Booming explosions and loud blasts of pyro erupt from the stage as OTEP's "T.R.I.C." plays through gigantic loudspeakers. Cameras circle the arena, picking and choosing random fans for a few seconds of face time. At the announce table, Nick Stuart looks on proudly while Richard Parker sweats profusely, fanning himself with a stack of papers.

Nick: Folks, we are coming to you LIVE from a packed Toyota Center in HOUSTON, TEXAS for this one-hundred thirtieth edition of ReVolution. We're one week away from Overkill and Richard, the heat has definitely been turned up!

Richard: Why the hell Blaine Blair decided to go South for this leg of the tour is beyond me. It's eight-thousand degrees in this building I've been trying to get that soda guy's attention for ten minutes. HEY! I'M DYING OVER HERE!

Nick: We've got three big debuts in the first three matches tonight, seeing Jasmine Drogan take on Sonny Sil--...

Richard: MISTER SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nick: --ver, *sigh*, Tyler Rayne in a triple threat match against two of PRIME's biggest guys...

Richard: I've got 10-1 odds on Chainz eating one of these guys Lecter style.

Nick: You're disgusting.

Richard: I'm roasting. Why is that soda guy IGNORING ME? YOU'RE GETTING A PAYCHECK BECAUSE OF ME, BUDDY!

Nick: (ignoring Rich's plight) And newcomers the Race taking on the German Warheads Das Korps!

Richard: Am I the only one who thinks that match could start World War III?

Nick: Probably. Jonathon Winters and Pierce Lavelle will collide in a rematch from UltraViolence, this time with the Number One Contendership to the Intense Title on the line and in the MAIN EVENT, Grand Slam winner Killean Sirrajin will put the 5-Star title on the line against Easton Hall. You have to wonder what Lisa Tyler will think of the outcome of that match, regardless of the winner.

Richard: I'd like to keep my job, so I'll reserve all comments about Lisa Tyler for when I don't have a camera in my face.

Nick: Tensions are rising on the trek to Overkill! Folks, we'll be right back after this...

INTERRUPTION...brought to you by the letter C, the number 3, and the thorns in FU's side...

The lights in the arena blink out, sending a wave of darkness over the fans.

Richard: Damnit, I hate when people do this!

Nick: Need your nightlight, Richard?

Richard: NO!






















Richard: Just my teddy bear.

Nick: I often wonder just how you ended up with this job anyway.

Richard: You love me, Stuart. I'm endearing. I help little old ladies cross the street. I push my nieces and nephews on swings!

Nick: And you probably laugh at them when they fall off and skin their knees.

Richard: I've always found bloodshed to be entertaining.

CUE-UP: "The Enemy" -- Godsmack

Nick: These fans are about to lose it, Richard. You know whose music this is!

Richard: Great, just what I need...gloating from these plebes.

Nick: Snow's rubbing off on you, huh.

Richard: I thank God I'm not a woman, who knows what'd happen!

Nick: (muttering) That's never stopped you before.

Before Richard can retort, a wave of flashing lights swirl about the arena and more pyro blasts detonate from the stage. Through the smoke and explosions walk Danny Ferguson (with bodyguards at his sides), Killean Sirrajin and Lindsay Troy, Sirrajin with the 5-Star Title around his waist and Troy with the Universal Title around hers. The three come equipped with microphones in hand and the fans go crazy as they walk in a line down to the ring.

Nick: A lot of people have been waiting for the day when Nova would lose the Universal Title and I'd be hard-pressed to say that this wouldn't be the case if he wasn't involved with Snow, Gamble and Silver.

Richard: These people are a bunch of HATERS! The man's had the most dominant Universal Title run of recent memory and they boo him for making this company even more recognizable for it. Fickle, fickle, fickle.

Nick: It was a hell of a main event last week on 129 that saw the Queen of the Ring walk out victorious. You've got to wonder, given her rocky situation with the Risen Star, how this is going to affect things from here on out.

Richard: He'll get her back for it. Just you wait. If not this week, then at Overkill. BET ON IT!

Ferguson, Sirrajin and Troy all climb into the ring. The lights come up and all eyes are on Troy, who's standing in the middle with her mic raised.

Troy: Y'know, anyone who's watched me long enough has heard me say that if I never won another world title before I hang 'em up that I'd still consider my career a success.

She looks down at the Universal Title around her waist and smiles.

Troy: But I'll be damned if this doesn't make me feel like a million bucks.

The crowd roars in agreement while Sirrajin looks on with a smile. Danny remains stoic as he nods his head.

Troy: It's only fitting that Nova and I tore the house down amidst the rebuilding city of 'Naw'Awlins.' For everything that he is now that makes the fans despise him, he's still a hell of a competitor. He can ride a wave of boos from New Orleans to Houston to Oklahoma City next week and that's not going to change. I'll give him that.

But this is where the pleasantries end for us, Caesar. There's still one more thing that the guys in this ring, and one guy who has to unfortunately sit at home for one more week, have to do...and that's dismantle the remaining fragments of a group that was pegged to sit atop the wrestling world for years.

I've been a part of too many 'faction wars' in my day and I'll be honest when I say that I didn't want to be a part of this one from the onset. But Killean told me back in November that he and Tchu couldn't do this without my help. And y'know somethin'? He was right.

Richard: (V/O) Troy's gone off the deep end...admitting that a Canadian is right. Does she want the world to cave in on itself?!

Nick: (V/O) Keep your mouth shut, Parker!

Richard: (V/O) I speak the truth and you know it!

Troy: He's right because there's no one in that locker room right now that knows you and Silver better than I do, and while Sonny's just the latest piece of trash to get thrown into the heap, the fact remains that I'm in the BOTH of your heads. Sonny won't admit it, but I know you will. And isn't that a scary thing, Caesar to have someone in your head that you don't want there?

She pauses for a moment and Danny picks the silence up and runs with it.

Ferguson: Allow me to point out that the Billie Jean King of pro wrestling here wasn't the only former PRIME tag champ who notched a major victory over FU last week. Defending the honor of no one, I dropped the personification of sports entertainment on his skull. For the first time in history, all you basement-dwelling gimptards who pop erections over an armbar and write 5-paragraph e-mails about how I suck were forced to give me some props.

Nick: (V/O) Ferguson did notch a big win over our "Chairman" last week.

Richard: (V/O) Pfft, he got put over and probably took a paycheck cut for his efforts as well.

Ferguson: Moreover, I kicked off what became a banner night for this alliance. You are now welcome to add Danny "The Tipping Point" Ferguson to my already impressive list of nicknames and aliases. All due respect to the Amazon and the retiree, but once again the Superstar is the x-factor, the guy who swings the battleaxe.

Gamble? Check. Snow? Tag match, but whatever. Check. Silver? CHECK. Nova? I've dropped him plenty of times, but I'll make it official at OverKill. Here's a topic of discussion for your next strategy meeting: Since I returned to PRIME, I've dedicated myself to nothing but beating down FU and wiping you all out. During that time I have yet to suffer a loss, unless you count Captain Intensity getting lucky in the Dual Halo. If you haven't been looking for a way to stop me, now's the time to start. And if you have been trying, well, IT'S NOT WORKING.

Nick: (v/O) Danny's getting a little...intense with that speech, don't you think?

Richard: (V/o) The kid's getting fired up, Stuart. Won't make any difference, though, once Silver avenges the atrocity that was committed last week. I still think the ref fast-counted the fall.

Nick: (V/O) You're a piece of work.

Before Danny can go off on another tangent, Sirrajin steps in. A scattered "Grand Slam!" chant gets going as he starts to speak.

Sirrajin: All week people have been calling me Mr. Grand Slam. I've heard it in the news, in the tabloids and fans have been screaming it. Hell, look amongst yourselves. Signs all over the place and I hear you calling it out now.

He nods his head to the PRIMEates in the crowd.

Sirrajin: But none of that would matter if I didn't have a cause to focus the momentum on. I have held almost as many titles alone as FU has combined. If that doesn't give me confidence going into OverKill, she will.

He points to the Queen of the Ring.

Sirrajin: She took out that headcase Nova to become YOUR Universal Champion. The desperation to live is the only thing keeping Fuck You going while we are moving full steam ahead. We are in firm control. I may have gotten my head splattered on a steel chair last week, but I know Snow needed help to do it. In due time, that will be addressed as well.

Nick: (V/O) That's a warning if I ever heard one.

Richard: (V/O) Yeah, good luck getting past Chainz, you dumb Canuck! Manson's got a better chance of breaking out of prison than Sirrajin's got of getting to Snow.

Sirrajin: Fact of the matter is, we took PRIME by the fuckin' horns and have steered it in what we consider to be the right direction from the start. From when Tchu and I started to make life hell for Fuck You, to now when we have Lindsay here to execute strategic kills and the beaten redheaded step child to chop another piece of the puzzle away. The Bobby Flay "Cook for me some more" wannabe got the job done last week against a man with possibly an equivalent ego, which no one thought was possible. Tonight is the night to talk about it, to celebrate. But part of the way through, we need to dig down for the final fight. Overkill will be the end of it all.

Troy: This has been brewing for longer than it should have and you should have stopped it when you had the chance, Caesar. You would have saved yourself a lot of aggravation and a lot of forthcoming pain. Last week was the beginning of the end. Next week, Fuck You!s end will be a new beginning.

"The Enemy" cues up again as PRIME cuts to commercial.

Nick: Well we have our first match of the evening. Sonny Sil-

Richard: MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nick: How much does he pay you to say that?

Richard: Ten cents per time

Nick: Damn, after a while that builds up. Err anyway, he will be taking on one of the newcomers in PRIME, Jasmine Drogan.

Richard: How are these noobs all getting into PRIME? We used to be like the exquisite hooker you had to pay a grand to and now we are all Paris Hilton like, everybody gets in if they just say hello.

Nick: …

Richard: …

Nick: …Anyway, this should be an interesting match. Sonny Silver’s striker style seemingly substantiates superiority, tonight shall it stand supreme?

Richard: Wow, how long did it take you to come up with that?

Nick: It would have been longer but Chris got tired of looking up words in the dictionary.

Richard: TO THE RING!

"Supervixen" by Garbage hits as Jasmine Drogan comes out from the backstage area onto the stage. The crowd gives her a decent pop and the drunken men in the audience whistle, hoping that she’s naïve enough to want to give it up after the show tonight. She trots up the stairs, into the ring, and waits on her opponent.

Nick: She’s got one big test coming up here, facing the chairman of FU.

Richard: Damn straight.

"The Champ" by Ghostface Killah plays. Immediately the crowd begins to roar in a befuddling frenzy. They know whose music this is but yet they are cheering him. Mr. Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, walks out onto the stage. The ovation gets louder and louder with each step that he takes. About 1/10th of the way down the ramp, Sonny points out to the right side of the audience and seems to be mouthing something.

Sonny Silver: YOU WANT IT?

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Sonny then points to the left side.

Sonny Silver: YOU WANT IT?

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Sonny points to an individual specifically on the left side, right near the stage.

Sonny Silver: YOU WANT IT?

Mike Renner: FEED ME!

Sorry, I had to do it. The hot dog vender comes by and proceeds to get killed by Renner.

Sonny then circles around and points out to everybody in the crowd.

Sonny Silver: YOU ALL WANT IT?

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Sonny keeps his head up high and then…

BUSTS OUT THE MOST ELECTRIFYING ENTRANCE MOVE IN SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT TODAY…

…
…
…
…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

THE ARM FLAPPING POWER WALK ZOMG!~~~`````~~~~!!!!!!!!1111

Richard: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"POWER WALK! POWER WALK! POWER WALK! POWER WALK!"

He power walks all the way to the stairs, up the stairs, and enters the ring.

Nick: What the fuck was that?

Richard: Well Seth said we could do whatever entrance we wanted in the bio so that’s what Chris did for an entrance.

DING! DING! DING!

With the sound of the bell, the match is officially underway. Sonny Silver power walks up to Jasmine Drogan and immediately gets all up in her grill, insulting her in every capacity possible. We’re not exactly sure what is being said, but the words "suck" "my" and something about a Tyler Rayne promo are uttered. Drogan doesn’t seem to take too kindly to the insults and lashes out with a forearm to the side of the head. Silver is stunned for a second, giving Drogan an opportunity to deliver a second and third one before shooting the Chairman into the ropes. Drogan builds up a head of steam and delivers a drop kick right to the mush of the Chairman. Silver gets up immediately and receives another one to his face. Yet again Silver rushes up to his feet, only this time to get an up close view of Drogan as she steps up his body and plants a boot to the back of his head with an enziguri. Silver stumbles over toward the corner. Drogan rushes in, jumps up, lands on Silver’s stomach, grabs a hold of the head, and monkey flips him out into the middle of the ring. Silver rolls to the outside of the ring and stares up at his opponent.

Nick: Wow, Silver just got owned in his ring from a newcomer.

Richard: He probably tore a muscle doing that damn power walk.

Nick: You marked out just as hard as anybody else.

While Silver is on the outside trying to get his bearings back together, Drogan moves in for the kill. She springboards off the ropes behind her, builds up speed and launches herself through the ropes, latches onto the head of Silver, spins around and plants him with a tornado DDT into the ground! The crowd marks out, looking for any excuse to hate on Father PRIME. Drogan lets Mr. Silver pick himself up before throwing him underneath the bottom rope. The newcomer hops back up onto the apron and springboards forward up to the top rope. The missile dropkick would have hit if Silver did not move out of the way at the last possible second. Drogan regrets it even more when she gets back up to a vertical base and gets spun the fuck out by a Sonny Silver clothesline.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Richard: That is going to result in the proverbial hangover from hell tomorrow.

Silver puts a boot into the back of Drogan before straddling over her in a standing position. The Chairman acts as if he is going to go for some kind of submission hold, but instead obliterates Drogan’s face with stiff crossfaces. The referee is about to intervene when Silver gives him one of those dirty looks and mouths "If you fucking tell me to stop I’ll send you to FUSE". Not wanting to lose his job, the referee backs off and allows Silver to pwn her face ten more times with his crossfaces. Father PRIME takes a hold of his opponents hair, pulls her up, turns her upside down and lets the body slam do the talking for him. A bounce off the ropes and an elbow to the sternum later, we have our first cover!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWO-

A feisty kickout from the newcomer! Silver grasps a hold of her head and applies a side head lock so impressive that he looks up at a fan holding a mirror and admires the move. At the same time that he is admiring the move, he is also giving Drogan a lecture about the cons of high flying wrestling, which include: It sucks, you suck, I’m Sonny Silver, and he fires her a couple of times. The crowd gets behind the newcomer long enough for her to power up to a standing position and give a couple of sharp elbows to Silver’s abdomen. Drogan attempts to bounce off the ropes but Sonny takes a grasp of Jasmine’s head and extends his right fist high into the air.

Sonny Silver: VAGINA PUNCH!

Nick: He so did not just say-

Richard: ZOMG HE’S CHANNELING GBJ!

Sonny GOES FOR THE BIG PUNCH…But Drogan ends up kicking him in the package. Instead of dropping to a heap, Sonny stands firm in the ring and seems to be getting pumped up from the kick. Drogan goes for another kick, connects, and then recoils in horror when Sonny gives her T3H HOG@N POINT 0F DOOM!!!!!!1

Richard: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: BY GAWD! SONNY IS 1337’ING UP!

Jasmine goes for another kick, Sonny blocks it and delivers one right hand to the forehead, followed by a second one and a third one. Sonny backs Jasmine into the ropes, delivers the Irish whip and the crowd proceeds to mark the fuck out when Sonny connects with the big boot.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Sonny bounces off the ropes, leaps into the air, and delivers THE BIG LEG DROP across the throat. COVER!

O-

Kickout! Sonny’s eyebrows burrow in confusion. That so was not supposed to happen.

Richard: Wow…How much did that cost us?

Nick is punching numbers on his old school plug in calculator. Where is the outlet? Yeah, wouldn’t YOU like to know.

Nick: About 700 dollars…

Richard: Not bad

Nick: Per nanosecond

Richard: SHIT! Ok, think positive Richard…How many points are we losing on Dave’s ratings system?

Nick: You REALLY don’t want to know that one.

Silver bounces himself off the ropes, looking for some kind of edge. Refusing to break the reality of the weak leg drop, Drogan kips up and clobbers Silver in the throat with a leg lariat. Drogan decides to finally take her game aerial inside of the ring, goes over to the ropes, springboards up to the top rope, stands there like an Olympic diver, takes flight, and connects with the reverse 450 splash. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

KICKOUT! Silver struggles his way up to a standing position only to meet a front dropkick that sends him back down to the mat. Drogan gets on top of Silver’s chest and stands there. The referee is about to drop for a cover when Drogan flips backwards in the air and connects on the shooting star press. Another cover!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEE-

Silver with yet another kickout. Drogan exit’s the ring, in hopes of continuing the hot offensive streak that she is on right now. Silver groggily gets up to a standing position, sending triggers through Drogan to springboard up top and go for the big clothesline. Unfortunately, being a ring veteran of twenty five years, Father PRIME manages to catch her in mid-air, spin her around and drop her down in a sidewalk backbreaker!

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: JEBUS! That’s definitely a match turner!

Richard: She’ll feel like she has Tracy boobs tomorrow with that back pain.

Sonny Silver, with his first real legitimate chance at offense takes a hold of Drogan’s right leg and plants his boot into the hamstring. Sonny spins around the left foot once, twice, three times, and then a fourth time before locking the left leg over the right, stepping over the folded legs and applying a standing figure four leg lock. Drogan tries to squirm out of the hold but is finally having to come to the reality that Silver’s weight is going to give him the advantage. He wrenches in on the hold for all that he is worth, which isn’t really a whole lot once you take away all of his self proclaimed titles. When he gets the sense that Drogan has had enough, he grasps a hold of both her legs, swings her back, and then falls backwards so that her throat catches the bottom rope.

Richard: BOOMSHAKALAKA!

Drogan goes to the outside, attempting to get a break, but Silver isn’t going to have any of it. He grasps a hold of her legs, brings her back into the ring, stands her up, cradles her up and places her atop his shoulders. Silver walks around the ring in a circle. Instead of dropping her down on the head in a Ki Crusher 99, Silver spins it so that her right knee takes the fall that the head would normally take. Drogan rolls around the mat in pain, obviously feeling the effects.

Richard: Now we bout to go to school.

Nick: This is not the place that Drogan wants to be in. Silver is going to work his striker magic right here.

Silver forces Drogan to exert energy to bring herself up to a standing position. Once she does, the knee pain manifests itself. Silver gets up behind Drogan and delivers a yakuza kick to her back, grasps a hold of the waist, pulls up, and puts her down on the back with a German suplex. Both competitors swing up, Silver steps around to the side and executes a flawless Russian leg sweep. Silver snap kicks Drogan in the right knee before planting a boot right in the temple, getting a lot of heat from the crowd.

Richard: Well I don’t think he’s going to front just because she is a woman.

Silver again forces Drogan to bring herself up, taunting her all the way to give her extra motivation. Drogan goes for a punch, yet instead receives a headbutt right to the nose, dazing her. The next move is not going to maker her perplexing manner diminish anytime soon. Sonny gets a hold of the half nelson and with all the force he can muster, yanks her overhead and plants her down on the back of the neck. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Kickout! Silver shrugs his shoulders and quietly mouths "Your funeral", before kneeing her hard in the side of the head and slamming her head down into the mat. Silver assists Drogan in getting up to a base before popping her under the chin with an uppercut. Silver backs Drogan up into the corner, shoves her hard, and starts to unleash with stiff martial arts kicks all over the body, every other one coming down on the right knee. Fifteen shots later, Silver lifts up the damaged right leg over the second rope and wrenches it back under the bottom rope. The referee immediately gets in there, breaking the hold up after five seconds. Silver even reluctantly backs off from the hold and allows the referee to assist in getting Drogan’s limp leg off the ropes.

Nick: Showing compassion? Something is up here.

Indeed something is, Silver charges off the ropes behind the referees back, gains a full head of steam, and before the ref can remove the leg from the ropes, Silver extends both of his legs into the damaged wheel, sending the referee into an angry tirade on the Chairman of PRIME.

Nick: Now come on! That was damn heinous!

Richard: Heh, heh…Yeah, but bitch had it coming.

Nick: How can you even say that?

Richard: I’m paid to, not like I’m going to break character.

Drogan seems to be in massive pain and the expression on Silver’s face indicates that the torture is not over. Sonny flat drops out of the ring, rolls to the floor, takes a hold of the right leg of Drogan, backs himself away from the ring post and then swings the leg hard into the steel! Sonny ignores the referees admonishment and slams the knee into the steel one more time before re-entering the ring. The referee threatens disqualification and Sonny just laughs in his face before docking his pay twenty percent. The referee gives a sad emoticon face.

Richard: That’s what he gets also. Anybody else want to fuck with the boss?

Nick: …

Richard: Good, now let’s end this so I can go get some fucking nachos.

Drogan is placed atop the top rope by the Chairman. Sonny goes over to the ropes and as he is about to do whatever it is he’s going to do, Drogan plants a forearm to his head that almost drops Father PRIME down on his ass. Sonny vehemently charges over to the ropes, attempting to get up top and deliver a Kurt Angle style throwing belly to belly, but Drogan spins into the air and connects with a Spiral Tap that brings him down to the mat. Silver tries to shrug off the pain but receives a standing boot to the side of his head from Drogan, sending him back down on the mat. Drogan hobbles over to the corner where Sonny is, takes a hold of his head, sits up on the second rope, puts her arm around his neck and spins off the ropes. Sonny spins around three times before succumbing to the weight of Drogan, bringing him down in the inverse tornado DDT.

Nick: Comeback!

Sonny grasps a hold of Drogan’s left foot, delivers a stinging kick to the hamstring, and attempts to go for a second kick. However, Drogan pushes upward with her standing foot to plant one right under Sonny’s chin, staggering the Chairman back. Drogan and Sonny charge forward at one another, Drogan gaining the advantage. Drogan, albeit not being able to get all of it, catches Sonny Silver in the STO! Fighting through the pain that Silver has put her legs through, Drogan drags herself over toward the ropes while Silver moans in pain at having his head smack the canvas hard.

Nick: Drogan could be going for it all right here!

Richard: COME ON SILVER!

Drogan springboards up to the top rope and is just about to set up for the finish when Silver pops up behind her and crotches her on the top rope. Drogan is now upside down with her feet caught up in the turnbuckle. Silver, thinking quick on his feet, bounces off the ropes, gets a full head of steam and absolutely OBLITERATES her face with a baseball side dropkick to the face.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Richard: That one rearranged her face. Hope she is on the PRIME health insurance plan.

Unfortunately for Drogan, she does not come undone from her upside down position. Silver gets a devilish smirk on his face, runs off the ropes once, bounces back, hit’s the other side, runs back again, off again, and charges straight at Drogan. Once he gets the necessary distance away, he extends out his right foot and blows her mind with a Kiss My Boot right to the temple. Drogan’s eyes roll back in her head and she collapses to the mat in a heap.

Richard: Nice debut Drogan, but I don’t think you are getting up from that.

Nick: That was sickening! She might have a damn concussion.

Richard: Oh no, we aren’t going to rip off another WWE gimmick. I already gotta live on food stamps because of the Hogan bit earlier.

Silver practically has to carry Drogan up to a standing position where he grabs her around the neck with one arm, puts the other arm behind her back, lifts up, sweeps out the legs, and plants her down with the Great Jesus Driver! COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of the match…MR SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nick: Well Drogan had a chance there but she wasn’t able to come up clutch against the PRIME veteran.

Richard: Damn straight. The boss always gets his way.

Nick: He was on the ropes there a couple of times.

Richard: Bitch, please. On another completely unrelated but related note, Chris has just written a match for his 20th straight show. Let’s get the bugger in here now for an interview.

Nick: How in the hell do we keep getting away with this?

Chris: Greetings bitches.

Richard: So, twenty shows, how does it feel?

Chris: I only ended up getting a conciliatory T-Shirt from Ward… I seriously need to get laid.

Richard: The match writing groupies aren’t there?

Chris: Ha, please. GBJ gets more hobo groupies than I do match writing ones.

Richard: How is that possible?

Chris: I think he invites them into his cardboard box for tea…

Richard: Ooooo

Chris: Yeah, I know.

Richard: Anything that you want to say to the people before we cut to the back?

Chris: Yes…

Chris raises his hands high up to the sky and down comes the OLD SKOOL MIC~~~~~~~11!!!!

Chris: …BYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Now we go to the back.

It is a brisk, Texas evening. A mild breeze carries the smoke of his cigarette away from the open door. There’s a light chance of rain. He can smell it in the air. High of about seventy-two. Low around sixty-five. Roughly eight minutes til curtain time.

"Tyler Rayne?"

He turns away from the lovely evening. Texas is a beautiful place. But right now, we should concentrate on more important matters, like the fact that PRIME’s most effervescent newcomer is making his very first appearance on ReVolution. Live. On air. Someone call the FCC.

Rayne: That’s the rumor. You are?

Brooks: Angelica Brooks, backstage interview personality…girl. Woman. Thought perhaps you’d have a few comments about your debut match tonight against Chainz and Tom Walczak.

Rayne: Nah. Not really.

The cigarette drops to the ground. His boot drops on the cigarette. Twist and snuff.

Brooks: Seriously? Nothing? I mean, you’re not the least bit worried about either of them, even though they both outweigh you by at least seventy pounds? You’re going to be the smallest man in the ring, between two giants, neither of whom—

Rayne: Listen, sweetheart, you’re a cute kid, but you worry too much. Just cause it’s my first time on this block, don’t mean I haven’t been through a neighborhood or two before now. If generic bald rapist guy and generic bald Polish guy think they’ve got the sack to put me down, I might remind it’ll take more than a powerbomb or two to do so.

Brooks: So…you aren’t the least bit worried that this debut could end very badly for you?

Rayne: Only thing I’m worried ‘bout, Angel, is gettin’ Lindsay Troy’s phone number ‘fore I leave this building.

He steps inside. He walks down the hall. She follows.

Brooks: Wait! What? Are you serious?

He turns his head to give her that patented smile.

Rayne: Should I be?

Brooks: Well, it’s just that…I mean, you just got here. She’s…and you’re…

Rayne: Far as I see, options are limited here. It’s either her or Sun. And last I checked, Sun had more dicks chasing her than my latest rp. Oops. Pardon that fourth wall thing. Besides all that, Sun’s not my type. I went through the government experiment, hot Asian assassin phase a few years back. I’m over it now. Moved on. So that pretty much leaves Troy. Unless of course you happen to be free later this…Shakur! Hey, Shakur!

His attention turns to more business-minded matters down the hall, leaving Angelica Brooks with an unfortunate case of "how did that sentence end?"

Rayne: Devin! Hold up, kid!

Tyler Rayne chases the little PRIMEate, (isn’t that what we’re all called now?), down the hall, stopping the former Intense champion with a hand on the shoulder. Devin Shakur harshly brushes the shoulder aside and takes another step forward. At which point Tyler proceeds to turn the young man about face.

Rayne: Perhaps you got your head so far up Communist cooch you can’t hear through the Chinese cunt hairs pluggin’ your ears, but I was talkin’ to you, son.

Shakur: What in the name of Mao do you want?

Rayne: Con.

The Reject stands there, staring blank into the eyes of PRIME’s ‘Underground Pimp.’ If this is how the capitalist pigs are going to get inside his head…

Shakur: I have no idea who you are talking about.

Rayne: Bullshit. And at the moment, I don’t have time for bullshit. Where is he?

Shakur: Like I told you before, kid, I have no idea who you are talking about, and my memory is not going to be resurrected immediately by you saying you don’t have time for bullshit.

Rayne: Did you just call me kid?

Off-Camera Tech, Whose Real Name Is Stu: Rayne! Thirty seconds!

Tyler turns an annoyed look at the tech and gives an acquiescing nod. Now back to Shakur.

Rayne: This conversation isn’t over.

Now to the curtain. Big debut. Here goes nothin’…

A voice bellows out over a black screen.

"For eight months, a war has raged on… both sides shedding blood to claim gold."

A scene plays, that of Nova pinning The Inhuman Being in the middle of the ring at King of Kings, conquering PRIME’s Wrecking Ball to capture the Universal Championship.

Then the scene fades to that of just one week ago. Lindsay Troy, using the last bit of strength in her body to crawl over and drape an arm across The Risen Star. Three seconds later, the walls cave in as a massive roar from the fans let everyone in New Orleans know… The Queen of the Ring, was now Champion of the Universe.

"Through the violence, past alliances have reformed"

Killean Sirrajin hits the ring to take on FU, breaking up a viscous assault on his own personal nemesis, but old friend, Tchu.

Jason Snow, back from his hiatus, rejoins the ranks of FU, announcing his return by beheading The Supreme Machine.

"New alliances have been formed."

Danny Ferguson is shown defending his half of the tag titles with Troy.

Then the scene flashes to Ferguson battling it out, side by side with The Inhuman Being taking the fight to FU.

"And there has been betrayal."

Mr. Silver turns and delivers a savage clothesline to Troy, dropping his tag team partner, joining the hated Fuck You stable with a knife in the back.

Then the scene switches to UltraViolence, where Tony Gamble abruptly announces he’s tired of ‘knowing his role’, by spiking Nova to the canvas with the ‘Stop Laughing at Me’, shocking the world in the process.

"Next Sunday, Oklahoma City will witness the final battle in this epic war."

A running shot of the AFUC members standing side by side. Then, a quick scene of the FU foursome standing united.

"Between their collective careers, they boast numerous PTC titles, two JitC victories, one Dual Halo victory, 2 Alias, 5 tag team, 4 Intense, 5 Five Star, and 6 Universal Title reigns…"

A shot of all eight members of the match standing in one straight line whips past the screen.

"Perhaps, one would say… all eight of them, together in one match…."

The screen fades to black and in large, white and purple font, the letters OV slowly start to emerge from the darkness.

"… is OverKill"

LIVE on PPV! Sunday, June 17th from the sold-out Ford Center in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma… PRIME presents OverKill!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, already in the ring, making his PRIME debut, and weighing in at two hundred and twenty-three pounds... from Baja, California, by way of Tokyo, Japan... TYLER... RAAAAAYYYYYNE!!!

Tyler Rayne is already in the ring, stretching out and waiting for his opponents as "Fuck it!" by Seether thuds through the arena's soundsystem.

Nick: Tyler Rayne is a newcomer to PRIME, but he's no stranger to physical competition.

Richard: I give him a week.

Vince Howard: And his opponent!

"Feel it" (as opposed to "Fuck it") blasts through the soundsystem and the ever-immense Tom Walczak appears at the top of the entrance ramp, raising his arms in the air while the audience around him boo. He begins a lumbering pace toward the ring, his near four hundred pound frame providing an intimidating image to the home viewers.

Vince Howard: Standing six feet, ten inches tall and weighing in at nearly FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS... from Gdansk, Poland... "The Polish Punisheeerrrrr..." TOM... WALCZAAAAAK!

Nick: There are few who don't remember Tom Walczak's stay in PRIME, and he's been a consistent part of the wrestling business for several years.

Richard: I can't believe the size of this man!

Walczak steps over the top rope and into the ring while his music fades.

Vince Howard: And finally...

"For You" by Korn hits and PRIME's most hated and sadistic man, Chainz, appears with eyes locked on the ring. Tracy, ever-beautiful, is at his heels as he paces forward.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at two hundred and ninety-five pounds and out of Hell's Kitchen, New York... CHAAAAAINNNZ!!!

Michael Sloan slides into the ring and immediately finds himself looking up at Tom Walczak.

Nick: Well this is a real rarity. Chainz is far smaller than the Polish Punisher. We'll see how this one plays out.

And before the bell rings, the match begins. Walczak and Chainz engage in a staredown, but only for a few moments until Tyler Rayne crashes the party with a leaping elbow to Walczak's jaw. Chainz bails out of the way as the smallest man in the ring takes the offensive against the Polish giant.

Nick: Tyler Rayne's not about to be intimidated by these two monsters!

Rayne begins firing off right hands to back the giant up, and then nails him with a spinning heel kick that sees Walczak slump into the turnbuckle. But in all this, Tyler Rayne has made the deadly mistake of forgetting about Michael Sloan behind him. Chainz moves in for the kill, but apparently, Rayne didn't forget about him at all, and at the last second lunges at Chainz with a flying forearm that rocks the sadistic beast back!

Nick: Tyler Rayne is on fire!

The crowd gets behind the smallest man in the ring as he goes back and forth between his opponents, firing a right hand into Walczak's face, and then one for Chainz on the other side. He then leaps into the air and catches Walczak's head for a hurricarana, but when he pulls back, it appears he doesn't have the sufficient bodyweight to pull the giant Polish man down, and Walczak stands stiffly, with Tyler Rayne hanging with his legs wrapped around his head.

Richard: I don't think this is going to be pretty.

And indeed it's not. Walczak pulls up on his much smaller opponent and delivers a devastating powerbomb OUT OF THE RING! Tyler Rayne hits the arena floor with a thud, falling a grand total of about ten feet. He doesn't move for a moment.

Nick: Tom Walczak just broke Tyler Rayne in half!

That leaves the two monsters in the ring with each other. They stand toe to toe once more, staring at each other. Walczak is all business, and there's a menacing smile on Michael Sloan's face. Suddenly, Walczak's hand lashes out and takes Chainz by the throat, but the sadistic menace counters with an elbow to Walczak's face, and drills him with a short-arm clothesline that rocks the big man back. Another clothesline puts him on one knee.

Nick: Chainz is cutting the giant down!

Before Walczak can push himself up, Chainz comes flying in, grabbing Walczak by the head and smashing his face into his knee. The Polish Punisher collapses onto his side with Chainz towering over him, grinning.

Nick: This is getting i-... Wait a minute, I'm getting word..

Richard: I'm getting word too! What the hell's going on backstage!

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to cut backstage for a moment where we've just received word that Killean Sirrajin is on his way to Jason Snow's locker room!!

Richard: Wait a minute! He can't do that! Snow's bodyguard is in the ring!! This isn't fair!!

Backstage

The shot cuts backstage where indeed, Killean Sirrajin has already made it to Snow's locker room door. He kicks it heavily twice, and the door gives way some, but remains in tact.

The shot cuts to the inside of the locker room where we find a giant office desk pressed against the door with Snow holding it from the otherside, barricading Killean's access to the room. Snow scowls at the camera man.

Jason Snow: Damn it, are you going to stand there like a peasant or are you going to help me!? I just finished defending the only title that matters in this business! I can't be expected to deal with this retarded ape-like bastard tonight!

Back outside, Sirrajin's face is all business.

Killean Sirrajin: Come on out, Snow! You can't hide in there forever!

In the Ring...

Back in the ring, Tom Walczak is heaving in the corner with Chainz closing in, but as he gets too close, the Polish Punisher clocks him with a forearm and follows it up with roundhouse rights and lefts. Chainz shakes out the cobwebs and charges Walczak, only to be jacked up and nailed by a spinebuster! The audience gasps.

Nick: My God! There's so much power behind that maneuver!

Richard: Yes, but is Snow alright!? Someone get security back there! Get word to Chainz! Something needs to be done!

Chainz lies in the center of the ring with his mouth gaping, unable yet to move after the impact of such a move from a man so large. Walczak takes a moment to clear his own head while Chainz is down, but a moment too long. In the midst of all of this, Tyler Rayne has recovered and entered the ring. With all the strength he can muster, he reaches under and rolls Walczak up. The referee slides into position...

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

The Polish Punisher kicks out with such force that Tyler Rayne is thrown several feet, but before Walczak can get up, Rayne is dropping a wave of knees on him, unwilling to let the giant get to his feet.

Nick: Tyler Rayne is showing a lot of guts in this match, and he's doing a great job of keeping the big man on the ground – right where he wants him.

Richard: What's going on with Snow!? Is he alright!?

Backstage

The answer is not good, as the shot cuts backstage right in time to see Snow's dressing room door fly open, blowing over the desk and all, and Killean Sirrajin stalks inside through shards of jagged wood. No sooner than he enters, the Original Villain swings a steel chair, but Sirrajin will have none of it – he ducks the shot once, twice, and then nails Snow with a vicious big boot that flattens the Unified champ against the wall.

In the Ring...

Richard: NO! NO! NO! Someone HAS to get a message to Chainz! Snow just came off a big match – he's not ready for Sirrajin, that plebe!

Nick: Snow is getting exactly what he deserves for last week! Sirrajin will NOT be denied!!

In the ring, Tyler Rayne has mounted Walczak's chest and is delivering a set of right hands when Chainz grabs him from behind and hoists the smaller man up into an inverted suplex! He drops the move with bad intentions, and Rayne flops in the center of the ring for a moment after the impact. Chainz follows up with and elbow, and makes the cover...

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Tyler Rayne kicks out, and then he sits up and rolls out of the way of danger, but Chainz is in hot persuit. Rayne runs off and hits the ropes, springing back toward Chainz with momentum, only to have Chainz's large boot planted right between his eyes.

Nick: OH!

But then when Chainz turns around to deal with Walczak, he finds the Polish Punisher is already up, and a moment later, Chainz has an even bigger boot planted right between his own eyes!!

Nick: OOOHHH!!!

The giant Walczak hits the ropes and then leaps into the air for a heavy, deadly splash, but Chainz moves out of the way at the last second, leaving the flying Polish man crashing unforgiven into the canvas.

Backstage...

Jason Snow is bleeding and lying on the pile of rubble that's left of the desk he had been using to barricade himself into the room, but he's still trying to fight back. The effort is futile, and within moments, Sirrajin has him on his feet again and Irish whips him hard into the far wall, leaving a villainous imprint where Snow's body crashes into it.

The Unified Champ collapses and a moment later has a large chunk of the broken desk slammed down across his chest.

Nick: Killean Sirrajin is tearing the place apart!

Killean begins ripping the place down, starting with a water cooler and then begins smashing random holes in the wall. And then suddenly a smile comes onto his face as he spots the one object in the ring that he knows Jason Snow will care about...

From the floor, Snow's eyes grow wide...

Jason Snow: No... not my...

Sirrajin closes in; the tarp-draped object sitting in the corner of the room is no match for him. He picks it up high above his head, not bothering to remove the tarp from its six foot frame...

Snow crawls forward clumsily...

Jason Snow: Not my....

In one malicious, perhaps sadistic thrust, Killean Sirrajin slams the object into the floor, and stone shards explode out from under the tarp. Snow's eyes grow wide as he begins to shake...

Jason Snow: MY STATUE!!!

Back in the Ring...

Chainz is taking the beating to Walczak, who's now lying against the ropes. On the other side of the ring, Tyler Rayne is sprawled out. Chainz, with an incredible show of strength, actually picks Walczak up for a body slam and clumsily walks a few steps over to Rayne, where he drops the monster down on top of his other opponent!!

Nick: Oh my God! Did you see that!

Richard: That's what Snow pays him for! But he's in the wrong place!

With Walczak's weight crushing down on Tyler Rayne, Chainz covers both of them.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR-NO!

Walczak benchpresses Chainz up and drops him behind his head before rolling up to his feet and dropping a leg on Tyler Rayne.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH-NO!

Tyler Rayne somehow manages to kick out, after having a four hundred pound monster dropped on him, and then receiving a leg drop from said monster. He manages to get to the ropes and pull himself to his feet. Walczak approaches, but then is nailed out of nowhere by an inverted DDT by Chainz! Chainz for the cover...

ONE!

TWO!!

Tyler Rayne makes the save!

Chainz is immediately up and has Tyler Rayne by the throat. A moment later...

Richard: CHOKESLAM!!

Tyler Rayne is flattened out with the monster known as Chainz hovering over. He's about to put the finishing touches on when suddenly...

"Chainz!"

The beast hesitates over Rayne's body, wondering where the voice came from, and then within moments, everyone in the arena has their eyes glued to the WalTron. Up there, is Killean Sirrajin's face, his eyes wild, and a sadistic smile of his own on his face... The camera locks on it, and soon enough blends into the backstage...

Backstage...

Killean Sirrajin: Hey! Chainz! Yeah... I see that you're a little busy so I won't keep you. Just wanted to let you know...

The shot widens and we see Killean holding his prized trademark baseball bat, smeared heavily in crimson liquid.

Killean Sirrajin: I think I'll sell this on eBay... wanna buy it? It's worth a lot of money cause it has the blood of someone truly "Great" on it. Yeah, you heard me. This is my only warning. Stay out of my way from now on, or find yourself in worse shape than the Snowman here, and that's a promise. Just like the one I made last week.

The shot widens a second time and we now find Jason Snow's half-conscious body, beaten bloody, propped up on a pile of rubble left by the carnage. His eyes are unfocused; his hair – black with sweat and blood. Sirrajin smiles a second time and cocks the bat. Just as he swings, the WalTron fills with static, but the audio stays in tact just long enough to hear the words...

"Grand Slam..."

In the Ring...

By the time the camera cuts back to the ring, Chainz has already left and is heading backstage, despite Tracy's protests. We can't tell if he's angry at Sirrajin for what he's done or at Snow for letting it happen – but we know he's angry.

Nick: Chainz is leaving the arena!

Richard: Finally getting his priorities in order!

In the ring, Tom Walczak is up and stalking toward Tyler Rayne, whose still on the canvas. Walczak picks the smaller man up to his feet, only to take a flurry of right hands in the stomach. Walczak takes them in stride, and nails Raynes with a head butt. Tyler crashes to the mat, but it's only another moment before Walczak pulls him back to his feet.

Richard: Things aren't looking so good for Tyler Raynes – he's up against a man nearly twice his size!

Walczak delivers a crushing backbreaker and then follows it up with a cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR-NO!

Nick: I don't know how Tyler Rayne's still fighting this one out!

Frustrated, Walczak picks him up one more time and sends him off running to the ropes. But on the return, Tyler Rayne ducks a clothesline, hits the back ropes, and comes flying off with a drop kick! The Polish Punisher is rocked back a step, but stays on his feet. Rayne hits the ropes again, and this time leaps into an elbow smash that wobbles the giant, but still, he stays up.

Nick: One more time! Cut that tree down!

Tyler Rayne this time moves up to the top rope, raising his arms to a crowd that he's thoroughly won over in this match. And then, amid the flash bulbs and screaming fans, he leaps!

...Only to be caught in mid-air by Tom Walczak.

The Polish Punisher repositions his hoisted opponent...

Nick: POLISH POWERBOMB!!

Richard: This has got to be it!!

Walczak drops heavily to his knees, his opponent sprawled five-points in the center of the ring, and makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

THREE!!!

A smattering of boos comes up from the crowd as Tom Walczak rises to his feet and raises his hands in victory.

Nick: That man is going to be once again a force to be reckoned with in the wrestling world! Look at the size of him, Richard!

Walczak parades around the ring, his tree trunk arms raised high above his head.

Richard: He's an absolute powerhouse! I don't know if any one in PRIME today can handle that kind of power!

Backstage...

The shot returns backstage where Chainz is just now stepping over the rubble in Jason's Snow's doorway. He finds his employer, Snow, lying on the broken pieces of his precious statue, as well as other things. He steps inside, broken glass crunching under his feet, just as Tracy appears in the doorway.

Tracy: Oh my God! I... I... I'm going to call an ambulance.

Chainz remains silent. He kneels down next to the scene that has so shocked and scared his fiance – Jason Snow is bloodied to the point that his face is a mask, and already it's starting to swell. Grudgingly, Chainz reaches down and wraps Snow's arm around his neck, picking him up to his feet and dragging him over to a nearby, half-destroyed, sofa. Snow, only semi-conscious, is mumbling all the way with blood spilling out of his mouth...

Jason Snow: Bastard... ... ...broke my damn statue... plebe... pl... bastard...

Chainz puts Snow down, more roughly than is probably appropriate, and wipes his employer's blood off himself. He frowns down at the scene and then starts to head out of the dressing room and back toward the match, when faintly, Vince Howard's voice reaches his ears all the way from ringside...

"The winner of this match... "The Polish Punisshhheeerrrr!!!" TOM... WALCZAAAAK!!!"

Chainz freezes in his place and clenches his teeth.

Chainz: Motherfucker...

Since their entrance into PRIME, the tag team known as the Blue Rogues have made more than an impact on the tag team scene... they left a crater so wide that even the moon looks at it and goes, "Damn, boy!"

Their impact is not completely without controversy... the faction had an entourage bigger than Danny Ferguson's and has helped the tandem pull through otherwise impossible situations. The team is also notorious for keeping one half of its tag champions, Coral Avalon, outside of their general loop.

Neverthless, standing in front of the familiar backdrop are the aforementioned Rogues. While the six members of its entourage stood in the background in "civilian" clothing, Robert Falk completely blocking out most of the background just by standing there with his arms crossed, the Codemaster and Coral Avalon stand in front of them. Coral wore his title over his shoulder, while the Codemaster has his in his left hand, and a microphone in his right hand. They, too, are in "civilian" clothing, as they are not set to compete tonight.

Codemaster: Brothers. Sisters. Bizarre mutant hybrids.

The Codemaster pauses, absorbing the sounds of boos in the building and letting it get out of their systems.

Codemaster: We have once again stormed through Castle Wolfenstein, battling against Cyber Hitler until he falls over and dies. In other words, we have yet again defeated "Ze Germans" and walked away with the tag team championships firmly around our waists.

The Codemaster smirks.

Codemaster: So, where does that leave us, you might ask? Where does that leave the Blue Rogues, we who stand on top of the mountain that is PRIME's tag team division? We, who stand on the cusp of greatness, much like getting within just one or two hundred points of breaking your high score in Ms. Pac Man? I'll tell you what happens.

The Codemaster has lost his smirk and traded it in for a huge smile.

Codemaster: We... have become too good to defend these titles at your petty "Overkill" pay-per-view.

The fans boo... massively.

Codemaster: I mean, let's face it, our competition are basically whatever flavour of the month racists are flying around PRIME, claiming that their white power will save them. Now, as a man who represents "da hood", I respect my culture and, accordingly, I should counteract with the best thing I would know how... rap.

The Codemaster turns to Robert Falk.

Codemaster: Robert, give me a beat.

Robert Falk: No.

There is an awkward pause.

Coral: *muttering* It's like I hang out with a black Christian...

The Codemaster, unphased by Robert's refusal to "give him a beat", turns back to the camera and smirks.

Scott sighs.

Scott: Fine. I'll fucking do it.

The Codemaster turns to Scott, smirks in approval, and then turns back to the camera and assuming what I guess is a "rapping stance".

Codemaster: Yo, my name is Codemaster,
Compared to you bitches,
I am bigger, stronger, and faster.
I'll leave you all in stitches.

My homies are the Falks,
Robert and Scott,
One smashes, the other talks,
Knocking you out on the spot.

Our princess is Alexandria Malone,
She's our first champ,
She drops enemies like a stone,
She makes Tracy look like a tramp.

And then there's Mega Job,
I don't really know their names,
Mary-Sue, Steve, and Bob?
They don't even know their games.

And then there's Coral,
He's the other half,
He'll beat you all in a quarrel,
Though his forehead makes me laugh.

YEAH!

There is an awkward, terrible silence.

Coral: What the hell was that?

Alexandria Malone cannot stop laughing, while the other Rogues just look embarassed.

The Codemaster whirls around and looks at his fellow Rogues.

Codemaster: WHAT?

Alexandria calms down.

Alexandria: It's... it's just that... you're seriously the whitest black guy I ever met.

Codemaster: HEY!

Beef: She's got a point. Even we don't suck that badly. And we're Mega Job.

Coral: And what's this about my forehead?

Beef: Shut up, Sakura.

Coral: All of about two people are going to even get that reference.

Beef: Ehh.

Codemaster: Guh. Anyway.

The Codemaster turns back to the camera.

Codemaster: Rather than just simply defending our titles at some pay-per-view that maybe eight of you will order, we will sit this one out. We, the Blue Rogues, are too good for some nothing pay-per-view that happens before the big one. The one that matters above all other shows... Colossus.

The Blackest Brother in the Hyrule Kingdom, who just a moment ago sounded like the whitest guy in high school, continues to use his award-winning smile to annoy the fans.

Codemaster: Instead, we have to look to the future. We have to look at Colossus. We have to look at it and say, "Let's steal this show from everyone else and make even the Universal Champion look bad". That's why, we, the Blue Rogues... we have a different plan in mind for Overkill.

Codemaster: We... have the Blue Rogues' Gallery Gauntlet.

The fans are... confused.

Codemaster: We take whoever wants to dance with the Rogues at Colossus, and we stick them all in one match to decide who faces us at Colossus. You want a piece of us? Enter this match, survive it, and then we'll rumble like Link and a giant flaming Zelda scorpion.

The fans... approve?

Codemaster: But know this. Regardless of color, race, religion, or douchebaggery... we, the Blue Rogues, WILL keep rolling as tag team champions. We WILL knock you all down. Bank on it.

Static.

Let's move on.

Devin Shakur was having a rather normal yet content evening. He was relieved that Lisa Tyler had given him the card off so that his injuries could overcome their final healing process before Overkill. Tyler Rayne made his presence felt earlier in the evening, and a strange relationship with the two of them would more than likely develop. Not to mention that Shakur was always on the lookout for his femme fatale, Sun Tzu.

"I’m sorry that I can’t play you the Chinese national anthem every time you enter a new corridor."

Normalcy gets nipped in the bud by the presence of Jonathan Winters’ voice. Shakur turns on his heels and comes face to face with his newly acquired adversary.

Devin Shakur: Does this have a point Winters or are you just attempting to try and manipulate my head in some capacity?

Jonathan Winters: Everything I do has a point Shakur. Speaking of such, I would like for you to pay very close attention later this evening when I obliterate Lavelle for the second time in a row. It will bring me one step closer to the Intense Championship, and once I take that piece of gold off Dusk, I’ll show you how to carry a belt like a true champion. You know, since you couldn’t get it past one defense and all.

A confident smirk crawls across Winters' face, while Shakur just rolls his eyes.

Devin Shakur: You are seriously trying to rub a championship accomplishment in my face Winters? For someone who is seen as on the cusp of Universal title contention you sure are content with staying around the midcard and indulging us with your presence.

Jonathan Winters: It's of a great help to my narcissistic image, whenever I have the opportunity to shut one of you loud mouth punks up.

Devin Shakur: Yes, by shutting off lights in peoples locker rooms you further are cementing your place in purgatory. That narcissistic image ends up getting smashed to bits whenever you go up against the likes of Deville and Nova, or did your hippocampus get shit faced so you don’t remember that?

Winters gives a bit of a half frown and closes the gap between himself and Shakur, staring into the eyes of the Reject and giving one of those old school evil glares.

Jonathan Winters: You want to run your shit when you can’t even beat a naked hobo who is only over because he eats sandwiches and screams out vagina punch?

"ooooooooooooooooooo"

The Houston crowd gets into the insult contest and looks to be on the verge of seeing a fight between the two superstars.

Devin Shakur: I’d rather lose to him than to lose a woman to a steroid induced drug addict who is so weak minded that he almost died trying to feed his self destruction.

"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooo"

Somewhere, circa 1997, this voice can be heard.

Bobby Hennan: HERE WE GO!

Winters somehow manages to close the gap even more between himself and Shakur, their eyes are only inches apart and the anger seems to be boiling over in both of them.

Jonathan Winters: Heh, you know something Shakur, if you are really going to stoop to something that low, you really aren’t worth the time of day.

Devin Shakur: Just as I suspected, one of the capitalist minded douchebags. You say I’m not worth your time? Fuck that kid, you aren’t worth MY time. Now step out of the way.

Devin Shakur shoves past Winters and goes off down the corridor. Winters seems to be itching at the chance to jump Shakur from behind, but that is not his style.

Jonathan Winters: Hey, Shakur?

Shakur comes to a dead step, sighs, and goes to turn around.

Devin Shakur: What do you want n-

WHAM!

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Shakur gets planted flat on his back from an Indifference Maker right under the chin. Winters stands over him and stares down.

Jonathan Winters: Everything I do has a purpose Shakur…Everything.

Winters walks off down the corridor, leaving Commie Emo to gather himself up.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE FOLLOWING TAG TEAM CONTEST IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL!

"Third Reich From the Sun" by Hanzel Und Gretyl.

The fans, on basic principle, start to boo to their hearts content for the members of the KKK calling themselves Kevin Kassidy Kenwright and his massive bodyguard/tag team partner, Aryan. Once the two start marching down the ring proudly, Kenwright does his best to stay away from the hate mongering Houstonians before entering the ring. Flanking him closely, Aryan simply climbs over the ropes with ease and paces himself in the ring.

Vince: FROM HARRISON, ARKANSAS, WEIGHING IN AT A COMBINED WEIGHT OF 575 POUNDS… THE TEAM OF KEVIN KASSIDY KENWRIGHT AND ARYAN… THE RACE!

Nick: Now, fans, try to follow along with me on this one. There will be two massive Germans doing battle with two KKK members, in which one of them is aptly named Aryan. Only in PRIME do we have these kind of almost horrible proportions.

Richard: Yeah, only in PRIME do we have these kinds of horribly AWESOME proportions! Either somebody’s getting hung or somebody’s getting the gas chamber!

Nick: I can’t believe the crap that spews forth from your mouth! How have you not been fired?!

Richard: Because Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME wills it, bitch!

While KKK and Aryan discuss strategy, the hate continues to flow through the arena.

The lights in the arena go blood red before "Du Hast" by Rammstein blasts over the PA system. The towering behemoths that have run roughshod through their enemies thus far in PRIME walk so stoically, they don’t even look like they know they’re in an arena full of thousands. The two near 7-foot, 300-pounders both enter the ring, not taking their eyes off either Aryan or KKK.

Vince: AND THEIR OPPONENTS, FROM BERLIN, GERMANY, AT A COMBINED WEIGHT OF 590 POUNDS… THE TEAM OF KURT PANZER AND KLAUS STEINHEIL… DAS KORPS

Nick: Well, these fans are just continuously booing both teams. I don’t think we’ll hear much cheering going on unless somebody ends up getting injured in this ring, Nick. We know KKK is a very able-bodied athlete, spending some time in Legacy of Champions, based out of Florida. Aryan is a wild card here, but we’ve seen the destructive potential that Das Korps can unleash as noted by how they’ve BARELY lost out to the Tag Champs themselves who had to cheat to win.

Richard: Kevin and Kurt Panzer starting out in the ring first. The mouthy smaller guy versus one of these monstrous behemoths.

The bell rings as KKK and Kurt share a few words for one another.

Kurt: You’re going to burn for your friend posing as one of us, you filth.

KKK: No, YOU’RE gonna burn because God frowns on Bratwurst-stuffing, Hitler-loving, Oktoberfest-drinking pieces of sh…

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Kurt finds himself silenced real quick when a nasty right hook from Kurt strikes him directly in the face.

Nick: Here we go! Kurt obviously not playing around here tonight.

The German War Machine goes to town on the smallest man in this match – who’s no small man himself at 6’4" – and drills into him with several nasty forearm shots to the back of the skull. He whips him into a neutral corner and throws up several knees until referee Antonio Jones starts to make the five-count. Panzer steps back at four and a half and regains his composure… then goes in for a big Splash… KKK ducks!

While KKK maneuvers himself out of the corner, he scurries over to Aryan and makes a tag before hurriedly climbing out of the ring, not wanting anything more to do with Kurt.

Richard: Smart, smart move! When KKK has the advantage, let the giant come in and do the dirty work.

Nick: That’s not smart, that’s cowardly.

Richard: You say Tomato, I say "smart."

Aryan accepts the tag and young Scott Brock climbs over the ropes just as Kurt tags out to Klaus. Klaus climbs into the ring and the two behemoths meet, face to face. There’s only a one-inch difference between Klaus and Aryan, but the latter has more muscle mass than Steinheil does. Soon, the fans egg on both warriors to utterly slap the shit out of one another and they oblige, striking one another with unwavering ferocity.

RIGHT FROM KLAUS!

RIGHT FROM ARYAN!

RIGHT FROM KLAUS!

RIGHT FROM ARYAN!

RIGHT FROM KLAUS…

KNEE FROM ARYAN!

Aryan doubles Klaus over and drags him into a corner of his own before slamming him head-first into the turnbuckle several times. The Eastern Front staggers out of the corner and Aryan follows up with a BIG Clothesline that nearly decapitates him before following up with the first cover of the match, lateral press-style.

ONE!

TWO… NO!

Klaus violently kicks out of the cover, shocking even Aryan. Aryan goes to pick up Steinheil, but he has other plans in mind when he stops him temporarily with a jawbreaker. He bounces off the ropes and takes him down with a big Chop Block, bringing Aryan down to the mat.

Nick: Nice moves by Klaus! Aryan may be the stronger of the two, but Klaus is certainly no slouch in that department, plus he goes for the weak point. …I can’t believe I just complimented something these guys are doing.

Klaus tags Kurt Panzer and the two manage to power Aryan back to his feet. Right as they do so, they SPIKE him into the mat with a modified Double Spinebuster.

Richard: Damn! That’s some brutal double-teaming from Das Korps. These guys are animals and I’m lovin’ it!

Nick: You’re a perverse man, you know that?

Richard: Duh! It’s why I’m working HERE!

Kurt goes for the pinfall.

ONE!

TW-DROPKICK FROM KKK!

Kevin manages to stop the count with a deadly low Dropkick to the head of Panzer, knocking him off Aryan. While the giant is stunned, this gives Aryan the chance to take the advantage. He throws several vicious knees into the head of Kurt before connecting with the Body Slam followed up by a HUGE Legdrop across the throat! Aryan tries to continue, but now KKK suddenly wants to tag in.

Nick: Of course KKK wants in now that tag since Aryan did the dirty work!

Richard: What’d I tell you? He’s being SMART!

Aryan tags in Kenwright and allows the White Hero to start working his magic. He peppers the fallen Panzer with several stomps to the head and bounces off the ropes to gain some momentum for a HUGE Leaping Knee Drop to the head. Kevin rolls through and takes a mock bow to the jeering audience. Wanting to show off his superior athleticism, he hops over the ropes to the apron in a single leap and waits for Kurt to bring himself to his feet. When The German War Machine gains his footing, he’s brought back down with a great Springboard Dropkick to the face!

Richard: Cocky, arrogant, athletic, smart… I’m tellin’ ya, this KKK kid’s going places!

Nick: Yeah! To Hell for preaching this racist rhetoric on PRIME television.

Kevin nonchalantly throws all his body weight across the shoulders of Panzer and makes the cover.

ONE!

TW-KICKOUT!

An angry Kevin starts shouting at the referee, but then turns his attention back to Panzer. Deciding he wants to show off once again, Kurt leaps to the top rope in a single bound and flies off with a picture-perfect Moonsault Body Block!

Nick: Nice move from KKK…uh-oh.

Richard: Uh-oh is right!

Panzer, showing AMAZING strength, manages to catch The White Hero over his shoulder and runs forward, drilling the mouthy KKK member with a Running Powerslam! Panzer takes a moment to give himself a reprieve and tags Klaus into the ring once again.

Nick: Now Das Korps have the advantage again… WHAT A MOVE!

Kevin gets tossed to the ropes and finds himself getting Double Flapjacked in the center of the ring. As Kurt leaves the ring, Klaus shoots the half and goes for the pin on KKK.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Richard: Aryan saves KKK with a boot to the head! Heh, the KKK member kicked the German around.

Nick: I can’t believe you’re endorsing this!

Klaus powers KKK back to his feet and just as quickly drives him down to the mat with a stiff Exploder Suplex. While Kevin tries to pry himself off the mat, Klaus smirks and positions himself for something big, holding out both hands.

Nick: We could be seeing the Howitzer here in moments. If Klaus hits this move, there ain’t no hope for Kenwright!

Richard: Eep! He’s got… NO!

The Eastern Front grabs Kevin by the neck and powers him up for the Chokebomb, but Kevin thinks quickly and claws away at the giant’s eyes, making him release his grip. Kenwright hops to the second turnbuckle of the nearest corner and leaps with a modified Leg Drop kick across the throat of Klaus, falling both he and the big man!

Nick: Kenwright showing great speed and athleticism in this match thus far and this appears to be the opening The Race need.

Richard: COME ON, GERMANS! COME ON, KKK! GET UP! DO SOMETHING!

The fans boo both sides and just start roaring at both parties as Kenwright and Klaus struggle to get to the other’s corners. Simultaneously, they both make the tag!

Nick: I think we’ve just see the first Hot Tag done by bad guys… EVER.

Richard: These fans are just booing the guys in the ring because they’re better than they are!

Nick: You have no idea how NOT true that is.

Aryan makes the tag and the burly bodyguard of Kevin Kenwright throws a stiff Running Elbow to Kurt, knocking him down! Klaus gets back up and runs at him, but gets struck down with a big clothesline!

DOUBLE AXE-HANDLE FOR KURT!

Stienheil elbows him in the head and stuns Aryan long enough to go for a big Irish whip to the ropes. Steinheil tries for a big boot, but Aryan ducks and bounces back off the ropes. Before Klaus knows what the Hell hit him…

Richard: WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER, I SAY, WHITE GODDAMN POWER!

Nick: Where’d THAT come from?!

Richard: That’s the name of the Spear, retard! WHITE POWER! Catch, no?

Nick: NO!

Whether loved or hated in that particular instance, Aryan stomps around the ring like he owns it after putting down Klaus with the White Power. After landing the big-time maneuver, Kevin Kenwright watches on in horror as both Aryan AND a storming Kurt Panzer go sailing through the ropes…

Richard: BLITZKRIEG! BLITZKRIEG! BLITZKRIEG! BY GOD, IT’S THE BLITZKRIEG!

Nick: What a Spear from Panzer! Both he and Aryan are on the outside… but, WAIT! Kevin’s in the ring now!

Sure enough, he was now the legal man. During Kurt and Aryan’s dive through the ropes, Kevin had made a blind tag on Aryan and climbs into the ring. Looking around like he doesn’t know what to do, he shrugs and cradles the legs of the hurt Steinheil, going for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"Third Reich from the Sun" by Hanzel Und Gretyl.

Vince: HERE ARE YOUR WINNERS!... THE RACE!

At ringside, Kurt halts his attack on Aryan as he looks up and sees Kevin Kassidy Kenwright getting his arm raised by the referee. He fumes silently and kicks the steel steps, frustrated with his loss.

Nick: Well, it’s not like either team is well-liked here in PRIME thus far, but Kevin Kenwright just took advantage of a bad situation!

Richard: Bullshit! All he did was pin the guy…

Nick: Yeah, after Aryan did most of the heavy lifting!

Panzer slides into the ring just as Kevin exits the other way, fearing retribution from the giant that can still walk at present time. As Kurt checks on his tag team partner who starts to come around after the Spear from Aryan, said perpetrator of the Spear and KKK start making their way up the ramp, happy to have started their mark in PRIME with a big win.

Nick: Well, ladies and gentlemen, The Race are victorious, but we’ve still got a lot of night to come left, including the 5-Star Title match between Killean Sirrajin appearing on ReV for the last time against Easton Hall! Stay tuned!

The roars from the crowd die away as the tag team match we've just witnessed peels away from a small television screen. As the camera pulls back to get the bigger picture we begin to see another group of men who would be contenders for the tag team titles.

"The Captain" and the self-proclaimed, "Eighth Wonder of the World."

The smaller, and compact Captain furrows his brow, staring on at the winners. He seems irritated but his pompous and arrogant attitude pushes past that. He puffs his chest and spits on the ground in disgust.

Captain Suleimon: Feh! This spectacle that they wish they could call wrestling is starting to get under my skin. It sickens my stomach that people as low as these goat herders are getting the spotlight.

Murphy looks back at his partner, almost despondently. His eyes are sullen and it looks like he hasn't slept in a long time. His beard is getting overgrown and generally he looks under the weather. When he speaks however, an altogether more sinister and menacing tone greets the audience.

Jack Murphy: (softly) I'll tell you something Captain. There are many things I have had to put up with over the years in this industry, but right now I'm walking near a line I never thought I'd have to cross.

He gets right up against the Captain's face, looking him square in the eyes with his own which are flashing with something dangerous, crazy in his head. The straw has been broken it seems in this man's mind.

Jack Murphy: I'm fed up, and it starts at Overkill. I don't care what people think anymore because things have to change. You're either with me, or against me Captain. You'll know what I'm talking about come Overkill.

Without another word, Murphy skulks off camera. The Captain is left slightly puzzled and confused as we fade to black.

The stinging sensation from Shakur’s jaw is still apparent as he walks down the hallway talking on a cellular phone. Winters had caught him by surprise, Shakur will admit that, but as has been known to happen many times, especially in PRIME, what goes around will eventually come around.

Yes, I just paraphrased a Justin Timberlake song. Next, Sanjaya’s sister will have another cameo and make the Earth tilt ten degrees, killing us all, by jumping up and down.

The person Shakur is talking to on the phone is of the most importance…At least if he wants to get laid it is. Ladies, Gentlemen, mutant hybrids, and Mike Renner…Sun Tzu.

"I just don’t know, Commie Emo, I’m at the end of my rope with these capitalists. Once I took out that whore K-Wolf, I felt a little empty inside. I need someone new whose life I can make very miserable, and no front runners are jumping out yet.

Devin still cannot exactly deduce whether her calling him Commie Emo is a good thing or a bad thing.

Devin Shakur: So you have no idea when you are coming back?

"Once the time comes, I will know."

Devin stops in front of his locker room and is mulling what to say next. Should he just come outright and tell her that he loves her, sans joking, or should he find a way to delay said inevitability.

"You look at a loss for words, Commie Emo."

Devin Shakur: How can you tell?

"I can see you on the television."

Devin Shakur: Wait, you are watching this?

"Of course. I have to subconsciously give Chinese manufacturers a cheap plug, since half of the shit your capitalist homeland uses is made by our people."

Devin Shakur: And yet they are void of the immense amount of profit that American sleaze balls make. A damn shame.

"They should get the reparations they so truly deserve. That being said, I should be on my way. Don’t let those narcissistic pricks keep you down Emo, you are one of the good ones."

Devin really hopes that he never runs into Lindsay Troy backstage, the amount of jokes she probably has on this are endless.

Devin Shakur: What can I do while you are gone to ensure that the capitalist agenda does not die?

"Actions speak louder than words, Commie Emo."

The call comes to an end, leaving Devin leaning up against the wall in contemplation of his next move. He wants to get his name out to the public, in a way that she has managed to do, so that they don’t forget. He also wants her not to forget him…ever.

And then it hits him. The years of his life that he spent running a technology company begin to put themselves into use. A sly smirk creeps across his face as he turns and goes into the locker room, slamming the door behind him.

The Race. Kevin Kassady Kenwright, sage of segregation and pontificating pope of racial purification. Scott Brock. The Aryan. Learned apprentice in the ways of white supremist warfare. True and unerring believers in the Just and Righteous path to Cleansing the genetic cesspool of foul bacterium. Filth, infecting the very Moral Fiber of our once great Nation. The very existence of these…outsiders an insult to God upon High. Fanatics alone, together they become an Ideal. Together they are Powerful and Unstoppable. Garbed in garments of glaring white, pure and untainted as God intended His World to truly be, they march the halls of the Toyota Center with Purpose and Intent.

The applause echoes loudly through an otherwise empty hallway. The Race, two men bound by a single goal, turn to find an unexpected admirer. Tyler Rayne, controversial newcomer to the PRIME scene, sporting a plain white tee over faded denims. He is smiling. He is clapping. He is characteristically over-enthusiastic.

Rayne: Fantastic performance, fellas. Truly entertaining shit. I have to say, I’m not sure anything gives me jollies more than seeing a couple psycho-Christian, sheet wearin’ sheep fuckers get beat up by Neo-Nazi fascist pigs. Or was it the swastika suckin’ German nancy boys gettin’ beat up by them God fearin’ American bastards. To be honest, I can’t really tell the difference. Y’all look the same to me.

Aryan, a physically massive and intimidating human being, begins to take a step forward. Triple K, however, stops him with a hand, a bemused look upon his face.

KKK: What is it you’re playin’ at, boy?

Rayne: I’m not playin’ anything, son. Just thought I’d come by and show my appreciation for such an entertaining evening. You boys suck that bad naturally, or did your mothers teach you how to do that?

This time, Kenwright does not stop his student from making a move. A large, monstrous hand wraps tightly around Rayne’s throat, lifting him a handful of inches from the ground, slamming him back first into the wall.

KKK: I simply do not understand you people. Here we are, trying to make your world a better place, trying to do God’s work, and all we receive in return are belittling remarks and misplaced hatred. All I want is a proper place to raise my children. Is that too much to ask? Is it so much to want a country free of the genetic pollution of niggers, spicks, chinks, and hundreds of other…cretins? All these ‘people’ are good for is raising crime rates and spreading like a disease through our culture. They infect the minds of our children. They attempt to infuse themselves into the very fiber of this country’s inner workings. They are nothing more than a plague, and we are the cure. We’re trying to do you a favor. Why can’t you appreciate that?

Rayne: Probably because I’m not completely friggin’ mind fucked. I mean, seriously, what’s it take to get as crazy you? Ol’ boy’s dick jab the back of your fuckin’ brain seven too many times, or what?

Kenwright actually smiles at the insult. Even gives a little laugh.

KKK: You’re an imbecile, that much is obvious. Though, that’s not your fault. You’re simply a victim of media programming. Nothing more than a mindless drone of their political propaganda. One day you’ll wake up and see the truth. We are not the enemy here. They are. That is the truth of things. When we are finally victorious, then even ones such as you will be unable to deny us that. You have potential, Rayne. If only your passion were directed down the righteous path. This is your one reprieve. Trust that if we meet under similar circumstances again, we will not be as forgiving a second time. Brother or no.

Aryan, visibly disappointed that blood shall not be spilled on Rayne’s account, appeases himself with merely throwing the traitor into the opposite wall. Reluctant to leave such words without retaliation, it is a handful of steps before the student takes stride behind his teacher. In the meantime, Tyler Rayne pulls himself to his feet, rubbing at the hand print pasted across the flesh of his throat.

Rayne: You know, I was really hopin’ you boys was gonna go all Yosemite Sam on me. ‘Them’s fightin’ words’ and all that. Figured maybe if I insult your mothers, or your heritage, or somethin’, you’d feel like a scrap. Then again, maybe I shoulda jump started this whole thing and skipped straight to the part where I kick your ass.

When they turn, Rayne is ready. Aryan takes a boot to the junk, immediately taking the largest of The Race out of the fight. A quick jab to Triple K’s throat sends him staggering, relentless rabbit punches from Rayne’s right continuing the racist’s reluctant retreat. Kenwright finds his wits quickly, at the least getting forearms up to defend the assault. A second later, the barrage is halted when Aryan smashes a boulder-like fist into Rayne’s kidney. Rayne is thrown into a nearby wall, where Aryan continues to pummel the newcomer’s abdominal area. Internal organs may burst at any moment.

KKK: Enough.

The White Hero pushes his apprentice aside, putting his own hand around the jaw of this…infidel. Pathetic. Worthless.

KKK: Drag that table here. It would appear that you are not the only one, Aryan, in need of certain enlightenments. Tonight we’ve taught Rayne a lesson in respect. Perhaps others can learn from his mistake as well.

The table is set-up behind Kenwright, as one might naturally have assumed. KKK drags Rayne away from the wall, pulling him in close to the clutches of a T-bone, and then slamming him through the table, down to the unprotected floors of the Toyota Center with the "Whitewash." The Race, victorious in this instance as they intend to be in their own war, leave their victim in a pile of splintered wood and broken ambitions.

Nick: This next match should be quite interesting. It involves two up and coming stars in Jonathon Winters and Pierce Lavelle, and the winner gets a shot at Dusk for the Intense Championship.

Richard: Woo-hoo this should really be a doozy.

Nick: I don’t sense any real excitement in your voice Richard.

Richard: Why should I be excited? This is a match that leads to another match. Can’t they just pick out of a hat and save us the trouble.

Nick shakes his head, but has no time to respond as the lights in the arena go out. The rhythmic beats of "Map of the Problematique" by Muse fill the arena, and the crowd instantly reacts.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing 235 pounds…PIERCE LAVELLE.

Fear, and panic in the air
I want to be free
From desolation and despair
And I feel like everything I sow
Is being swept away
Well I refuse to let you go

The roar of the crowd drowns out the music as Pierce Lavelle makes his way to the ring. He slides into the ring and climbs onto the turnbuckle addressing the crowd. Hopping down he loosens up awaiting the arrival of his opponent.

Nick: Well it looks like we know who the crowd will be pulling for in this match.

Richard: I never knew your respected the opinion of the crowd so much Nick.

As Nick tries to respond the lights once again get dim, and Richard once again gets the last word. The lights remain dim as the music slowly reaches the ears of the fans.

Life is a waterfall,
We're one in the river,
And one again after the fall.

The lights instantly turn on showing Jonathon Winters standing on the ramp with a cold look directed towards the crowd. The crowd does not seem to mind as they shower Winters with boos.

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

Vince Howard: Now making his way to the ring JONATHON WINTERS.

Before Vince Howard can even finishing saying his name he is drowned out by the fans who don’t hesitate to show their disdain towards Winters. Winters climbs into the ring and stares down Lavelle who stands on the opposite side of the ring. The bell sounds but both men stand their not wanting to initiate the action.

Nick: The match seems to be getting off to a slow start with neither man taking a step forward.

Richard: I think that they realize just how pointless this match is to. Why doesn’t Lavelle just lie down, and we can move forward.

Nick: Now why would he do that? If he wins the match he gets a title shot.

The two men slowly walk towards the center of the ring not taking their eyes off one another. Finally Winters delivers a strong Knife Edge Chop to Lavelle, who grabs his chest turning away from his opponent.

Nick: What a way to start the action that shot was heard all the way in the nosebleeds.

Richard: If Lavelle was smart he would listen to me and just lay down. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who is going to win this fight.

Nick: Clearly it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who you have winning, but Lavelle is a strong fighter, and I don’t think this match can be predicted easily.

Winters pounces on Lavelle hitting him with a barrage of fists that backs him up into the turnbuckle. He is relentless and eventually punishes Lavelle into the ground. Winters makes his way to the opposite turnbuckle, and runs full force back towards Lavelle delivering a vicious knee to his face.

Nick: Jesus, that knee was disgusting. It must have loosened a few of Lavelle’s teeth.

Richard: Hey at least I get to see Winters mess up that pretty little face of Lavelle.

Winters once again makes his way to the other side of the ring. He runs towards Lavelle even faster than before, but Pierce slides away from the turnbuckle and Winters Knee slams into it directly. Winters grabs his knee in pain falling to the ground. The referee starts a ten count as both men lie on the ground.

1…

2…

3…

Nick: This could put a halt to any plans Dusk had of defending his title at Overkill.

4…

Lavelle grabs the ropes and slowly brings himself to his feet. Winters is a little quicker to his feet, but as he runs towards Lavelle he is met with a vicious clothesline sending him crashing back into the mat. Lavelle goes for the quick cover.

1…

Winters kicks out, and Lavelle jumps up grabbing Winters hair to pull him up.

Nick: It seems that the tides have turned Richard, and Pierce Lavelle is now on the offensive.

Richard: What can I say the guy definitely has resilience, but I still think in a couple of minutes he will be carried out of here on a stretcher.

Lavelle picks up Winters and slams him down with a back body drop. He pulls Winters up slightly and applies an Octopus Stretch. A look of pain comes across the face of Winters, as Lavelle readjusts the hold and latches it on tighter.

Nick: It looks like this may be it for Winters, Lavelle has the hold locked on pretty tight.

Just as it looks like hope is lost for Winters he reaches his arm out and grabs hold of a rope. The referee jumps in to break the hold, and Lavelle obliges. Winters tries to make his way up getting to one knee. Lavelle reaches down to get a hold of Winters but is met with a sharp elbow to the gut, followed by another and then another until he lets go of Winters. Winters gets up and makes his way towards Lavelle, he grabs Lavelle’s arm and sends him into the ropes, as Lavelle comes back Winters lifts him up on his shoulders and delivers a forceful Samoan Drop.

Richard: There we go Johnny boy show him how they do it.

Nick: Winters has definitely shown his potential as he once again takes control of the match.

Winters picks Lavelle up and once again hoists him up to his shoulders. He showboats to the crowd carrying Lavelle around the ring until he slams him head first with a Death Valley Driver. He quickly gets on top of Lavelle hooking a leg.

1…
2…….

Lavelle gets a shoulder up just as the referees hand was about to hit the mat. Winters slams his fist thinking that the match should be over. He complains to the referee backing him into a corner as he voices his displeasure.

Nick: Winters is making a mistake here. All this time that he spends arguing is time that Pierce has to recover.

Richard: He knows what he’s doing, plus he’s arguing for a good cause the referee definitely hesitated on that count.

Much as Nick predicted Lavelle has managed to regain some of his strength back and gets back to his feet. He runs towards Winters, still tied up with the referee. Lavelle jumps on the back of Winters sending him into the turnbuckle with the referee escaping just in time. Winters comes of the turnbuckle as Lavelle runs off the rope, and slams Winters into the mat with a bulldog.

Nick: This could do it, Winters seems to be out cold.

Lavelle covers his opponent waiting for a three count and his shot at the title.

1..

2…

3…

Nick: No, that wasn’t enough Winters kicks out at the last possible second. This match truly is a back and forth contest.

Richard: Just wait, this is the turning point in the match. Winters was just playing possum, and now he’ll pounce.

Lavelle picks Winters up off of the mat and sends him of the ropes. Lavelle runs to meat him and sticks out his knee sending Winters flipping towards the mat. As Winters grabs his sternum and rolls on the mat Lavelle makes his way towards the turnbuckle. Lavelle makes his way to the top turnbuckle and waits for Winters to get to his feet.

Richard: I don’t like where this is going. WATCH OUT WINTERS!! WATCH OUT!!

Nick: As useful as your words of wisdom are I don’t think that he can hear you.

Sure enough Nick proves to be right as Lavelle lands a nasty missile dropkick that sends Winters to the mat. Not wasting any time he once again covers his adversary, and once again awaits victory.
1…

2…

3…

Nick: Once again Winters manages to pick his shoulder up at the last possible moment.

Richard: That one was close. I don’t like the way that this match is going.

A look of disbelief comes across the face of Lavelle as he thought for sure Winters was finished with that maneuver. Winters breathes heavily as Lavelle thinks out his next maneuver. He picks up a lifeless Winters and sends him into the ropes. As he goes for the clothesline Winters ducks underneath he turns around and hits a flawlessly executed DDT on Lavelle. Both men once again find themselves on their backs as Winters slowly makes his way over to cover Lavelle.

1..

2…

Nick: Lavelle is not done yet, and it looks like that momentary pause to cover could have been the difference.

Richard: At least this match is back on track. You know I’m not going to lie Nick I was worried there for a second.

Nick: I’m sure you were Richard, but this match is far from being over.

Richard: Hey, you can tell yourself whatever you need to if that helps you to sleep at night, but Winters isn’t going to let this one get away from him.

Both men rise to their feet, but Winters is able to act first landing a European Uppercut that send Lavelle reeling. Coming off the ropes Lavelle is met with another powerful European Uppercut once again sending him off of the ropes. Winters goes for a swift kick to Lavelle’s side, but Lavelle gathers some strength and manages to catch the leg. He walks Winters to the center of the ring, but Winters reacts with a fierce Enziguri.

Nick: RELUCTANT REVOLUTION!!! This match has to be over now not many people can get up from a kick that powerful.

Richard: Nick, if you were paying attention to me earlier in the night than you wouldn’t be so surprised. I called this all along.

Lavelle lies face first on the mat, and Winters rolls him over and goes for the pin.

1….

2….

3………..

Nick: How did he kick out of that? He must be running purely on instincts.

Richard:……..

Nick: I can’t believe it you’re…you’re...speechless.

Winters once again goes for the pin hoping Lavelle has no energy left.

1…

2….

Lavelle once again kicks out, leaving Winters stumped as to what he should do next. Winters starts to slap Lavelle around mocking him as he lies nearly lifeless on the mat.

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The actions of Winters are strongly disapproved of by the crowd, and Lavelle tries to get up to prevent this humiliation. He grabs at Winters, but to no avail as Winters is able to remain out of reach. Lavelle is brought to his feet by Winters, but only to be brought thrown forcefully into the turnbuckle. Lavelle can barely hold himself up on the ropes.

Nick: Lavelle can’t have much energy left. He can hardly hold himself up, but Winters is just taunting him.

Richard: Relax this match is as good as done. In fact I’m going to run out and get some snacks, is there anything that you want.

Nick: You can’t be serious.

Richard walks away from the announcers table, and makes his way to the nearest concession stand as Winter’s stands there looking over Lavelle with a somewhat cocky smile. He stands in the center of the ring, and the out of nowhere…

Nick: INDIFFERENCE MAKER! INDIFFERENCE MAKER!!!! This has got to be it, Lavelles head just snapped back there is no way that he can possibly muster enough energy to get up from this. Wait what is that….

"Burn" by Nine Inch Nails blasts over the PA system and Devin Shakur makes his way down the aisle.

This world rejects me
This world threw me away
This world never gave me a chance
This world's gonna have to pay

Nick: What is Shakur doing here? He has no reason to be out here.

Winters is drawn away from the match at hand and makes his way towards the edge of the ring. He motions for Shakur to make his way towards the ring.

Nick: The drama between these two is well documented, but it is still odd that Shakur is making his way out here.

The referee taps Winters on the back showing him his downed opponent, but Winters throws the referee down to the mat, and turns his attention back towards Shakur. Shakur waves his finger at Winters showing that he is not coming down to the ring but this only angers Winters more.

Nick: Shakur is just standing there mocking Winters, but this has all given time for Pierce Lavelle to recover. Winters has to be careful or this match is going to get away from him.

Away from the current confrontation Pierce Lavelle is gaining back his strength and getting back up to his feet. With Winters back to him Lavelle is able to lock on the Kata Hajime. He drags Winters to the ground wrapping his legs around Winters torso. Winters flails his arms in the air, but slowly he loses energy and his arms fall to the mat. The referee lifts Winters lifeless arm up into the air.

1…..

2…..

3……….

The referee calls for the bell as Winters lifeless arm falls to the mat a third time. Lavelle lets go of his opponent and lifts his arms into the air in victory.

Crowd: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Vince Howard: Your winner by way of submission…..PIERCE LAVELLE!!!!

Nick: I can’t believe this, Shakur has cost Jonathon Winters a shot at the Intense Title at Overkill.

Devin Shakur runs down to the ring and starts to pound on the already fallen Jonathon Winters. Then the speakers once again come on this time filling the arena with "Headstrong" by Trapt.

Circling your, circling your, circling your head,
Contemplating everything you ever said
Now I see the truth, I got doubt
A different motive in your eyes and now I’m out
See you later
I see your fantasy, You want to make it a reality paved in gold
See inside, Inside of our heads
Well now that’s over
I see your motives inside, decisions to hide

Nick: What is this? Dusk is making his way down to the ring, possibly to give us an early preview of the Intense Title Match at Overkill.

Dusk makes runs down to the ring sliding underneath the ropes. He runs towards Lavelle and the two of them exchange blows. Their scuffle makes their way towards Devin Shakur knocking him off of Jonathon Winters. Shakur takes exception to this and punches Dusk in the back. Dusk turns away from Lavelle and starts to go at it with Shakur.

Nick: The ring has gone into complete chaos.

Lavelle teams with Shakur and both men start to unload on Dusk. Winters gets to his feet, and sees the melee that is ensuing only feet away from him. Winters runs towards the action and jams a forearm into the back of Devin Shakur. Once again the action goes to one on one, as foes fight foes.

Nick: Someone has to get down here. If no one comes to stop these four can go at it all night.

The men continue to pound on each other. Coming down the aisle are forces of security officers. They fill the ring trying to separate the four men. The ring is packed with men, and security is eventually able to separate the four fighters.

Nick: Finally some semblance of order has been restored to the ring.

Security escorts the men out of the ring and takes them backstage one by one. Richard finally makes his way back to the announcers table carrying some nachos and a soda.

Richard: So, did I miss anything.

Nick shakes his head at Richard slamming his headset on the table, and staring at him in disgust.

"Throw up your rockfist if you're feelin it when I drop this..."

The opening to RawkFist by Thousand Foot Krutch rocks the arena, the tune already familiar to the PRIME faithful. The Wal*Tron lights up with more video footage to hype the man well known... and he hasn’t even shown his face yet.

It’s a scene that will be common place at shows until he debuts, a date which has now been determined.

"It's time to take it up a notch, and keep it locked, for all the headbangers in the parking lot. Here we come!

Donnelly is seen flying in the air in a convention center on the video. He lands hard after executing a picture perfect 450 splash on his unlucky opponent. When the scene shifts again, he springboards off the top rope after being whipped into it and in a flash, he twists in the air and plants his opponent with an amazing DDT that has the poor soul standing on his head for a moment.

"All I know, is what it did take to make this. All I am is what it will take to break this.
Light it up now, Light it up now."

The music fades back a bit and people are seen filtering out from a small arena. Then, people randomly come onto the screen, talking about the self professed "Ego of New England".

Business Man: "Unbelievable!"

College Girl: "Absolutely Amazing!"

Ol' Farmer: "Spectacular, but a first grade arsehole of the worst kind."

Another scene is shown of Nitz jumping from the top, backflipping and catching his prey with a beautiful dropkick sending the small crowd into a picture flashing frenzy.

Lawyer: "He may be a prick, but he’s sure talented!"

Grandma: "He made me feel young again."

7 year old boy: "He blew my fucking mind!!!2!!21"

The music in the arena comes to a halt with a record type scratch. Donnelly is shown on the video, posing with a large smile on his face, his leather jacket wrapped around him and his black hair with silver streaks looking flawless. He winks.

"The Ego of New England... corrupting the vocabulary of third graders everywhere!"

The music starts again, showing more highlight reel moments and in between, the scene shifts for a moment to some quotes.

Donnelly: PRIME needs a severe injection of life saving treatment for No Talent Syndrome!

More short video, the crowd throwing a mixture of cheers and boos out, most loving to hate the young phenom.

Donnelly: I’m a fuckin’ asshole and not afraid to admit it! I’ll spit it at ya everyday!

The scenes speed up.

Donnelly: Everyone’s eyes will light up and their jaws will gape in amazement, right before I break that bitch!

The scenes switch very fast and then stop, white letters showing on the screen.

Nicholas Donnelly...

At ReVolution 132.

Donnelly: Mark the calendars bitches! PRIME’s goin’ High Fuckin’ Class!

The Ego of New England debuts! On Istanbullshittin’!

The camera finds itself backstage once more, to which a pair of double doors suddenly burst open from a pair of feet.

Two generic-looking "thugs" (we're talking the rappers, not the ones from the old mobster films) burst open the doors and wield mighty boom boxes that blast "C.R.E.A.M" by the Wu-Tang Clan at ear-splitting decibels. Two more thugs come from behind, looking tough as ever and behind them, Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, marches through the halls with a look of disgust on his face. After his match against Jasmine Drogan, he needs to get the fuck out of Houston, ASAP. He shouts over the music, looking triumphant that he and only he can get such a nice entourage.

Silver: All right, dawgs. We's gonna bounce up out this Texas shithole and we gon' get some bitches and hoes, ASAP. And by "bitch" I don't mean Snow and by "Hoe" I don't mean Chainz. Let's go, dawgs. Call me Lil Spoon cause I'm about ta stir up some shit!

The posse nod in support of Operation Bitches and Hoes as they prepare to leave the building…

At least, that WAS the plan...

From high up in the air, Sonny's OLD SKOOL MIC~! is released, and it swings toward him at a high rate of speed. The two thugs in the front see it coming, and they move out of the way, which is unfortunate for Father PRIME because he has no idea what's about to hit him.

THUNK!

The microphone ricochets off Sonny's face, sending his hands flying to cover his left eye.

Silver: OUCH! WHAT THE F…

His right eye looks around furiously, before settling on a figure seated atop a stack of tables.

Silver: YOU!

Troy: Miss me, sugarplum?

She jumps off the tables, lands flat-footed and spin-kicks Sonny right against his temple. The thugs instinctively reach for their guns, except it's a PRIME mandate that the only person "allowed" (and we use that term loosely) to carry weapons is Sun Tzu. So they're left to watch He Who Signs Your Paychecks crumple to the ground while the new Universal Champ hovers over him.

Troy: Y'know, Sonny, I realized after all this time that you and I never really had a little chat about what happened a month or so ago. Maybe it's because you were too busy sticking your nose up Caesar's asscrack and I was content to just let Killean and Danny toss you around like the raggedy puppet you are.

Her foot is magnetically drawn to his chest, which she stomps on forgivingly.

Troy: But you didn't think I'd really let them have all the fun, now did you?

Again with the foot to the chest. Sonny splutters, trying to cover up.

Troy: I figure now's as good a time as any to impress upon you that this is only the start of the Payback. You're going to be owing quite a bit once I get you in the ring at Overkill, Fuckhead. And the best part? You're never going to have enough to cover the debt you put yourself in.

With a violent shove, he throws Lindsay back and hobbles his way to his feet, still holding his eye with his one hand. Grimacing, he stares straight at her with his good eye.

Silver: Bitch, you've made a GRAVE error on this night. Killean's ass is only retiring because he's ducking me, Tchu's a gutless pussy who hits and runs and Danny needed a chair and some illegal Piledriver to keep me down. As for you…

He looks at the Universal Title strapped around her waist and blinks.

Silver: As far as I'm concerned, remember that when it comes between me and you, Lindz, history runs deep. Remember the fact that when it's come down to just you and me standing in a ring, YOU'RE MY BITCH or do you not remember me smacking you around the fWo before YOU came to ME for help in screwing over little ol' Ted Tallison. Nova had a good run as champion, but I promise you that me and no other is going to take that strap off your undeserving waist, it WILL be me. Remember that.

Troy nods her head in that "I know something you don't know" look and steps right up to him.

Troy: I always knew that "past is the past" bullshit you spewed was exactly that. Y'can't let go of anything, and after next week you won't be able to forgive and forget either.

The sneer that was about to form on Silver's face turns to one of anguish as Troy drives a knee into his balls and pushes him hard against the wall. His head cracks against the plaster and he slumps down. Troy looks at the thugs, who are trying not to be intimidated by this rather tall woman with the pain-inflicting knee.

Troy: Got anything else besides Wu-tang Clan?

They all just look at each other, before one fast-fowards the mix tape to the end and flips it over to the other side. "Queen Bitch" by Lil Kim starts to play.

Troy: That's better.

She walks off, and Sonny's troupe follows in her wake.

Slipping quarters into the black plastic slot of the soda machine, Nova breathes a deep sigh of relief as he hears the clanking of the can dropping down into the grab slot.

Throughout his wrestling career – and his entire life, really – the Risen Star has taken solace in times of duress…

…in Shasta® Black Cherry soda. Yum.

He walks down the hall, can in hand, and pushes open the door to his dressing room, only to find it most occupied by a certain red-headed, green-trunked, hyphenated-adjective-applicable superstar:

Danny Ferguson.

Danny Ferguson: (Giving a little wave) Heeeeey, there. Sorry for the short notice, but I just HAD to get out of my locker room. It’s a madhouse in there! People just gabbing like a goddamned Euchre circle…"Grand-Slam Champion" this, and "Good lord, did I stomp Nova’s ass and take his strap" that…I mean, I know our little cadre has been doing a lot of winning here lately – a LOT of winning – but it isn’t everything, ya know?

Danny removes the toothpick that has jutted out annoying from his teeth and flicks it across the room before yawning lazily.

Danny Ferguson: Or maybe you wouldn’t, I dunno. Doesn’t seem like your barbershop quartet has much to sing about these days. The boner you all popped over "dominating PRIME" or whatever seems to have shrunken down into the limp, flaccid wanglet of realization that time is very, very short for Fu-

Nova: Get out, Danny. I’m not in the fucking mood.

The Irish superstar swings his legs around from their propped position on another chair and leans forward, his eyes glittering menacingly.

Danny Ferguson: Well that’s just too damn bad, superstar, ‘cuz I feel like a million bucks right now, and nothing is gonna keep me that way quite like reminding you of what a miserable failure your fake ass has turned out to be.

Nova: Fake? FAKE?!

Suddenly Nova kicks out with his right leg, denting in the right leg of the steel chair Danny’s planted in. The leg collapses and the seat folds down, depositing Danny ass-first onto cold concrete. The Risen Star stands over him, leaning down and jabbing a finger into his face.

Nova: Listen up, you oblivious asshole. Maybe I am a fake, but it takes one to know one, and you’re worse than I’ll ever be. I’ve known since the first time I peered into those pretty blue eyes of yours that there was nothing behind them but a vacuum, and maybe a pop-culture encyclopedia floating around. There’s never been a motive for you to play hero alongside Troy, Tchu, and Killean against us, other than getting yourself more time in the spotlight. It’s worked. Have you enjoyed it so far?

Ferguson shoves the broken chair away from himself and climbs up to his feet. Nova doesn’t hinder his way, opting instead to light a cigarette.

Nova: I saw Hard Money, Danny…

Ferguson’s eyes shoot wide open and for a moment he seems to do a 180º personality turn.

Danny Ferguson: Really? What’d you think?

Nova: …it sucked. Miserably. And you were hands-down the reason for it. But the show you’ve put on since joining up with the…the AFUC…I give that acting an A+. You’ve got millions of people fooled…I’m just not one of them. You’ve made everything so much worse by simply being around, and you have no fucking clue what you even do.

Danny stares at Nova for a moment, his eyes narrowing as the weight of everything the Risen Star has said sinks in for him. The silence in the room is practically tangible. Then…

Danny Ferguson: You…you really didn’t like it?

Nova catches his own jaw before it shatters on impact with the floor, and then he just shakes his head slowly before turning to walk out of the room.

Danny Ferguson: (Smirk returning) God, I hope they offer cable where you’re staying. I mean, no family to call, no friends who will hang out unless it’s an in-ring, and no fancy strap to fondle in the bathtub…sounds like you’re pretty hard-up for entertainment.

The Risen Star turns back.

Nova: For tonight, my thoughts will suffice. Three-to-one.

Danny cocks an eyebrow.

Danny Ferguson: Three-to-one? What the hell is that?

Nova: It’s the odds in a betting pool I started with some friends.

Again Nova turns to leave, probably knowing that Danny’s Hollywood-bred nosiness will compel him to inquire further.

Danny Ferguson: What kind of bet?

When Nova turns around this time, the mental fatigue that clouded his eyes a minute or two ago is gone, replaced by a goulash of determination sprinkled with anger flakes.

Nova: That at Overkill…I’m gonna make you bleed.

The Risen Star turns back around and steps out of the room, leaving Ferguson to contemplate everything that’s been said. One thing in particular seems to weigh on his mind:

Danny Ferguson: Oh, sure, Hard Money was shite because of me, not the dimestore script or forty-dollar budget. Sheesh. No appreciation.

The lights are assassinated like they're riding through Sarajevo in 1914. The crowd lets out an anticipatory thrill of noise.

Nick: And here we go! Main event! Easton Hall takes on Killean Sirrajin!

Richard: Just handing out shots to all the wrong people!

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"

Vince Howard: The following contest is set for one fall and is for the PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!

The crowd cheers wildly at the mention of the prize on the line.

Vince Howard: Entering the ring first, the challenger…

Easton Hall bursts through the curtains, marching down the ramp at an accelerated pace, ponytail bobbing excitedly, GZA's rhymes flowing and prodding him on over the repeating sample.

Vince Howard: … weighing in at two hundred-and-thirteen pounds and coming to us from the Glorious North… EASTON HALL!

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.

Richard: Aw, lookit Easton, all sad 'cause he doesn't have his belt with him!

Nick: It looks to me like he's all business tonight, Richard.

Richard: You just don't understand mocking people, do you?

"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 lifts his bare, tattooed arms into the air, showing off the Wheels-and-Dragons to a pop from the crowd. He jumps down again and rubs his hands together.

Nick: In the last meeting between these two men, Dusk cost Easton his Alias title by being pinned by Killean—

Richard: Easton knew the stakes, Nick, don't try to pass the buck here.

Nick: I'm not passing the buck!

Richard: I'm sure.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

As the fireworks explode, the lights dim into red and silver and begin to flash. The opening of "Ladies and Gentlemen" by Saliva begins and the fans raise their reaction a few decibels.

Nick: And here's his opponent!

Richard: Finally, someone with nuance… wait, no, nevermind.

Sirrajin steps through the curtains, sunglasses in place. He opens his black trench coat and shining brightly in the lights is the PRIME 5-Star title, which is strapped tightly around his waist. He throws his arms to the side, setting off pyro all over the stage which drowns out the fans and his music. But the fans cannot be silenced.

Richard: Killean did half the job last week, putting Dusk down for the count, but now it's one-on-one and I've gotta say… is he feelin' lucky, punk?

Nick: Well, the Supreme Machine has done a lot in his PRIME career, but Easton—

Richard: Ha ha, no, Easton's done for, I just really wanted to say that. "Are you feelin' lucky punk?" Ha ha ha.

Killean climbs up onto the apron, eyeing Easton for a bit before stepping through the ropes and sliding his belt from his waist. The referee occupies the fourth corner. Killean kisses his 5-Star title and hands it to the official, who gives it to the time keeper.

Vince Howard: In the ring, from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, weighing in at 285 pounds, he is the current PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION… KILLEAN SIRRAJIN!

Easton watches his opponent, rubbing his wrists a bit. They lock eyes again and Easton lifts an eyebrow, smirking. Killean shakes his head, laughing under his breath, and the two begin to square off, mid-paced as they circle about the ring.

Nick: These two guys are gonna make this as straight-up as possible. No tricks, no cheap shots, just some very solid wrestling, mano a mano, and I'm excited to see the turnout.

Richard: It seems like a safe bet for Killean to retain, honestly – he is going into retirement at full speed. Hell, if certain laws, industry regulations, and judicial orders that I won't delve into didn't prohibit, I would have made my bet already.

The bell rings and the crowd cheers mightily at the beginning of the contest. Killean and Easton clash together in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but Killean quickly swivels his hips and catches his fellow Canadian in a headlock. Easton struggles, trying to pull back out of it, but then decides to push forward. Killean is forced into an awkward run towards the corner, but at the last second, he plants his foot against the middle buckle, stopping their collision course. Killean pulls his foot off and throws Easton into the corner from the side headlock, following it up with a savage discus forearm that rocks Easton's head backwards!

Richard: And there you go! Killean starts this thing off with a bang! Whips him into the other side now…

Nick: Killean going to follow up, but Easton gets out of there! Rolls him up!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Richard: Surprise ain't enough!

Nick: Killean's shot back to his feet and Easton's just feeding him elbows!

Killean staggers back with every blow, struggling to orient himself under the attack. Finally, he sweeps his hand up and knocks Easton's arm out of the way, slamming his other fist uppercut-style into Easton's jaw! The tables quickly turn, Killean landing punch after earth-shaking punch, knocking his opponent backwards against the ropes. Killean's powerful arms wrap around Easton's waist then and he lifts the smaller man up, twisting and drilling him into the mat with a side belly-to-belly suplex!

Nick: Killean keeping Easton close here so he can get him right back to his feet and continue where he left off, sending rapid shots to Easton's temple!

Killean, his grip tight on Easton's hair, stands the other man up for just a second before mowing him down with a furious lariat! Easton hits the mat on his shoudlers and folds over, landing on his stomach. Killean straddles Easton's back and then lifts him up onto all fours. He exhales and then proceeds to slam his fists one after the other like hammers into the sides of Easton's head.

Richard: This is how you win a match, Nick! This is how you show someone you mean business! And Killean? Killean means business!

Nick: He's got Easton by the jaw now and he's pulling him up to his feet… aaaah, reverse DDT! The crowd is firmly behind Killean right now and he is not disappointing.

The 5-Star champion pulls Easton back to his feet and rams his knee into the Dragon's stomach, forcing all the wind out. He slaps Easton on the back before practically hurling him into the ropes, catching him on the return trip with a jarring shoulder block. Easton hits the mat like a fish to but filleted. Miraculously, Easton almost immediately begins to get to his feet, albeit slowly. Killean grabs him by the hair and yanks him up to his feet, shooting him into the ropes once more. As Easton hustles back towards the Supreme Machine, he finds himself lifted up into the air by the waist. As he reaches the apex of the maneuver, Easton lifts his right hand high in the air and brings it crashing down between Killean's eyes! The crowd erupts as Easton is let down, following it up by slamming his forearm into Killean's teeth, sending him reeling backwards towards the ropes. The Dragon bursts forward, leaping up into the air and twisting around to deliver a—

Nick: FLYING BACK ELBOW~!

Richard: Both of them go over!

Killean tumbles out onto the ground outside, laying flat on his back. Easton had caught himself on the top cable and lands on a knee on the apron, glancing down at Kill. Killean Sirrajin, despite his fall, begins to pick himself back up to his feet. Easton stands, tensing, stalking his prey like a tiger. Killean turns. Easton jumps.

Nick: AGAIN~!

The crowd is electric, eager to see what is going to be produced next. Easton gets to his feet just a second faster than Killean and takes the opportunity to kick Killean hard in the ribs, backing him up against the corner of the apron.

Richard: The referee's counting three, but it doesn't seem like Easton cares: he's feeding Killean those rising elbows like he's a hungry baby!

Nick: Evocative.

Richard: Thank you, I write poetry sometimes.

The count reaches five when Killean reaches up, palming Easton's face and shoving him backwards roughly. Easton regains his balance and then charges forward, looking for a knee to the stomach, only for Killean to move out of the way just in time! The crowd groans as Easton's face becomes a mask of pain, a corner-shaped dent in his thigh. Killean, however, is not going to let him take too much time off.

Nick: Savage German suplex from the champion!

Richard: Killean's being smart here, breaking up the count before going out to dish out some more pain.

Nick: He's pulling Easton up here against the railing… OHHH!

Richard: Is he trying to play Beethoven's 9th on Easton's chest? God, I can hear that from here!

The fans are taking the opportunity to touch the two superstars and Killean finds himself waving them away time after time as he draws the blood up out of Easton's chest with his repeated chops. Eventually, Easton's chest being beet-red, Killean relents, consenting to simply whip him into the guardrail on the other side of the ring. Easton hits the railing with a crash, slumping down to his seat. Sirrajin glances up at the referee and quickly slides under the bottom rope, breaking up the count again, and then goes over to continue laying the beating on Easton Hall.

Nick: Killean with a brutal right hand there and Easton's trying to get away…

Richard: Oh, come on, Killean, don't let him get back in!

Nick: He can't win on the outside and you know Killean: he's gonna pick up the W by pinfall or submission if he can help it.

Killean climbs into the ring and takes a handful of Easton's hair, dragging the Toronto native up to his feet. Keeping a tight grip on Easton's forearm, he resumes his fearsome knife-edge chops, each one seeming to sap the life out of the challenger. Finally, Killean whips Easton into the ropes, positioning himself appropriately.

Richard: Powerslam! The mat's still shaking after that one!

Nick: Killean hooks the legs and is this it!?

ONE!

TWO!
TH—SHOULDER UP!

Richard: No way! Not after all that!

Nick: Easton's still in this!

Killean glares at the referee for just a split second before picking himself up off the canvas, pulling Easton up with him. Twisting, he whips Easton hard into the ropes, brushing some hair out of his face. Easton hits the ropes and comes back at full speed, straight into a monstrous boot to the face from the Supreme Machine! The crowd roars at the impact as Killean turns to seal the deal.

Richard: Killean with the cover again!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—KICKOUT!

Nick: Denied once again!

Killean slaps the mat, up on his knees and looking down at Easton. He gives Easton a few inaudible words before starting to his feet again, pulling Easton up alongside him. Sirrajin throws Easton's arm over his shoulder, catching the smaller man in a front facelock and hitching his tights. He plants his feet and pulls Easton up into the air vertically, but in mid-air Easton swivels his hips and drops down behind the champion. Killean stumbles forward into the ropes, shoved by Easton. He staggers backwards, shaking his head. Easton takes the opportunity and leaps into the air, grabbing Killean by the jaw bridle-style and dragging him down into a tremendous lungblower!

Richard: Ahhh, dammit! Easton turns the tables!

Nick: He's caught himself a second wind, it looks like, 'cause he's up on his feet here and climbing those buckles!

Richard: What's he got in mind here…

Nick: Easton comes flying off the top with a moonsault! Listen to the crowd!

Richard: That's a lot of weigh that came crashing down on Killean's ribs there and Easton's got the legs this time!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—KICKOUT!

Nick: Power kickout from Killean and this contest continues!

The crowd is on their feet as Easton grabs Killean's arm and waist, turning him over onto his stomach. He slips his arm under Killean's jaw, locking in a rear naked choke, but at that second Killean starts to lift up, struggling valiantly. The Dragon wraps his legs around Killean, trying to hold on, but the 5-Star champion pitches over onto his back, smashing Easton onto the mat and then rolling away.

Richard: Both men to their feet, and BAM!

Nick: Killean sending Easton flipping with that one and he reasserts his control over this match-up.

Killean pulls Easton up to his feet and chops him hard across the chest, eliciting a "WHOO!" from the crowd. Easton staggers backwards, regaining his balance and then firing back with a sharp kick to the stomach. Killean drops to a knee and clutches his stomach, shaking his head to clear stars. Hall sees his chance, charging into the ropes.

Nick: BURNING WI--

Richard: Denied!

Killean blocks Easton's knee with crossed forearms and pushes his challenger backwards. Easton stumbles back against the ropes and comes back, straight into a murderous rising lariat! The crowd cheers mightily as, once again, Easton is sent flipping courtesy of the Supreme Machine's power. Killean flips his hair back and makes his way to the corner, turning around and lifting himself up to the second rope.

Nick: Killean's shushing the crowd now, sitting on his perch…

Richard: What's he got in mind here?

Nick: I don't know, but he's waiting for Easton to get himself up. The former Alias champion is slowly rising here and folks, I don't think this is gonna be good.

Richard: He's turning—

Nick: ARROW FROM THE SECOND ROPE!!!

Richard: No way!

The crowd EXPLODES with cheers as Killean's shoulder plows into Easton's midsection, driving the Canadian Dragon into the mat at full force.

Richard: This is it! This one is over!

Nick: Killean's hooked the leg and he's looking at this like he's finished it!

"ONE!" the crowd cheers.

ONE!

Killean nods along with the count, his teeth bared determinedly.

"TWO!"

TWO!

Killean's counting along under his breath, his eyes shut tight.

"THREE!"

…

But the referee's hand doesn't hit the mat.

Nick: Easton's got the ropes! He's got the ropes!

Richard: Ha ha ha, the look on Killean's face is priceless!

Nick: The ref's got two fingers up here and he's not lifting a third one! This match is still going on!

Killean practically throws Easton's leg back down to the mat, getting up and dragging Easton up by the ponytail. He roars as he boots Easton in the stomach, getting him in a standing headscissors and then flipping him up onto his shoulders. He holds this position for a split-second before hurling Easton back down to the canvas, the impact making Killean bounce visibly before landing back on his feet. Easton lays spread-eagled on the mat, chest rising and falling rapdily. And yet, Killean is not satisfied.

Richard: Killean ascending those buckles once again, this time headed to the top!

Nick: He's gesturing for Easton to get to his feet here and he doesn't look especially patient.

Richard: Killean can't really afford to be patient right now; he's trying to end this match, right here, right now!

Killean shouts at Easton, demanding that he get up. Slowly, something seems to coax Easton up off the mat. Easton winces as he gets to his feet, twisting about to get his feet under him. Killean nods, drawing his thumb across his throat and getting a pop from the crowd for it. Finally, Easton gets up and turns towards his fate as Killean leaps off.

Richard: TOP ROPE SUPREME JUS—

Nick: EASTON GOT OUT OF THE WAY!

The crowd's reaction is mixed but LOUD as Killean's back smacks against the mat, Easton having darted to safety behind him in the nick of time. The champion, not eager to let his opponent get too much of an edge, pulls himself up off the canvas quickly, rising to his feet. Easton rushes him, leaping into the air and braining him with an almighty leaping enzuigiri!

Richard: I think some of our fifth row fans will be taking home Kill's teeth tonight!

Nick: He's knocked Killean down to a knee here and now Easton's back into the rope, and OH MY WHATTAMOVE!

The Canadian Dragon's flipover ace crusher gets a powerful reaction from the audience. Killean drops onto his back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Easton takes a bit to breathe, glancing back at Killean before rising to his feet. Deciding there's no time to waste, Easton heads into the corner himself, scaling the rungs backwards until he stands on the top.

Nick: Here's another moonsault… OH! Bad news!

Richard: Ha ha ha! Like a swan, Easton gracefully dives chest-first onto jagged rocks.

Nick: Picturesque, Richard, but right now the challenger is in pain and Killean has got to dig deep to take hold of the advantage!

Killean uses the ropes to pull himself up to his feet, looking down at Easton and grunting. He reaches down and grabs Easton by his loosening ponytail, once again pulling his fellow Canadian up to his feet. Easton has just regained his base when Killean destroys his equilibrium again with a stiff European uppercut! Easton drops to a knee, but Killean simply pulls him right back up before suplexing him right out of his boots!

Richard: Killean Sirrajin pulling Easton back to his feet and BAM! Belly-to-belly suplex!

Nick: If there are still stops, Killean Sirrajin is yankin' 'em out one by one.

Richard: And he's beating Easton over the head with 'em!

Killean rests on his knees for a second before grabbing a handful of Easton's now-loose hair and pulling him back to his feet. Immediately, the Supreme Machine starts laying into Easton with right hands, each one seeming to cause the challenger to shrink away from the larger man. Finally, Easton manages to block a punch at Killean's elbow, firing one of his own onto the champion's ribs. Killean grunts with pain, releasing Easton's arm and allowing him to spin about, hooking in a hammerlock.

Nick: The crowd is on their feet! Easton's going for it—!

Richard: Killean's resisting this, he's fighting it, 'cause he knows, he knows this could be the end!

Nick: And there Killean fires an elbow into Easton's ribs!

Richard: Easton backs up into the corner and Killean's got a wild look in his eye!

Nick: Hooks him up and THE T-BONE!

Richard: Lord have mercy!

The crowd cheers raucously and Killean drapes his arm over Easton's chest, head sunk down as he awaits the count.

ONE!

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

…

THE SHOULDER!

At this point, the crowd must have been replaced with the occupants of every mental hospital within 100 miles, because they just cannot stop screaming.

Nick: Chants for both of these men are battling each other in the stands!

Richard: I just can't believe that Easton got his damn shoulder up! These two guys aren't going down!

Killean and Easton continue to rest, trying to recover themselves to continue the fight. Just as the referee is about to start the ten count, Killean begins to push himself up off of the ground. The crowd begins to chant his name, urging him to rise. Soon, chants for Easton begin, and Easton turns over, trying to get himself up to his feet.

Nick: Fantastic endurance from both of these guys, but Killean has been dealing out most of the punishment here, and I've gotta wonder just how much more Easton can take.

Richard: Trial by fire, Nick. This right here is Easton's first test, his first real test here. I don't think we've seen him go so long, and if we have, it wasn't against someone of Killean's caliber.

Killean gets to his feet first and shakes his head furiously, trying to clear himself. He reaches forward to grab Easton by the head, but Easton brings his hands up, knocking Killean's arms away. Fiercely, the Dragon grabs two handfuls of Killean's hair and yanks his face down into his rising knee! The crowd shrieks with delight as Easton savages Killean with repeated MMA-style knees to the face. He drops down suddenly, hooking Kill's arm and slinging him over with an arm drag. The champion lands hard on his lumbar and Easton comes up behind him, barring his arm against the challenger's side and driving his forearm hard into the larger man's neck.

Nick: An unorthodox hold from Easton Hall, seemingly trying to pull Killean's shoulder out of its socket and putting a lot of pressure on his neck!

Richard: Technical skills aren't everything, though, and—whoa, he drops back into a dragon sleeper here!

Nick: I'm sure Easton would rather have Life Functions Terminated locked in here, but this is a legitimate threat for Killean.

Killean digs his heels into the mat, trying to lift his hips off the ground, but Easton scissors his midsection and keeps him grounded.

The crowd is shouting "TAP! TAP! TAP!" and the crowd is shouting "LET'S GO KILLEAN! LET'S GO!"

Easton grits his teeth, his mustache and beard seeming to join together in one frustrated mass of hair, his sweat-darkened locks splayed over his face as he wrenches the hold.

Killean reaches for the ropes, fingers wiggling slowly as he tries to grab the bottom cable.

"TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!"

"LET'S GO, KILLEAN! LET'S GO!"

Easton's eyes blaze and he nods his head furiously, his biceps tensing as he tries to force Killean's hand.

Nick: He's fading! He's fading!

Richard: Is this it!?

Killean's hand drops limply.

And then, miraculously, it shoots back into the air, accompanied by the triumphant cries of the masses!

Richard: Elbow after elbow! Killean's just laying them into Easton's ribs here!

Nick: He releases the hold!

Possessed by a surge of energy, Killean darts to his feet, closely followed by Easton Hall. Holding his throat gingerly, Killean slams his fist into Hall's temple. Easton retaliates in kind, launching a punch to the jaw. Surrounded by screaming fans, the battle moves towards the center of the ring, the two gladiators slug each other powerfully, each tremendous blow snapping their heads to the side. Finally, they reach the center, fists cocked but unthrown.

Then, at the same time, they turn and rush into the ropes.

Nick: This is a trainwreck!

Richard: Here's a lariat—Easton ducks!

They keep running, hitting the ropes again. They rush at each other once again, full speed, no holding back.

And then Easton jumps.

Nick: BURNING WITCH!

Richard: Hel-looo, whiplash!

The crowd tears the roof off as Easton's knee slams into Killean's face, the momentum sending Easton into a flip over the champion. Easton lands on his back hard, taking a few breaths to fill his lungs once again. He twists over then, laying his arm over Killean's chest.

The referee slides in to make the count.

ONE!

Easton lets his head hang, sweat dripping from every pore in his body.

There's almost no room for sound above the cheering of the crowd.

Easton's heart is beating triple time.

TWO!

Nick: This one's over! New champion! New champion!

Quadruple time.

Everything he's worked for, it's all right now.

Last week was failure.

This week is success.

This week, this night, he's going home a champion.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Easton lifts his head, hair hanging over his face, to see a V staring him in the face.

"TWO COUNT!"

Richard: Killean's shoulder came up in the nick of the nick of time!

Nick: I don't believe this! Killean has survived! We still have a match on our hands!

Easton, furious, forces himself up onto his knees and grabs Killean's hair with both hands. He hauls Killean to his feet, stumbling a bit himself on the ascent. Finally standing, he shoves Killean back into the corner and begins to assault him with vicious rising elbows, snapping Killean's neck back again and again. He begins to throw them like uppercuts, switching arms, jumping a bit with each strike, anything to make them harder, to make them hurt more. Killean grips the ropes, determined not to fall in the face of this.

Richard: You think you know mad? This… this is mad! Easton Hall is mad!

Nick: Easton backs up and charges in… OOOF! What a knee to the ribs!

Richard: He's going for it again! God, I don't know how Killean can stand this!

Easton grabs Killean by the hair, climbing up onto the bottom rope and punishing him with savage elbow strikes across the eyes. He hops down and backs up again, shaking his head with frustration. Easton charges at Killean, leaping up for another knee strike, but the Supreme Machine grabs him out of mid-air and twists, slamming Easton back-first into the buckles!

Richard: Killean takes control, clubbing Easton with rights and lefts here!

Nick: He's throwing in some kicks for good measure! Killean Sirrajin is not going down, he is not – going down, folks.

Richard: Not without delivering seven different shades of asskicking, at least!

Killean pushes Easton back against the buckles with a grip on his throat, exposing his chest for a savage chop that has the crowd howling. Easton's head seems to loll, but Killean isn't done, chopping him again. The Dragon shakes his head, balling his fists to keep himself strong, but all the energy seems to drain out of him at the next chop. Killean ducks his head down then, lifting Easton up onto his shoulders. The Supreme Machine roars as he presses Easton up into the air, twisting and slamming him back-first back down to the canvas!

Nick: Killean takes a knee here to recuperate; neither of these men is at their top right now, I'll tell you that.

Richard: But Killean is looking to end this, Nick! He's climbed out to the apron here and he is once again ascending those rungs to the top!

Killean slowly pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle, shaking his head furiously as he gets his foot atop that last rung. He twists and sits on the top, taking a deep breath and then ducking his head, trying to regulate his breathing. His dark hair hangs over his face. This is it.

Richard: Look out!

Even if Killean could have heard him, it would have been too late. The crowd cheers wildly as Easton Hall throws himself onto the top rope, knocking Killean's foot off the rope. The 5-Star champion teeters dangerously, his knee balanced atop that shaking cable. The Dragon lives up to his name, coming up under Killean and smashing him in the face with a leaping, twisting rising elbow! Killean sags back a bit, his knee slipping and his foot coming to rest on the middle turnbuckle.

Nick: This is a dangerous situation, but Easton is going to do his best to take advantage.

Richard: He's got Killean in a front facelock and he's working his way up the ropes and Nick, I don't know what's gonna happen next, but it will not be pretty.

Nick: I know I'm probably going to regret this later, but I have to agree wholeheartedly with you, Richard.

Easton works his way up to the middle rope, pausing to catch his breath. He clubs Killean as close to his kidneys as possible, holding onto the facelock as if it were a lifeline. Killean seems to jolt with each attack, gripping the top ropes with both hands in an effort to stay up. Easton then directs his attention to Killean's shoulder, slamming elbows against it until Killean releases one of the ropes. The Dragon takes a breath and throws Killean's arm over his shoulder, reaching forward and grabbing Killean under the knee.

Easton closes his eyes and then, with all the strength left in him, lifts up, pulling Killean neatly off of his perch. The Supreme Machine's body is curled as the two wrestlers are dragged down to the canvas by gravity and with an almighty crash, Killean's head is driven into the canvas Fisherman's style.

The crowd's eruption rivals Vesuvius.

Richard: WHAT IN THE HOLY GOODNESS GRACIOUS GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!?

Nick: Killean was just driven head-first into the mat from the top rope!

Richard: I think at one point Killean's spine was actually folded in half!

Easton and Killean lay on the mat, staring up at the ceiling and doing their best to keep breathing. Finally, slowly, Easton turns and lays his arm over Killean's stomach.

Nick: The cover!

ONE!

"KIL-LE-AN! KIL-LE-AN!"

Easton can barely think.

"EAS-TON! EAS-TON!"

Everything is so damn loud.

Richard: Someone write Killean's loved ones and tell them he's dead!

Blood is pumping in his ears.

Nick: Oh, would you stop it!

Everything feels so damn heavy.

TWO!

Time stretches.

"EAS-TON! EAS-TON!"

Jesus fuck! So hard to think!

Nick: Folks, we are crowning a new champion here tonight!

"KIL-LE-AN! KIL-LE-AN!"

Wait.

He tried so damn hard to win this.

Richard: Bullshit! Killean will keep this going for another twenty minutes!

So damn hard.

"EAS-TON! EAS-TON!"

Ten years of work to get here.

Ten years of toil.

Ten years of bleeding your heart out for this motherfucking business.

Ten years.

Ten goddamn years.

THREE!

Killean convulses, legs first, popping his whole body into the air, just half a second too late. Half a second against ten years that have finally… finally paid off.

Nick: HE DID IT! HE DID IT! IT'S OVER! EASTON WINS!

Richard: I don't believe this!

Hear that? Is that 21 kilotons of TNT exploding? Close.

That's the sound of the Toyota Center going absolutely batshit insane.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner and NEW PRIME 5-STAR CHAMPION…

Easton lays on his back now, staring up at the lights, basking in it.

Vince Howard: EASTON HALL!

Richard: I hate to say it, but Easton hauled his way through this damn match and he yanked a victory out from the jaws of defeat! This match should have absolutely been over like several dozen different times!

Nick: That's resilience, Richard, that's heart, that's drive, that's freaking willpower! That's all that is! I'm convinced some of the guys we have here are just not human!

Richard: Hello and welcome to reality, O King of Hyperbole.

Easton slowly gets to his feet, each inch risen a labor. On one knee, he accepts the 5-Star belt as it is handed to him. The referee helps him stand and lifts his hand up. Beaming, for once in his PRIME career, Easton thrusts the 5-Star belt into the air as well. Killean slaps the mat, shaking his head and sighing. He gets to his feet shakily and faces Easton. Smiling thinly, he extends a hand and Easton, after a moment's hesitation, shakes it. The crowd cheers as Killean raises Easton's hand into the air, the former and current 5-Star champions accepting the crowd's praise.

And then all that is broken by a slow, measured clapping from the top of the ramp.

Nick: It's Lisa Tyler!

Richard: And here comes the fun part!

Lisa Tyler: Oh, isn't that precious! I'm sorry to crash this party, but I've got to company to watch over, and that means sometimes… you've gotta do things like this.

The crowd jeers, but Lisa simply shrugs her shoulders and goes on.

Lisa Tyler: Look, Easton… to be honest with you, I've never been sure about what you bring to PRIME. People keep calling you something special, but I just don't see it. Now you've got a pretty little belt back around your waist, though, and it's time for you to prove it. You fought Killean, he's a legend, but he's not a test of your mettle.

Nick: Does she even watch these matches?

Richard: Sure she does! Killean's just not a test!

Nick: You just said he was a test!

Richard: Hey, I like my job!

Lisa Tyler: Next week, at OverKill, I'm gonna put you in a match with someone who's really going to manhandle you in that ring and make you fight for that belt. Say hello to your first defense…

Lisa's eyebrow lifts and she smirks.

Lisa Tyler: Tom. Walczak.

"Feel It in the Air" by Beanie Siegel plays and the massive Walczak walks onto the stage, standing behind Tyler with his arms folded across his chest. Easton rips his arm away from Killean and glares at him, but Killean looks just as shocked as Easton is. Those cheers have now turned into a rain of boos directed at Tyler and Walczak.

The copyright appears as the camera shows a shocked Easton Hall once again, his 5-Star title belt slung over his shoulder and a mountain of a challenge in front of him.