tiger Driver! Gamble going for the W!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Sun Tzu kicks out! Tony Gamble looks up at the referee like he is a true noob. Gamble then holds up one finger, then two fingers, and then three fingers. The referee rolls his eyes at Gamble. Gamble then looks back down at Sun Tzu, brings her up off the mat, kicks her in the midsection, puts her head between his legs, grabs her around the waist, and attempts to deliver a Piledriver, but Sun Tzu uses her momentum to get around Gamble’s neck, pushes herself back, ducks the clothesline, gets behind Gamble, quickly gets a dragon sleeper hold on, and then drops Gamble back into a double knee backbreaker.

Nick Stuart: Wanted: One kidney for rising PRIME superstar, must be in good condition, will make you famous in exchange for said organ.

Sun Tzu exits the ring, stands on the apron, springboards up to the top rope, and comes flying down on Tony Gamble with a knee smash to the midsection that makes the Champion roll around the ring in pain. Sun Tzu lifts the dazed and confused Tony Gamble up to a vertical base, goes over to the nearest ropes, jumps up to the second rope, and attempts the Rabbit in the Moonsault but Tony Gamble manages to get under Sun Tzu, put her on his shoulder, gets her head underneath his right arm, Gamble swings her around, holds her in the air, drops her down in the high angle suplex that turns into a DDT. Sun Tzu will not remember where she parked the car after the show. Gamble with the cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Sun Tzu manages to kick out! Tony Gamble once again is befuddled at how Sun Tzu can manage to keep kicking out of his awesome moves. Gamble, a little slow to get to his feet, brings Sun Tzu up with him, Gamble attempts to deliver a right hand but somehow Sun Tzu blocks it, Gamble attempts a kick, Sun Tzu grabs his leg, and violently kicks his exposed leg, sending Gamble down on his leg. Sun Tzu then falls down on the mat from the beating that she has taken this evening.

Nick Stuart: Both wrestlers seem to be beaten and battered from this match. There haven’t really been that many breaks for either wrestler. They keep going straight at one another and you have to believe that whoever is first to capitalize on an advantage will win the match.

Richard Parker: Nah, really?

The referee is already at three on the count…4…5…6…7…8…9…Sun Tzu manages to kip up, stumble against the ropes, reach down, pick Gamble up, give him a Shotei, whip him into the ropes, and land a running enziguri that sends Gamble stumbling back, Sun Tzu bounces furiously off the ropes, and attempts to take Tony Gamble’s head off with a yakuza kick, however Gamble meets her halfway, grabs her by the waist, spins her around in a 360 before dropping her down in a backbreaker that makes her bounce off his knee and down in the middle of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Sun Tzu might also be on the same kidney transplant list after that one!

Tony Gamble now stands up and gives that trademark smirk of his before looking down at Sun Tzu, bringing her up to a vertical base, and then giving her a swinging neckbreaker. Gamble pops back up, goes to the outside of the ring, climbs up to the top rope, looks down at Sun Tzu, and attempts a diving elbow, only to have Sun Tzu’s feet drive upward into his ribs, sending Gamble into the ropes, and holding his ribs in deep pain. Sun Tzu rolls out to the apron, gets up, grabs the top rope, springboards up and attempts a hurricanrana into a pin, only for Gamble to hang on and fall backwards, sending her throat first into the top rope. Sun Tzu stumbles back and falls on top of Tony Gamble!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Nick Stuart: Kickout! Tony Gamble lives to fight for another couple of minutes.

Richard Parker: W00T!

Sun Tzu now looks up at the referee with a look of frustration as neither wrestler seems to want to concede defeat, but both look pretty fucking close to doing so. Sun Tzu crawls over toward the ropes, grabs the bottom one, rolls underneath to the apron, slowly brings herself up to a vertical base, looks at the rising Tony Gamble, springboards up to the top rope, and connects with a vicious Sweet Qin Music that sends Gamble back into the ropes and almost out of the ring. Sun Tzu crawls over quickly and goes for the cover!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

TWO! Sun Tzu looks up at the referee with her "I’m going to get my gun and kill you in the face" look. She then gets Tony Gamble up to his feet, goes over to the top rope, and puts him up there in a sitting position. Sun Tzu attempts a forearm smash, but Gamble somehow kicks her in the midsection. He puts his left leg on the top rope, and then follows that up with his right. Sun Tzu climbs up the ropes and joins him. Gamble delivers a right hand, Sun Tzu retorts with a forearm smash…

Sun Tzu delivers a back body drop on Tony Gamble sending him down to the ring below. Sun Tzu takes the opportunity to corkscrew in the air, do a pretty moonsault, and deliver the Beijing Cocktail! SUN TZU FOR THE WIN!

"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: Your winner of the match…AND NEWWWWWWWWWWW FIVE STAR CHAMPION SUN TZU!

Nick Stuart: Sun Tzu comes out after losing her Intense Championship last week and ends up being able to knock off perhaps the second hottest star in the company, Tony Gamble, and take another Championship.

Richard Parker: Gotta give it up for her, we might be speaking Chinese soon before we know it.

Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble gave it pretty much all that he had and in the end he was bested by the Artist of War, great match.

Richard Parker: Now we are going to go elsewhere and I’m going to get some fucking nachos.

We jump to a shot of Deville and Nova, not so much sitting on the plush leather couch in the luxury box they commandeered as leaning on the edge of it, their eyes wide with bewilderment. Nova almost drops the bong he's holding, but damnit, this is the Universal Champ we're talking about - he uses drugs, he doesn't abuse 'em.

The two exchange a glance, Deville raising a hand and opening his mouth as if to say something, then just shaking his head and falling silent. Nova grins.

Nova: That's a fucking load off. Dayum. After he beat y-

For just a second the grin falters, then he's covering it with the bong, hitting hard. Deville just shakes his head again.

Nova: (in a wispy voice within a smoke cloud) Suffice it to say I was worried he was on some unstoppable run.

Backing off from the cloud, Deville resists the urge to wave a clearing hand, or to grab Nova.

Angelo Deville: Just remember that he did beat me, Chris. Losing to Tzu tonight . . . Who knows . . . Maybe he's kinky like that.

Nova's red eyes find The Deville, but instead of responding, he tilts his head back and changes the subject.

Nova: Lemme see those pictures again.

Deville blinks, then nods, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a thick stack of photographs. He starts handing them to Nova, then pulls back, shuffling through them with widening eyes and a lecherous grin. Nova scooches closer so he can also see, emitting a low whistle as his eyes fall on the various nude poses of one brand-spanking-new Five Star Champion.

Nova: Man, she really is into that yoga shit, isn't she?

Deville allows a mirthful grunt, then drops the stack in Nova's lap.

Angelo Deville: You can have 'em if you'd like.

Nova: Yeah? Huh. Maybe I can start up that pay-site I've always wanted.

Angelo Deville: Maybe so. I don't know why she's persisting with the ruse, but I'm not playing along in any capacity. Besides . . .

He flashes that grin again.

Angelo Deville: You know I have a photographic memory. Even with you trying to smoke it out of me every chance you get.

Nova smirks and hits the bong again, scooping up the pictures and tucking them into his pants before exhaling.

Nova: So . . . You never did tell me. Why exactly did we let the guy who probably dreams about kicking my ass every night, the guy whose ego you've made hilarious sport of deflating, defeat at King of Kings notwithstanding, into our merry little band?

Angelo Deville: To keep him close.

Nova: Yeah, but-

Angelo Deville: Do you trust me, Wyatt?

Nova: You know I do, Doc.

Angelo Deville: Then don't worry about it. In fact, take comfort in it.