The camera focuses in on a pair of feet, one clad in boots, one in sneakers. Both walk swiftly as the camera pans up, revealing the bodies of The Blue Collar Brawler, Wade Elliott, and The Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy. They trudge along the backstage parking lot of the Staples Center, duffel bags in hand.

Wade Elliott: Hope our timin's good 'nuff.

Lindsay Troy: You said it, cowboy.

Wade steps up to the backstage door and pushes it open, only to find a narrow eyed Lisa Tyler standing in the way. Wade cocks an eyebrow, while Troy grins.

Lisa Tyler: Where the HELL have you two been all week?

Lindsay Troy: Well, I never got to go to Disneyland after winning the Universal Title, and Wade's always wanted to ride in a Flying Dumbo, so I figured now would be as good a time as ever since we're out here.

Lisa Tyler: Oooh, don't pull that shit on me, Troy! You think that just because you have that big belt it means you can just disappear for a week? That the case?

Lindsay Troy: Oh calm your ovaries, Mini-Me. I missed my flight, Wade was driving, so I hitched a ride. I told Blaine last week before we left Phoenix. And don't worry, he already told us about our match. We're all square.

Lisa Tyler: I don't give a shit! Do you know what I've had to deal with? My Universal Champion is up and missing, somewhere between Phoenix and L.A., and nobody has a damn clue where she is!

Lindsay Troy: Well, Blaine knew. It's not my fault you didn't think to ask him.

Wade nudges Troy in the ribs.

Wade Elliott: Yer mother this bad?

Lisa whirls her gaze to The Big Dog.

Lisa Tyler: Oh, don't even go there, Elliott! You're in just as much shit as Troy!

Wade Elliott: Fer givin' her a ride? Coulda sworn I was bein' more courteous than I like to admit.

Lisa Tyler: No, you just created a pain in my ass! And furthermore, this whole thing with you driving everywhere is just as annoying. You'll start flying pronto.

Wade Elliott: Horse-shit. That ain't happenin'.

Lisa Tyler: Oh yes it...

Wade stares Tyler down with unrelenting blue eyes.

Wade Elliott: It. Ain't. Happenin'.

Lindsay Troy: If this is about me not bringing you a pair of Mickey Mouse ears then I'm sorry, but you didn't strike me as a "Happiest Place on Earth" kinda gal...

Lisa Tyler: (screeching) THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT AND YOU KNOW IT!

Troy and Wade exchange that side-long "Oooooookay, she's a little bit psycho" look.

Lindsay Troy: Look Lise, we've had one hell of a trip, we're a lot of tired and we have a match to get ready for. How about you relax, have a drink, play some of Gameboy's Wii that you love so much and refuse to give back and focus on the show you have to run. Sound good? Yes? Great. Good talk, see you out there.

Tyler does not reply. Lindsay offers a curt smile, walking past the boss. Wade tips his drifter's hat before following. Tyler turns to glare the duo as they walk down the hall.

Lisa Tyler: I need to punch some Miis....

The footsteps echo throughout the hallway. Surrounded by security guards, Lavelle doesn't look to be happy in the least bit. He glares over at his escorts and is eager to just tear their heads off. Ever since coming to PRIME, he's been stuck in this never ending fight with the likes of Shakur, Dusk, and Winters. Now, it had come to this. The anxiety eats away at him as he can feel the weight of his Intense Title against his shoulder. He's very much aware that tonight it could all be over for him when it comes to being a champion. Last week, Tyler had made a match between the two bitter superstars after Lavelle had nearly torn off Dusk's knee. He very much enjoyed that and would love to do it again. As he reaches his locker room door, they all stop, and the security guards look at Lavelle.

Security Guard: So, here we are.

Pierce: Glad to see that you guys are so smart.

Security Guard: Watch it now.

Pierce: You just expect me to go in there.

Security Guard: Yep.

Pierce: And you guys are going to stay out here?

Security: Wow, you're so smart.

Pierce: Thanks. This is just going to be one lovely evening.

Then, one of the security guards produces a key out of his pocket and walks over to Lavelle. The camera then pans down to show that Lavelle has his hands handcuffed. The superstar looks at his wrists and just shakes his head, still trying to figure out how he got involved in this mess. As he feels his wrists freed from his shackles, he breathes a sigh of relief before walking towards his locker room door. He grabs at the doorknob and turns to look at his guards.

Pierce: No peaking now, you hear?

Silence. Well, this would be a rough crowd, he thinks to himself before opening the door and stepping inside. Part of him is relieved that he is finally free of them. The other part of him is angered to know that he can't go anywhere until his match later on this evening. He slams his hand against the door to show his frustration.

Pierce: Why? Why did I have to get involved with them?

"Because."

Pierce, shocked by the random voice in his locker room, turns around only to be met with a fist to the face.

Pierce: Ooof!

The man then grabs Pierce and slings him into the door, nearly breaking down the entire door. A huge hole is in the center of the door as Pierce is kind of hanging there in a world of pain. Immediately the door flies open and the security guards look in to see the one person they had to keep away from Pierce tonight.

Security Guard: Dusk! What the hell?!

Dusk just slams his fist into both of the men before focusing his attention upon Lavelle who is trying to gather himself. However, Dusk is not to be deterred as he slams his left foot across Pierce's face before tossing him into a nearby wall. Lavelle rests against the wall, surprised by this attack. Dusk though doesn't let up as he slams his left knee into Lavelle's gut time and time again; making sure that Lavelle feels the pain. After having his right knee tore up last week, Dusk wants revenge.

Meanwhile, security guards start to swarm the area, but the red eyes of Dusk refuse to be taken down. Dusk turns around and starts to deck security guards, making sure they keep their distance while he continues his destruction of Lavelle. He then grabs the back of Lavelle's head and starts escorting him down the hall as the guards continue pursuit, hoping to stop this before it becomes too ugly. As they pass by a few doors, one of them takes Dusk's attention. The name says it all.

Lisa Tyler

Dusk stops and decks Lavelle in the face before he backs up a few steps. Lavelle looks dazed and is about to get much worse as Dusk explodes with a burst of speed and spears Dusk through Tyler's office door! Lisa looks at this and is displeased and shocked by the turn of events. The security guards swarm upon Dusk as he continues to deck Lavelle in the face, weakening his opponent for the main event later on tonight. Finally, the guards rip Dusk away from Lavelle as Tyler can only look on.

Lisa: Damnit! The two of you! You just don't listen, do you?

Dusk then looks at Tyler and then back at Lavelle.

Dusk: Tonight, Lavelle, I'm going to rip you from limb to limb!

Lisa: Get him out of here! Get the both of them out of here!

The guards start to drag Dusk away as he then looks at Tyler.

Dusk: Special Delivery.

Dusk then pushes himself away from the guards and starts to walk down the hall with the guards following him. Lavelle lays there dazed and wishing that he had killed Dusk when he had the chance.

Overhead Mic Holder Guy: I feel like we’re wasting our time perched out here in the garage in two-thousand-degree heat waiting on the hope that someone will…

Cameraman: SHUT UP! I hear something!

The team pause on baited breath as the faint sounds of wheels grinding grow louder and louder…before growing quiet again as a car passes on the street below next to the Staples Center. The cameraman sighs loudly and kicks a pebble across the concrete.

Cameraman: Damn. Oh, fuck it, you’re right. Pack it in, fel-

The echo of squealing brakes causes their heads to swivel around as a limousine rounds the corner of the parking lot up from the level below. It comes to a quick stop, and its tires gasp with relief as Jim Pibb and Dametreyus Fuqueiawtyus step out from both sides of the back. They survey the area dutifully for snipers or lust-crazed fangirls before Dam sticks his head back inside the limo and nods to its inhabitants.

Dametreyus Fuqueiwatyus: ‘Sall good, boss.

Reggie Delray steps out, cracking his shoulders and giving himself a shake, followed by none other than resident Ginger Kid sonuvabitch, Danny Ferguson.

Danny Ferguson: (Snapping his fingers) Have ‘em bring in my bags, Reg. It’s gonna be a good ni-ohhhhhh, my God…

No sooner do the newest indy star’s Greedy Genius hot-ass street kicks hit the cold concrete than the double doors from the back explode open, unleashing a veritable tidal wave of media vampires waving microphones and cameras. They descend on the unsuspecting Ferguson like a cloud of locusts.

"Mr. Ferguson, Curve magazine! Why call the pre-show press conference? What message do you have for the wider lesbian community?"

"Danny, Rick Shroeder from The Advocate! What’s the big announcement? We have a few guesses of our own! LOL~!"

"Danny, the readers of O magazine HAVE to know…do you think Oprah’s not not NOT not still pretty fat?"

As the cameras illuminate his every pore, Danny looks back at Del Ray with the classic wide-eyed "Deer in the Headlights" gaze.

Danny Ferguson: (Under his breath) PRESS…CONFERENCE?

Reggie shrugs, mouthing "I don’t know." In the face of an unexpected, expectant audience, Ferguson’s face quickly comes to resemble his fiery hair. His mouth can’t seem to form words, his tongue flopping uselessly about his mouth.

Danny Ferguson: Ah-guuuuh…uh…agh, uh…

Reporter: Danny, tell us about your new agent, Caesar Vega! Is hiring a Hollywood outsider your way of making a statement, or do you see him as your ticket back to the A-List?

Before the question can even sink in on the Irish superstar, his cell phone beeps and vibrates in his pocket. He holds up one shaky finger to the gathered media mass, and stares down at the text message that pops up on his iPhone screen:

Enjoy the cameras. Lord knows you always do. Sincerely, Caesar Vega (Your New Agent >=) )

Danny’s eyes bulge out from their sockets and he quivers uncontrollably with the kind of rage that gives you one of those "blinking white spot" headaches. He scans the room quickly, the voices of the reporters fading into the background, until his eyes fall on a figure leaned against a concrete pylon in the shadows of the garage near the entrance doors.

Nova grins widely and offers a playful wave. Ferguson’s mouth hangs open in a combination of indignation and…and…well, motherfucker’s indignant as all get out. When he can finally form words, Danny can manage only…

Danny Ferguson: YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!!~!*

He springs forward – pundits will argue over his frame of mind in this moment later – and immediately knocks over a woman waving a microphone frantically. Without seeing her, he stomps on, brushing past cameramen and shouting interviewers, everything seemingly caught in a molasses-like soup of slow-motion. The headlines are already writing themselves…

"FERGUSON FLIPS ON GAY MEDIA AT OWN PRESS CONFERENCE"

"DANGEROUS DANNY CHASES DOWN NEW AGENT"

"WRESTLING RIVAL FREAKS FERGUSON IN FRONT OF GAY GROUPS"

…but Danny can’t see or hear any of this now as he breaks free of the mob and charges a waiting Nova, whose fists are already curled like the smile still covering his face.

Nova: Come on, you asshole! Give ‘em the show they came to see!

The Box Office Bomb collides with the Risen Star.

Backstage…

Young Loader: I don’t know, I mean, it would ROCK to actually hang out with some of these guys, you know? Go out for a beer? Like…like colleagues or something!

Friend Nearby: You should try asking one of them. They aren’t bad people, for the most part…definitely not as snobby as you think.

Young Loader: It’s not that; it’s just…this is gonna sound cliché…they all seem so violent.

Friend Nearby: Naaaaah, dude, trust me on th-

Suddenly the double-doors are slammed open, knocking Young Loader aside into a pile of boxes…and very much unconscious. Danny barrels into the room, his arms locked around Nova’s waist as he rams the Risen Star back-first into a column of shelves. Nova howls, and Danny slings him off the rack into the adjacent wall.

Danny Ferguson: YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!!

Nova: DOES THE NAME KYLE LAMEN RING A BELL?!

With a wild cry he leaps forward, hands outstretched as if to strangle his nemesis, but Nova swings hard with a right, connecting to Danny’s jaw and sending him careening backwards into a cameraman filming the incident for television, knocking the shot ajar before it spins out of control down towards hard ground.

Cut to static.

We cut to the ring just in time to see a fancy little set-up.

It's a set-up we've seen before, just not too often in this location. This week, Istanbullshittin takes place inside the ring! The usual décor and set props are there, the only notable absence is that of the Suspended Jack Murphy, still serving his punishment for the OverKill tirade.

The man of hour, however, is very much present. Captain Suliemon stands in the center of the ring, in the middle of his set, gracing the crowd with a slightly less abrasive demeanor tonight.

Suleimon: My next guests used to be among the elite in a place that seems too far gone to remember fondly. Please welcome Adam Dick and Mike Wade... the Unfuckables!

The crowd roars into a frenzy for the returning, reunited Unfuckables. Of course, their cries cannot be heard as the speakers begin to bellow a tune most familiar to those Disney enthusiasts.

"Open up your eyes take a look at me
If the picture fits in your memory
I've been dreamin by the rythym like the beat of a heart
And I won't stop until I start to stand out

And once you're watchin' ev'ry move that I make
Ya gotta believe that I got what it takes!"

Oh yes. OH YES. "Stand Out" by Powerline.

"To stand out
Above the crowd
Even if I gotta shout out loud
'Til mine is the only face you see
Gonna stand out 'til you notice me"

And at the base of the Wal*Tron emerges the duo who can attest that they are not to be trifled with.

A duo that has their work cut out for them tonight, in the form of Chainz and Jason Snow. A duo, that by all rights, are practically legends.

'His Swerviness' Mike Wade, and 'The Illustrious Face-Eater' Adam Dick.

THE UNFUCKABLES!

The two emerge from the curtain with smiles drenched across their faces as the crowd are on their feet.

Adam Dick holds his hand out in the air and receives a high five from his partner Mike Wade. The two crouch down as if they were Carl Lewis and begin to jog lightly down the aisle slapping the delighted fans hands on the way down the ramp.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: YOU READY TO ROCK, ALBUQUERQUE?

Mike Wade finishes slapping some more hands.

Mike Wade: Woooooo! AL-BU-QUER-QAAAAAYYY!!!

Men, women, children, even the half-retarded kid who under normal circumstances would never have an opportunity like this, are graced with palm slaps from the mightiest tag-team ever to grace the PTC circuit. After they run back and down the aisle a few times, making sure to slap the hand of each and every fan who stuck theirs out, they decide to slide in the ring as the ultimate theme song, 'Stand Out' by Powerline dies down.

Now settled in the ring, the Captain can't help but looking at them like they have two heads.

Suleimon: Are you done yet?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'M SORRY, WAS THE CEASING OF THE HAND-SLAPS AND THE DYING OUT OF THE THEME MUSIC NOT ENOUGH OF AN INDICATION OF OUR DONE-NESS TO YOU?

Mike Wade: I don't think it was.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Well, LET'S GO FOR ROUND TWO!

Suleimon shakes his head in disgust as the Unfuckables head back down the aisle to slap even more hands.

Suliemon: I can't believe this.

Facey and Wade dive out of the ring as "Stand Up" hits again, proceeding to run up and down the aisle another six or so times, again slapping hands with all of the fans.

The Captain's head is still shaking as the duo climb back into the ring., the music once again dying out.

A huge "Slap my Hand" chant breaks out.

Mike Wade: Ok, now we're done.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Maybe.

Mike Wade: Right, we're still not sure. We may get the urge to slap more hands at any moment. It's uncontrollable!

Suleimon stares at the two and taps his feet, hands on his hips.

Mike Wade: I know what wrong Cap'n Sully

Suleimon: Oh yeah? What's that?

Mike Wade: You wanna get your hand slapped too!

Mike and Adam both grab hold Sulliemon's wrists, forcing him to slap hands in the utmost rulerific of ways.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: HIGH FIVE OF DOOOOOM!

Of course, the Captain pulls his hand away in disgust.

Suleimon: Stop that before I slap both your faces!

Mike Wade: No Sully, you gotta slap the hands, not the faces. Did you not see us doing it before??

The Illustrious Face-Eater: We can do it again.

Suleimon: Shut up, just... just shut up.

Turning towards each other, Adam and Mike end all the high-five hysteria with one final Up-Top, the clap being so devastatingly loud that it breaks the space-time continuum and renders a baby Hellen Keller deaf AND blind.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Alright, I think we're done. What are we doing out here again?

Mike Wade: Istanbullshittin!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Right, right, Istanbul not Constantinople.

Mike Wade: It's been a long time gone, Constantinople!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Why did Constantinople get the works?

Mike Wade: Dude, that's no buddies business but the Turks.

Both Unfuckables turn to face the Captain, who at this point is livid.

The Unfuckables: Why did Constantinople get the works, Cap?

Suleimon: YOU TWO ARE PATHETIC!

Mike Wade: Come on, wouldn't kill ya to be polite! Now is there a reason why you asked us out here? I mean yes, we slapped some mean hands out here tonight, but there must be something else?

Suleimon, knowing that what he said went in Wade's ear and went right out Facey's other one, starts tapping his foot. A vein bulges from his forehead.

Suleimon: GET OUT OF THIS RING NOW!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: And slap more hands?

Suleimon: NO!

Mike Wade: Well what then? You don't want to interview us outside of the ring, do you?

Suleimon: This interview is OVER!

Mike Wade: But we haven't even started!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Yeah, my PR rep said this is a good way to get our faces back in the game and shit. SO DO YOUR JOB.

Captain Suliemon, almost foaming at the mouth with anger, manages to keep his hands to himself in the face of such idiocy.

Suliemon: I refuse! I will not degrade myself to the level you've grown so accustomed to! You have done nothing to deserve the prestigious honor of being interviewed by me, so NO. There will be NO Istanbullshittin' tonight.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Oh, I GET IT. Not good enough eh?

Mike Wade: Yeah, we ain't good enough?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Not enough of a spectacle for you, HUH?!

Mike Wade: WHAT DO WE GOTTA DO, SULLY?! SLAP MORE HANDS!?! WE'LL DO IT!

Suliemon: No...

The Illustrious Face-Eater: WE'LL SLAP EVERY GOD DAMNED HAND IN THIS ARENA IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES.

Mike Wade: IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, SULLY? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!

The fans, of course, are roaring. They want the Unfuckables to leap out of the ring and into the crowd, gracing them with the magic of high-fives with their every movement.

Suliemon: NO, I WANT YOU TO LEAVE MY RING!

The Unfuckables facial expressions turn sour. They go to exit the ring, their shoulders sunk, moving at a very slow pace.

Mike Wade: Fine... we'll leave...

The Illustrious Face-Eater: ..........TO SLAP MORE HANDS!

In a burst of energy, the Unfuckables once again leap out of the ring and down the aisle, slapping hands with the many fans that have since crowded the barriers in anticipation of such an event.

The Captain, bewildered with rage, knows he can't react just yet. His anger, however, has gotten the best of him. Having enough, he drops the microphone and climbs out of the ring, walking up the ramp and past Adam Dick and Mike Wade, who are too busy high-fiving the shit out of everyone to notice Suliemon's departure.

After a massive round of high-fives, Adam and Mike climb back into the ring, sharing similarly confused expressions. Mike picks the mic off the ground, shrugging as he looks around the arena.

Mike Wade: I think we pissed him off.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I TOLD YOU we shouldn't have done that Constantinople song. SHIT'S A ROUGH SUBJECT TO THOSE PEOPLE.

Mike Wade: WHO CARES! WE'RE FUCKING BACK, BABY!

At this, the crowd bursts into cheers. Finally, the Unfuckables in a PRIME ring together with a mic. A sight that everyone has waited far too long to see.

Mike Wade: We're back, and we're here to fucking rock! I don't know if you guys watched three weeks ago, when the Face here once again made Jack Murphy his bitch, but the UNFUCKABLES returned in full force.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Don't forget what happened the next week, Mike.

Mike Wade: What happened the next week?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: YOU DON'T REMEMBER? We beat THE EVER-LOVING SHIT out of Jason Snow and Chainz.

Mike Wade: How could I forget?! Oh, right, because I've beaten Chainz, like, a bajillion times before.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: An honest mistake.

Mike Wade: And, while these past two weeks may have been a bit quiet on the Unfuckables front, it HAS NOT BEEN WITHOUT GOOD REASON. You see, my man the Face here has been preparing. Preparing for what you ask? To kick Jason Snow's ass for the second time in a row! You heard it here, lads and lassies, that YOUR ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER is going to take on that Peroxide Loving Egoist for the PTC Unified Title!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: And you shall see a repeat of what you saw two weeks ago, everybody. It doesn't matter who the hell he is or what he's bringing to the table. A GTT win? Pah, I wipe my ass with GTT wins. Okay, that might not be explicitly true but a win over Snow allows some credibility to that statement. What, you gonna bring Chainz? Do it, Mike Wade will bitch slap the taste out of his mouth like he has time... and time... and time... and time again. Snow thinks he can waltz in and out of this place as he pleases? He thinks he's allowed to disappear and come back at the click of a pen? EEEEEEEH, WRONG. THAT'S WHAT THE FACE-EATER DOES, BITCH. And next week, Jason Snow, at ReVolution 134...


The crowd starts cheering. They know what he's going to say before he even says it.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: NEXT WEEK! YOU AND ME, IN THIS RING, ONE ON ONE. No Chainz, No Easton Hall, and no more Fuck You. Just you and me and that Unified Title of yours. You could withstand Ember. You could withstand Violence Jack. PAH. I've coughed out resin-balls bigger than those two fucks. You may have plowed through those other 'viable' contenders, but you've never faced the threat of the Face-Eater. And after that, it'll be 2 and 0, Jason. You'll have beaten everyone there is to beat. Garbage Bag Johnny, Killean Sirrajin, whoever the fuck else. But how are all those wins gonna look when you have two big L's with the name 'Adam Dick' scribed right next to them?

Mike Wade: Pathetic?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Thank you, Mike!

Mike Wade: No problem!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: NEXT WEEK, SNOW. YOU versus ME. I can't wait to rip that belt off of your waist. Let's see, is there anything else we need to address, Mike?

Mike Wade: Let's see, we slapped hands and talked shit to Jason Snow. I think we're good.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THEN THAT SETTLES IT! SNOW. YOU. DEAD! NEXT WEEK!

"Stand Out" hits once again, the Face and Wade dive out of the ring and once again slap hands with the fans as they run up the ramp.

Nick: ....

Richard: ....

Nick: .....oh, we're still here?

Richard: This is so unfair.

Nick: For a second, I thought I was rendered paralyzed by their theme song.

Richard: I want my hand slapped :(.

we’re ready to start off the show with some debut tag team action, and on paper this looks to be an interesting matchup.

Richard: Frat boys versus superheroes? What the hell has happened to my home?

Nick: Well, I’m told all four are accomplished wrestlers. Sound and the Fury were tag team champions in prior feds, and both members of theUPstarts were college and high school wrestlers.

Richard: I hope that overpowers their gimmicks.

# LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #
# GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #

Richard: Maybe not.

Nick: Looks like this is Sound and the Fury entering first!

As "LOUD AND ANGRY" by the J.Nathan Raby/Leon J. Perniciaro Acoustic Guitar and Heavily Edited Vocals Supergroup plays over the arena for the first time in the Staples Center – the first time, in fact, anywhere in a PRIME arena, two men enter the arena and look around for a second before posing. One is wearing a blue jumpsuit, and the other is wearing a red jumpsuit. They both have capes.

# WE’RE LOUD #
# AND ANGRY #
# AND REALLY REALLY LOUD #
# AND ANGRY #
# AND WE’RE GONNA KICK YOUR ASS #
# BECAUSE WE’RE LOUD #
# WHAT ARE WE THIS WEEK, KIDS? #

A voice that is definitely not a kid at all answers back.

"Superheroes."

At this, the screeching guitar kicks in and Ian Nackedy and Gildenstern run towards the ring, making "swoosh" noises as they do so. Ian jumps up onto the turnbuckle and poses while Gildenstern holds his hands high in the middle of the ring.

Howard: The following match is a tag team match and is for one fall. Introducing first…they weigh in at a total of 469 pounds…they are the innovators of the Gimmick-of-the-Week…IAN NACKEDY AND GIIILLLLLLLDENSTERNNNN…SOUND! AAAAAANNNND THEEEEE FUUUUUUUURYYYYYYY!

The fans don’t give much of a reaction as Ian and Gil continue doing super poses. After a second, their music cuts.

Nick: So, um…these guys are interesting.

Richard: Right. Interesting.

"Spot Lite" by MATHEMATICS plays and Eli VanNess and Felix Young enter the arena, high-fiving and generally having a good time. They make their way to the ring and stare up at their competition, making fun of their costumes.

Howard: And the opponents…weighing in at 456 pounds…EEEEELI VANNESSS AND FEEEELIX YOUNG…THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUPSTAAARTS!

Again there isn’t much of a reaction because all of these men are making their debut. Upon hearing their name, though, Felix and Eli nod and bump chests before getting into the ring.

Nick: These two seem like an interesting pair. Did you read Eli’s blog he posted before this match?

Richard: See, I was going to, but I had an emergency appointment to flush my eyes out with acid.

Nick: Nice touch.

Richard: I thought so.

Eli and Felix slide under the ropes and look at their competition before raising their arms in the air. After a few seconds, the referee makes each team choose its starting member.

Nick: Looks like we’re going to start things off with Ian Nackedy of Sound and Fury taking on Eli VanNess of theUPstarts. Let’s go!

[DING DING DING!]

Eli lunges in first and grabs Ian, locking him into a side headlock. Ian struggles against the hold but Eli punches him in the head, then locks it in tighter. Ian backs into the ropes and then launches Eli off of him, only Eli does not let go of the hold, swinging Ian into the middle of the ring. Ian is already starting to feel the effects of the hold, and Eli has a big smile on his face. Then, Ian grabs Eli and wipes the smile right off with a belly to back suplex.

Eli rolls off quickly, holding his back but right back up. Ian knocks Eli down with a clothesline, then proceeds to run around the ring screaming "WHOOOOOOOOOOSH!" The fans and Gildenstern laugh, but Eli and Felix do not.

Nick: Like I said, interesting guys.

Richard: And like I said, they’re stupid and pathetic.

Nick: You didn’t say that.

Richard: Well I just did.

Ian poses in a superhero manner, then rolls (yes, rolls) towards Eli. Eli gets up and looks at his opponent for a second before punching him in the face, sending him sprawling. Ian leans against the ropes, and Eli pulls Ian’s cape over his head before grabbing him around the waist and launching him over his head in a huge belly to belly suplex. As Ian hits the ground, Eli runs over to Felix and hits a high five, saying "DID YOU SEE THAT MOVE?" The fans laugh at this as well. Eli turns around to focus on Ian, but the ref comes over to inform them that the high five they performed, besides being a sign of friendship, signaled Felix being tagged into the ring. Both members of theUPstarts shrug, then Felix enters the ring. Ian is busy trying to get the cape over his face when Felix hits him with an elbow drop and covers.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!"

TWO… "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Nick: No, quick kickout by Super Dirk.

Richard: Please don’t use that name.

Ian rolls over, getting the cape off of his head in frustration. Felix starts laughing, and Ian pauses, then begins laughing as well. After a second, Ian starts slapping his knee, then falls over and rolls into a ball in laughter. Confused, Felix stops laughing and looks around.

Nick: Well, Ian apparently has a good sense of humor about himself.

Richard: Why is he laughing?

Felix looks over at Eli, who shrugs. After a second, Felix walks over to Ian to see what’s going on. Suddenly, as Felix is bent over, Ian grabs Felix and rolls, landing above him and locking in an ankle lock. Ian begins screaming "FOOOOOOOOOLED YOOOOOOU!" a la Dark Helmet from Spaceballs. Not really a Superhero thing to do, but you know.

Nick: Ian Nackedy was playing possum there, and now Felix is trapped in an ankle lock!

Richard: Well, that wasn’t too bad. I just can’t get over the fact he’s wearing a cape, though.

Nick: Don’t worry, apparently it’ll be gone next week.

Ian twists on the ankle as Felix tries to escape. Eventually, Felix grabs the ropes. Ian lets go, then lifts Felix up and in one fluid motion hits a Full Nelson Slam. Ian "flies" over to his corner and tags in Gildenstern.

Nick: And here comes Gildenstern.

Richard: You mean like Hamlet? What the hell is wrong with these guys?

Nick: He can’t control his name.

Richard: And I can’t control my comments. He’s retarded!

Gildenstern steps in between the ropes and grabs Felix, lifting him to his feet. Felix begins punching Gil back, and then Felix bounces off of the ropes to take down the bigger man. Doesn’t really work, though, as Gil grabs Ian and hits a Spine Bomb, then goes for the cover.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Eli comes in to break up the pin. As the ref herds the frat boy back to his corner, Gildenstern grabs Felix and lifts him up, holding him up with his face towards the corner. Ian jumps up on the turnbuckle and makes a pose, then dives towards Felix, hitting him in the face with his knee. Felix falls to the ground in a clump. Ian gets to the outside and Gildenstern makes the tag.

Nick: Little bit of cheating there by the so-called superheroes.

Richard: Oh come on, it’s not like they pulled tights. It was a double team.

Ian rolls over to Felix and lifts him up, then points, shouting, "Look right behind you!" Felix looks angry, then punches at Ian, who blocks it and punches Felix. Then he tries again. "Seriously, behind you!" Again, Felix does not fall for Ian’s trap and punches, and he is again blocked.

Ian shouts, "FELIX! BEHIND YOU! I HAVE X-RAY VISION! THERE IS A DOUCHEBAG BEHIND YOU!" Finally, Felix turns around to see…nothing. Ian pushes him towards the ropes and shoves him over, sending him to the floor. Turning to face Gil, Ian shrugs, shouting, "I think my X-Ray vision is faulty, because now the douchebag is on the floor on the outside."

Nick: Well, that was original.

Richard: Haha, they’re still stupid, but that was funny.

Ian poses, then shouts, "SUPER DIRK AWAY!" He runs to the opposite side, hitting the ropes for momentum. Then, as he nears the other end, he leaps over the ropes…

[*CLANG!*]

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

Nick: WOW!

Richard: HOLY JASON SNOW, BATMAN!

Nick: Eli VanNess just…well…check the replay!

[PRIME TIME REPLAY]

[As Ian flew over the rope, destined to hit Felix Young and shorten his days of beer bongs and keg stands, Eli ran across the apron and tackles Ian, sending him into the steel steps. Ian’s head bounced off of the steps and landed – with his body of course – in a heap over the steps. Eli then stood up on the steps and yelled "I’M THE FUCKING MAN!"]

[END PRIME TIME REPLAY]

Nick: What an impact! Ian Nackedy might be out!

Richard: Maybe when he wakes up he’ll realize being a superhero is stupid.

Eli steps to the floor and grabs Felix, helping him up. He then points at Ian and says, "I kicked his ass for you." Felix says, "thanks bro," and walks over to grab Ian, sending him into the guard rail. Felix bends over in a three point stance, then lunges forward and tackles Ian into the guard rail. Ian falls over, and Felix begins stomping on him.

Nick: Some pretty intense action for a bunch of funny guys.

Richard: Who said they were funny?

Felix once again lifts Ian to his feet and rolls him under the ropes, then slides under and covers him.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

THR… "THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Nick: Ropebreak! Nackedy got his foot on the rope!

Felix looks a little frustrated, but nods, getting to his feet and bringing Ian with him. Ian looks out on his feet, but has no time to recover as Felix slings him into the ropes, then catches him with a dropkick right to the face. Felix then walks over to Eli, tagging him in.

Nick: theUPstarts are trying to bring their bigger member in now to do some more damage. Ian is close to the end, I think, but he keeps holding out.

Eli steps in and raises his arms up, shouting "WOOOOOOOOOO!" The fans cheer in reaction.

Nick: They seem to like these fun-loving guys.

Gildenstern looks at Eli strangely, then steps in between the ropes. Walking up to Eli, he raises his arms and responds, "WOOOOOOOOOO!" The cheers come back again. Eli pauses, then responds again, "WOOOOOOO!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

That was the crowd, getting into it. Eli and Gil look around, confused. Then, they all shout together.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Richard: Hear that sound?

Nick: Yes, it’s tons of happy people!

Richard: No, that sound was the end of the tag team division as we know it.

After they stop, Gil and Eli look at each other and laugh. Eli offers a high five, and Gildenstern happily obliges. Gildenstern starts to exit the ring as Eli is tapped on the shoulder. He turns around to see Ian, who shouts, "I HAVE REGENERATION POWERS!" and starts pounding away at the bigger man, pushing him back with right hands. Then, he points to his chin, asking for Eli to swing. Eli does, and Ian ducks under his punch and grabs his legs, pulling him to the ground. Holding the legs up, Ian yells "NUT CHECK!" and kicks Eli in the balls, hard.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Nick: I think every man in the audience felt that one!

Richard: Yeah, I’m crying for that poor man on the inside.

Ian scales the top rope faster than a speeding bullet and leaps off of the turnbuckle, landing an elbow drop. Eli’s legs buck out in pain, and Ian drops on the cover.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

TH… "THREEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Nick: Eli VanNess still has the wits to kick out! I must say, these men have proven a lot to me here tonight.

Richard: That my beloved federation has signed two stupid tag teams?

Nick: No!

Eli rolls over, blinking a few times to get the cobwebs out. Ian points back up to the top rope, getting cheers, and then climbs up again. Eli gets to his feet and looks around dazed as Ian leaps, flipping in midair.

Nick: Ian going for a big move here…

[*WHAM!*]

Nick: But he misses!

Richard: I hope your ass hurts as much as the other guys’ balls does!

Ian lands on his butt after going for a somersault bulldog, but Eli moved out of the way right before. Ian hits the canvas and bounces, and Eli leaps over to make the tag to Felix Young.

Nick: Eli tags in the hot member!

Richard: I don’t know, I think Eli is better looking.

Nick: Uh…look at the action!

Richard: THAT WASN’T MEANT IN A GAY WAY!

Felix clotheslines Ian to the ground, then takes Gil over with a hip toss. Ian is up again, yelling "WHOOOOSH!" as he runs at Felix, but Felix moves and sends Ian into his partner, dropping both. Gil rolls out of the ring as Felix jumps off of the ropes and hits a moonsault on Ian, going for the cover.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

THREE… "THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Nick: That was CLOSE!

Richard: Man, this is continuing for a while for being the opening match.

Nick: That wasn’t a cue, was it?

Richard: Might’ve been.

Felix makes a cut throat motion, then leaps up to the top.

Nick: It says here his move, "Get High," is one of the best shooting star presses in the business.

Richard: I’ll believe it when I see it.

Felix shouts, "GET HIIIIIIIGH!" before leaping, going for the win…

Nick: HE MISSED! FIRST IAN, AND THEN FELIX! BOTH MISSING HIGH RISK MANEUVERS!

Ian rolls out of the way and Felix falls, then gets up, feeling his chest. Ian slowly gets up, then grabs Felix and locks him in a side headlock before leaping over Felix and slamming his head into the mat as he flies over him.

Nick: NICE MOVE! That’s something Ian calls "The Don’t You Dare Make Fun of My Funny-Sounding Last Name Because I Will Drive Your Head Into The Mat Like I Just Did!"

Richard: Uh…is there a short version of the move?

Nick: Yes, called "Don’t You Dare."

Richard: Call it that, then.

Ian gets up and starts to go over to Gil for the tag, but Eli runs in and grabs at Ian as he nears the corner. Ian extends his hand just as Eli grabs Ian’s head, so as Ian makes the tag he is pulled back into an inverted DDT, also known as…

Nick: LIGHT IT UP! Eli hit Light it Up, but Ian made the tag already!

Eli didn’t notice, as he rolls Ian up for the pin, but the ref doesn’t count. He points at Gil and makes the hand clapping motion signaling a tag. Eli then looks up and sees Gil charging.

Nick: Huge clothesline by Gil, and he’s fired up! Eli getting to his feet…

Eli stands to meet a kick to the gut, then has his arms underhooked, drapes his leg over the back and drops, driving Eli’s head into the mat.

Nick: That’s the…um…Insert Gimmick Here Driver?

Richard: No, I think you’re reading that wrong. I think instead of saying "insert gimmick here" you actually insert the gimmick name.

Nick: Uh…so…let me try again. Ahem…SUPERHERO DRIVER!

Gil sits on top of Eli and raises his arms.

Nick: Now what?

Gildenstern sits down on Eli’s back and grabs his ears, then starts twisting them and screaming.

Gil: BASKETWEAVER! BASKETWEAVER! BASKETWEAVER!

Nick: This is called the…well…the Basketweaver! And Eli VanNess looks in pain.

Richard: Really? I think I’d just be annoyed.

Gildenstern continues screaming and twisting Eli’s ears until Felix Young crashes into Gil, hitting him before hitting Light It Up on Gil, knocking him over and pinning him.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

THREE… "THRRREEEEEEEEERAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"

Nick: Kickout, and these fans are really getting behind both teams!

"PRIME! PRIME! PRIME! PRIME!"

Ian is finally getting to his feet and he grabs Felix from behind and starts brawling with him. Eli lifts Gil up and starts punching him into a corner as well.

Nick: It’s pandemonium!

Richard: It’s good old fashioned fun!

Ian grabs Felix and whips him towards the opposite corner while Eli does the same to Gil. The world seems to move slower as Gil and Felix move towards each other.

Nick: WATCH OUT!

[*CRASH!*]

Felix ducks under Gil and knocks over Eli. Gil runs towards Ian, but Ian stops him, shouting "NOT IN THE FACE!" Gil turns to see Felix running at him, so he grabs him and lifts him on his shoulders. Ian jumps up on the turnbuckle and shouts "SUPER POWERS ACTIVATE!" before leaping off and hitting a leg scissors on Felix’s head as Gil drops.

Nick: That move was…the…uh…

Richard: Just say it.

Nick: Fine…THE FLYING PURPLE UNDULATING INCANDESCENT TOASTER STRUDEL SOMETIMES REPRESENTED IN CONGRESS ALTHOUGH CURRENTLY BED-RIDDEN WITH CEREBRAL PALSY AND SOMEWHAT DYSLEXIC BUT STILL ABLE TO SPELL I JUST KICKED YOUR ASS…OF DOOM!

Richard: Wow, that was a lot.

Nick: I’m never saying that name again.

Gildenstern makes the cover.

ONE! "ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEE!"

TWO! "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

THREE! "THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

[DING DING DING!]

Howard: YOUR WINNERS…SOUND! AAAAAAAND THEEEE FUUUUUUUURYYYYYYY!

Nick: What a great match there! Both teams did a great job of fighting and entertaining, but in the end it was Sound and the Fury who put Felix Young away!

Faith Rodriguez, one half of PRIME’s female interview team is standing in front of the door to Lisa Tyler’s office. She looks at the name on the door and takes a deep breath. She knows why she was summoned to the office and she really didn’t want to hear any of it. Lisa was going to piss her off and regardless that Tyler is the boss, it would take a lot of self control for her to not slam her blonde head into the desk and bust her forehead open.

She pushes the office door open and walks inside. Lisa Tyler is on the phone, apparently complaining that a delivery for the show didn’t arrive on time. Faith sits opposite her and Lisa hangs up the phone. She leans back in her comfy office chair and puts her elbows on the arm rest, folding her hands together and feigning a smile.

Lisa: You do know why I called you here right?

Faith, playing dumb, shakes her head.

Lisa: I called you to discuss what I saw on ReVolution 131 Faith. You know, where you were out in the parking lot, talking into the car window of one Nicholas Donnelly. You slid him a pair of panties and I presume they’re yours. Then the camera caught you talking to Wade Elliott and you dropped some pretty obvious hints about what you did in that car. But I’m not one to guess, I’d rather ask. So the hints better not be that obvious and you better not have done what I think you did.

Her stern look would have intimidated most women, but Faith didn’t back down at all. In fact, she developed an even nastier look than what Tyler has on her face. She leaned forward in her chair.

Faith: Oh don’t you give me that shit Lisa! Angelica walks around here like a hooker from Queens and gets busy with half the locker room for interviews and you don’t say a word to her. Kinda hypocritical for you to be talking to me about enjoying myself with one wrestler to get a great interview for Colossus while Angelica is probably suckin’ off Tyler Rayne or Sonny Silver to just get a few words from them.

Lisa stands behind the desk and not to be outdone or intimidated, Faith gets to her feet as well.

Lisa: What I say to Angelica and her actions are none of your business. But what is my business is you gallivanting around on company time... MY time. And with Nicholas Donnelly none the less. That guy is trouble to the 10th power and the last person you want to be associating with. He debuted last week and he has already caused a tremendous amount of trouble. We’re beginning to wonder if the money is worth it to keep him around here.

Faith leaned on the desk, ready to fire a response back when the door to the office burst open.

Nitz Donnelly: OF FUCKIN’ COURSE IT IS! All you give a shit about is lining your pockets with the money I earn for you. You got a hard on for me and don’t even deny it!

The Ego of New England storms to the side of Faith. He stands opposite of Lisa and stares a hole through her.

Nitz Donnelly: Now fix your little beady eyes on me you shaved, irritated cunt and listen close because I’m only saying this once. You cause me any problems beyond the flaccid cock I get when I look at you and I’ll be outta here faster than you got on your knees to earn this job.

Tyler was about to interject when Donnelly shut her down by firing a hand up just 2 inches from her face.

Nitz Donnelly: FUCK YOU! I haven’t even moved to undo my belt and already you’re opening your mouth. Don’t deny you polished more knob than a locksmith to get this job. If I was to leave here, it would take less than 24 hours for me to sign with the competition. You’d be missin’ all the money that I brought to the competition and you’d be crying into your hands as you jumped from the top of PRIME Headquarters and split your greasy snatch from back to front when you slam into the concrete. And the worst part of all is that NOT A FUCKIN’ SOUL would miss you when you cost them millions by pushing away the largest talent you’ve ever seen. I OWN the PRIME shopping website. My "I CAME. I SAW. I SCHOOLED. YOUR. ASS!" t-shirt is number one. And everyone wants a poster of the TRUE orgasm inducer around here. I’m nothing but money for this shithole and you know it. So don’t push me!

Faith: And don’t you ever come down on me again for doing what it takes to get an interview around here. Your stock rose so fast your head was spinning and you didn’t do it by passing out cookies and promoting celibacy. Leave me alone while I move forward and take a stranglehold on the Senior Interviewer position.

Faith backs away from the desk and Nitz turns to follow. Lisa is somewhat silenced by the outburst and The Ego turns to finish her off.

Nitz Donnelly: Nah, you know what? You’re not worth another breath.

He looks her up and down, shakes his head and follows Faith out the door. Lisa Tyler is left to simmer in the mess she may have created by shaking down the big money tree that is The Ego of New England.

It’d been hell.

Jonathan Winters had been cooped in this god-awful locker room ever since entering the arena and he was getting pretty damned sick of it.

At first the idea of being separated from everyone else seemed appealing to him. No contact with the other morons, no officials looking for autographs for their children and certainly no backstage groupies looking for the slightest glimpse, or even grope, of their favourite superstars.

But after a while, it just got real old real fast. Tyler made damned sure their time in this hell was made to be as regimental as physically possible, posting security guards right outside the doors and shipping a god-awful meal in whenever damned well wanted to.

Besides, the chaos that’d landed him and the other is isolation was far from over and his undeniable urge for revenge and violence was beginning to call out to him.

He needs to get out of there…

He needs to find them…

He needs to act first…

He has to--

"Hahahahahahhahahahahahaha!!!!!!!"

Winters’ sudden burst of laughter is loud and carries through, far beyond the mere confines of his locker room. But such was the intent.

Right on cue, the locker room door swings open and a burly security guard promptly appears, hairy back and bald spot to boot.

Security Guard: What the hell is going on here?

Winters chuckles to himself and shakes his head.

Winters: Nothing, boss.

The security guard eyes him wearily.

Security Guard: You were laughing.

Winters: I was?

Security Guard [seemingly ignoring him]: But you never smile…

He wanders further into the locker room and scrutinised the place for the better part of a minute before re-fixing his eyes back on Winters.

Security Guard: What the hell is going on here? What are you up to?

Winters simply glared at him innocently and shrugged.

Winters: What the hell are you talking about?

The security guard closes the locker room door behind him and ventures even further into the place, his eyes still washing over the room, expecting some minute detail to suddenly spring out and catch his attention, as though he were some kind of supreme detective looking for the final clue to tie a vital case up.

Security Guard: What are you up to, Winters?

Winters shakes his head.

Winters: I have no idea what you mean.

The security guard shakes his head and storms over to him, his eyes never leaving him for a second.

Security Guard: Yeah, like I’m going to believe that!

Winters: Whatever!

As he draws closer, Winters fumbles with something in his hand behind him, instantly obtaining the security guard’s scrutinising attention.

Security Guard: What the hell is that?

Winters glares the security guard innocently.

Winters: What?

The security guard lunges forward, grabbing at Winters’ arm, to which Winters side steps and allows the bumbling idiot to trips over his feet and slams down hard upon the locker room floor. Winters eyes him for a second as he groans and rubs his forehead intently.

Winters: Fucking idiot….

Winters grins and deftly slips through the locker room door, locking it from the outside behind him as he goes about looking for trouble and mayhem.

***

"And then, huh-huh the doctor said, ‘rectum? I nearly killed ‘em!!!!!’ Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh!!!"

The other security guard stares back at the first blankly.

Second Security Guard: That was your joke? Seriously?

First Security Guard: Come on! That was funny and you know it!

The second security guard shakes his head and peers into the locker room the two of them are currently fortifying.

Second Security Guard: Hey, Bill!

A third security guard appears from within the locker room, door ajar and a perplexed expression spread right across his face.

Security Guard Bill: What?

Second Security Guard: Did you hear Steve’s joke? Tell him it wasn’t funny…

Security guard Bill shakes his head.

Security Guard Bill: Joke? JOKE? Will you two clown shoes shut the fuck up, I’m trying to search Shakur’s locker room here!!!!

The first security guard shakes his head and laughs to himself.

Security Guard Steve: Jesus H. Christ, Bill! What’re ya searchin’ for? Lubricant?

At this the second security guard chuckles some, but quickly stops upon the sight of Bill’s face. Thing of it is, he isn’t looking at either of them.

Security Guard Bill: What the fu--

They quickly turn to see Jonathan Winters charging at them at full pace and by this time it was too late to move.

Security Guard Steve: Motherfu--

Winters ploughs into the three of them knocking the first two guards either side of him and propelling Bill into the locker room, slamming him hard again the wooden bench placed in the direct center of the room. With the action over, Winters produces a wide smile and scrutinises his surroundings for his target and finds Devin Shakur in the corner stretching for his upcoming tag team match.

Shakur stops in his tracks and glares at Winters blankly, before casting his eyes over the downed security guards strewn all around him.

Winters: People say that violence is the last resort of a desperate man. Strange thing is, I’m about to beat the shit out of you and I’m neither on my last resort or a desperate man.

Shakur reacts first, throwing a wild right at Winters, who blocks and tackles him into the locker wall with force.

Winters [muttering]: I proved them wrong!

Shakur exhales, winded and Winters uses the opening to inflict more damage, with a vicious knee to the gut and another right to the ribs.

Realising he’s in danger, Shakur pushes Winters backwards.

Shakur: Fuck you!

However, this only provides him with enough room to draw back his leg and lunge forward with a vicious superkick. Shakur crumples to the floor in a heap, just at the security guards get back to their feet. Winters stands over Shakur’s body and laughs to himself, just as they wrap their arms around him and drag him to the locker room floor.

Red strobe lights.

"Son Song" by Soulfly.

The hatred that radiates through the building is enough to nearly burn the arena itself into cinders. Once the music kicks in and the curtains part, the blank stare of Sonny Silver is all the fans see as he walks to the ring, colder than he’d ever been. No flashy entrances, no metrosexual get-ups, no egotistical rants, gestures, of any kind.

Richard: What the hell happened to Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME?

Nick: HE’S NOT… Ugh, nevermind, you know the rest. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have literally no idea what we’re seeing here. All I see in that ring right now is the blank stare of Sonny Silver and this DESPICABLE human being actually had the audacity to attack Lindsay Troy from behind like a coward and ran before Danny Ferguson could do anything about it.

Richard: SHE INJURED HIM! What’d you think he was gonna do, sit there and apologize? No. He got revenge last week and I don’t think he’s going to stop until he’s ready to stop.

Sonny enters the ring to red-hot booing being thrown at him from all directions. His face doesn’t change as he simply snatches the microphone from Vince Howard who promptly decides to get the hell out of dodge before the same fate befalls him.

Silver: CUT THE MUSIC. NOW!

The music promptly fades out as Sonny stares icily at the ground he walks. Rather than pander to the fans and their jeering, he completely cuts them out as the arena turns pitch-black and one single gray spotlight shines on him.

Silver: I’d taken the last week to figure out just what I was going to say or what I was going to do the second I came out to this ring. I bet all you blood-thirsty pieces of shit thought I’d open up with some sort of crack that would probably make some fucking smark’s "Line of the Night" on PRIME’s bullshit Fan Forums. Rest assured… there’s no writers in the back telling me to come out here and throw these words at you. There’s no mystical force making me say these words from a keyboard, this is real and this is me. I hate each and every one of you and if you were to die on the way home tonight, I wouldn’t bat a fucking eye.

I’m through.

Admiring the hand brace and cast he sports on his right hand, Sonny takes a moment to move his fingers while the crowd continues to unleash their verbal venom. Never one to be outdone by the fans, he purses his lips and picks up the mic again.

Silver: I’m done. I’m done pandering, making you people laugh, making you chuckle, and ripping off some decrepit son of a bitch. LINDSAY TROY!

Gobs of spit fly from his mouth and spray the canvas as the mere mention of the Universal Champion’s name leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He holds up the broken hand and looks into the camera with bloodshot eyes.

Silver: YOU LISTEN TO ME, LINDSAY TROY! YOU FUCKING LISTEN TO ME, STOP DROPPING POP CULTURE REFERENCES, AND LISTEN THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO FIND YOU AND FINISH WHAT I STARTED LAST WEEK! DO YOU HEAR ME?!?

Nick: …wow.

Even Richard can’t bring himself to talk over the hatred emanating from the body currently inhabiting the ring.

Silver: Last week, I took my boot to your head and tossed you against the floor where you belong. I picked up that Universal Title and held it in my hand. And you know what I felt? Euphoria. I felt a rush fill my brain and you know what? It felt great. As for you, I hope it burns, Lindz. I hope it burns you in the pit of your stomach that last week when you were a crumbled mess laying at my feet, when Danny had a door slammed into his face for your sins, you realize you were at MY mercy, Lindz. If I really wanted to, I would’ve taken that boot and I would’ve split your fucking head open like a rotten fruit. But unlike you, the man that’s been left in this ring is not a coward.

He looks to the sky now and shivers.

Silver: The ego is gone. All that’s left in this ring is a broken, embittered soul that doesn’t know when to let go of it all and say "fuck it" to the business. I tried. But it kept calling out to me. It begged me to return. It said I had unfinished business that had… no… NEEDED to be settled before I left this place. And you know what it said to me, Troy? You’ve got one more shot. You’ve got just one more title win left in your bones and right here… right now… in this place… you’ve got that shot. But just one more. I’ve got one more fight in me and I’ll be DAMNED if I’m going to walk away from this business a fucking loser. Damn how I’ve got this far, I’m here now and what I’ve become – what you’ve helped me to become –
He looks at his cast and smiles.

Silver: …is beautiful. I’m just Sonny Gabriel Silver. THERE IS NO FUCKING MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME ANYMORE! What you’re seeing in this ring right now isn’t The Real Deal. This isn’t the poser artist that sits there and makes claims of something he’s not. I’m not the fucking Game. I’m not a Heartbreak Kid. I’m not even an Inhuman Being… I’m ME. No nicknames, no poses, no taglines, just ME. Just a bloodthirsty, savage, remorseless, animal that gives no quarters and spills buckets of blood in the name of nobody but himself. An island alone. An artist that uses the blood from his very opponents to create art that would be revered for years. Overkill was all about Fuck You’s vengeance. And by God, Nova got it. But at Colossus IV… it’s going to be about MY vengeance.

LINDSAY TROY! I AM CHALLENGING YOU, AT COLOSSUS FOUR, AND I’M CHALLENGING YOU TO A MATCH FOR THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

Nick: OH, MY GOD!

Richard: NO FUCKING WAY!

The fans gasp at the challenge laid down to the Universal Champion as he grits his teeth.

Silver: The basis of Colossus has helped to create some of the greatest artwork that has been seen painted across PRIME’s canvas. Killean against Tchu. Ignatius Lisieux vs. Karina Wolfenden. Nova/Youngblood. Deville/Karina. The list goes on. And now, what we’re going to do my dear, is create the masterpiece that will be talked about for years to come – the day that Sonny Silver took his rightful place on high as not just the champion of the wrestling world, but the wrestling UNIVERSE. It’s beautiful, it really is. Imagine it now, 45,000 strong. People from MY hometown, Lindz. The Safeco Field with MY own hometown calling for my head… then when you’ve fallen to the canvas and you either get pinned or tap the mat frantically, BEGGING me to stop prying your arms or legs from the socket… they’ll have all fallen in awe of the NEW Universal Champion. All the naysayers that claim I don’t have one more match left in me will be shut up when that title is raised over my head and a defiant middle finger aimed in their direction! The only people who won’t be allowed to see this monumental occasion will be my wife and my daughter. They’re going to be sitting at home with the TV turned off because what I do to you in Seattle, I don’t want them to be exposed to what I do.

Nick: This man has gone off the deep end… truly…

Richard: He speaks the gospel truth, my friend!

Silver: Your stubborn ego won’t allow you to refuse me, Lindsay. You and I both know that. I know you better than anybody here and I know that if I were to throw dirt in your face, you’d drop everything you were doing just so you could get that crack at me. Everything I do irks you, makes you resent me, makes you HATE me. To have that kind of power over another human being is nothing short of orgasmic. You think me stabbing you in the back all those months ago was the worst thing I’ve ever done to you? That was just one side to my personality, the personality cooked up by some stupid booker back there. What you see now is what you get – the side that nobody has ever seen before, Lindz, not even you.

WELCOME TO THE OTHER SIDE.

"Son Song" by Soufly blasts over the PA as Sonny lets the microphone fall to the wayside.

Nick: WOW. Sonny Silver making a statement here tonight, challenging Lindsay Troy to a match at Colossus. But how’s she going to resp… wait, what’s this?

Before Sonny can leave, "Money In The Bank" by Lil Scrappy starts to erupt through the arena, sending the crowd into a fit of confusion. The Fife Posse, both Burnie and Slash, make their way out from behind the curtain, staring at what used to be their fearless leader with a look of anger etched onto both their faces.

Richard: What the hell are these guys doing here? This is live TV, not the Dark Match!

Nick: Shut up! Burnie and Slash both aren’t looking very happy with the still stoic Sonny Silver right now.

The music cuts as Slash and Burnie both roll into the ring, looking up at the shadow of the man that used to be their boss. Cautiously, they don’t take their eye off him, but still don’t back down from him as Slash takes out a microphone and the music fades.

Slash: YOU.

Sonny’s apathetic expression to the interference of the Fife Posse doesn’t change one iota.

Slash: You wanna know why we’re out here? Well, I’ll tell you, brother. Quite frankly, me and Burnie have been busting our backsides for MONTHS and while you scurry off to the depths of nowhere, we’re left behind to pick up the scraps. Listen to you coming out here. "WAH, WAH! LINDSAY HURT ME! CRY, CRY, CRY!" We’re sick of working for you. We’re sick of being your lackeys. And another thing… attacking a woman from behind? Even if she IS the Universal Champion, she’s still a woman nonetheless and that was just low.

Burnie: YEAH!

The fans pop a little for that outburst while Slash and Burnie stand tall and don’t budge from their respective spots.

Nick: Wow. The Fife Posse are showing something reminiscent of having an actual SPINE. Who’d have thought that?

Richard: These bastard ingrates! Sonny brings them up to the big leagues and that’s all he had to do. It’s not his fault they can’t even hit the ball.

Slash doesn’t take his eye off Sonny as he inches ever so closer to his face.

Slash: So here’s what we want… our freedom. So right here, right now, I’m challenging YOUR punkass to a match right here, right now. We’re taking a stand tonight and you control us no longer!

Burnie: YEAH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

The Wrecking Machine eyes Burnie, who doesn’t even believe his own gumption to speak out against his employer. He gives the former Chairman of PRIME a minute to take this insubordination in.

Silver: Pfft. I’ll take both of you on. And as for your freedom… you’ve both outlived your usefulness. You’re fired.

Slash: You can’t fire us…. WE QUIT!

A STIFF Chop lands across the chest of Sonny Silver and a big forearm shot from Burnie smacks him in the head as a referee runs down to the ring quickly.

Nick: GOOD FOR THEM! THE FIFE POSSE ARE NOT ONLY STANDING UP TO SONNY, BUT SLASH McCOY’S KICKING HIS ASS! GO DO IT!

Richard: NO! HEY! THAT COULD BE OUR NEXT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION RIGHT THERE AND SLASH IS CHOPPING HIS CHEST UP LIKE RAW MEAT!

Sonny finds himself backed into the nearest corner, trying to fend off Slash McCoy’s assault, but the 240-pound Wrecking Machine doesn’t relent a single bit, chopping and kicking away at Sonny’s midsection until his arms and legs get tired. He goes for an Irish whip that sends Silver crashing HARD chest-first into the opposite turnbuckle, making him gasp for air.

"SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!"

Burnie McCoy slaps his hands on the ring apron, rallying the fans of the Staples Center behind his "brother" for this impromptu contest.

Nick: I never thought I’d live to see the day that fans start CHEERING for the Fife Posse, but when Slash McCoy’s opponent is Sonny Silver, the fans are always bound to be on your side.

Richard: These two fucking traitors! Sonny took them under his wing and when things got sour, they blame him. It’s not his fault they suck!

Slash continues the offense, plowing more Knife-Edge Chops into the chest of the risen Silver before throwing some right hands into his face. He picks him up with a big Scoop Slam and drives him into the mat before bouncing off the rope and connecting with a BIG Knee Drop across the face! Slash makes the first cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Sonny throws Slash off, but the African-American half of the McCoy brothers straddles his former employer and lets loose with right hand after right hand, cleaning his clock until the referee starts making the count of five. The Wrecking Machine gets off him and allows Silver to rise to his feet. A big-time European Uppercut lands directly across the jaw and makes him rock back to the nearest corner. Slash tags in Burnie and the wily duo whip Sonny into the ropes. A Double Back Body drop puts his crazy ass back on the mat and is concluded by a Double Elbow Drop to the chest! Burnie makes the cover now.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick: You’ve got to admire the heart of both Slash and Burnie right now!

Richard: The hell I do! It’s a two-on-one match! I mean, it’s the FIFE POSSE we’re talking about here, but it’s still two-on-one!

Nick: Hey, Sonny challenged them both to a match. Not his fault they took him up on it.

Burnie throws a few kicks to Sonny’s abdomen as he backs off into the nearest corner to evade any more harm or double-teams from his former bodyguards. Burnie McCoy gathers his energy for a moment, then makes a mad dash toward the corner…

Nick: HOLY HELL!

Richard: HOLY HELL IS RIGHT! THAT WAS AWESOME!

Sonny manages to catch Burnie in mid-air, then Hotshot him not onto the turnbuckle padding, but the ringpost behind it. Sickeningly, Burnie’s head cracks against the steel and sends the much smaller McCoy brother skittering back down to the canvas. Slash freaks out and tries to get back into the ring, but the ref impedes his path. Seeing an opening and capitalizing upon it like a shark smelling blood, Sonny takes the cast on his hand and SMASHES Burnie in the skull with it and damn near knocking him out in the process.

Nick: DAMN IT, REF, TURN AROUND! SONNY SHOULD’VE BEEN DISQUALIFIED BECAUSE OF THAT CAST!

Richard: Hey! Lindsay gave it to him and damn if he isn’t going to use it!

A trickle of blood flows down the forehead and soon, covers his face fairly quickly. In a sick fit, Sonny takes the blood on the tip of his finger and starts smearing it across the white surface of the cast like a trophy. Burnie rolls around the ring, trying to regain his bearings from the back-to-back headshots.

At this point, Slash has seen enough and pushes right through the referee to try and get back into the ring, but as he climbs through the ropes, Sonny kicks the ropes upward, sending them directly into the groin of Slash!

Nick: Damn him! This is just damn awful!

Richard: Awfully fucking cool, you mean!

Slash has zero time to recover as in the blink of an eye, he’s given a receipt from Sonny vis-à-vis the NASTIEST succession of Kawada-like kicks ever seen on a PRIME broadcast. Each blow that lands across his body is nastier than the last until a final "CRACK!" echoes throughout the arena, courtesy of a straight on left hook that makes Slash sail onto the apron where he currently hangs for dear life.

Nick: This man isn’t Sonny Silver. I don’t know what he is, but I have NEVER seen this monster with this kind of uninhibited anger unleashed.

Richard: He’s a man not held back by some bullshit parody, Nick! This IS Sonny Silver you’re seeing here.

Sonny, seeing a great opening for more damage, runs across the ropes and comes back with a wicked Punt Kick, SMACKING Slash so stiffly, a cut opens up on his forehead as he bounces off the apron and crashes to the floor a la AJ Styles.

Nick: GOD, NO! SLASH COULD’VE SUFFERED SOME MAJOR DAMAGE! THAT’S THE SAME BOOT THAT SONNY TOOK TO THE HEAD OF LINDSAY TROY LAST WEEK!

Richard: Shut it or he’ll turn his attention to this table next, man!

Nick: THIS ISN’T A MATCH ANYMORE! THIS IS JUST DEPLORABLE!

Burnie McCoy, in the meantime, has been opened up and his face is being covered with more red by the second. Smiling like a kid in a candy store, Sonny chomps at the bit for Burnie McCoy to fight back. He goes to grab the cruiserweight, only for Burnie to fight back with some hard forearm shots to the head. Practically running on auto-pilot, a dazed and confused Burnie doesn’t cease his assault on Sonny. With one big chance for a comeback, he throws a hard kick into Sonny’s stomach and takes him by the head and walks the ropes…

Nick: YES! HERE COMES THE AFTERBURN!

Richard: NO! THERE GOES THE AFTERBURN!

Sonny blocks Burnie’s finishing maneuver in mid-move by holding him in place, then he simply walks forward and DUMPS Burnie to the floor, back-first!

Nick: Damn it! He could be paralyzed after taking that kind of a sick slam to the outside! Burnie isn’t moving!

Richard: LOOK!

Seeing what had become of Burnie McCoy, Slash’s vision sees only red now as he runs full-bore and SPEARS Sonny to the mat, throwing right after right after right in an attempt to gain revenge for his brother.

Nick: GET HIM! MAKE HIM PAY, SLASH!

The referee once again tries to restore order to the chaos brought about by Sonny’s sickening display, but Slash shoves him aside so he can continue his punishment. Taking Sonny by two handfuls of hair, he grits his teeth before attempting a Short-Arm Clothesline that Silver ducks…

Richard: SAITO SUPLEX!

Sonny reverses the hold and catches him with a DEADLY Backdrop Driver-style move that lands Slash sickeningly on his head and neck before he crumbles over to the mat. Silver leans up against the corner now, letting himself take a brief rest after the severe beating suffered at the hands of Slash moments before. When the rest is over, Slash starts to roll around the canvas in a daze, almost completely unsure of his surroundings. Sonny slaps the heel of his boot and lets the roaring sea of screaming fans what’s coming next.

Nick: No, no, no, not again! Damn it, not again!

Richard: ONE MORE TIME! ONE MORE TIME! ONE MORE TIME!

Nick: Come on, you have them beat! You don’t have to do this, Sonny, come on!

Silver literally stomps and paces around the ring as he waits for Slash McCoy to get himself into a position to unleash his fury upon. The moment presents itself when Slash tries to get up on all fours, but a second running Punt Kick finds its mark right in the temple of Slash, making him roll halfway across the canvas. When he comes to a stop, Slash makes no movement whatsoever. Burnie is also down and out at ringside as the fans drown the entire arena in jeering.

Nick: I can’t even hear myself over these people!

With a content sigh, Sonny lets himself rest for a moment as the referee has no choice but to call for the bell.

"Son Song" by Soufly rings throughout the Staples Center, but Los Angeles continue to be up in arms over this utterly sickening display of violence before them.

Vince Howard: AS A RESULT OF MATCH STOPPAGE, THE REFEREE HAS DECLARED THE WINNER OF THE MATCH… SONNY SILVER!

Nick: The referee had no choice but to stop this match. Neither man is currently moving since Burnie got hurled to the outside like a lawn dart. He may have just saved Slash McCoy from something as sickening as giving another human being a concussion.

Richard: I don’t think so! Look!

Nick: What the HELL is he doing now?

Courageously, a hand rises up and a scrawny body comes in after it. The body of Burnie McCoy comes around and tries to pull itself back into the ring, sending the unstable Silver directly over the edge.

Silver: NO! NO, NO, NO! DAMN IT, LINDSAY, NO! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO ESCAPE FROM MY WRATH! NOT THIS TIME!

He nearly convulses in the corner as Burnie tries to make it back to his feet against every demand his aching body has for him to stop. He could turn and run… he should… but he wasn’t going to be a coward. Not anymore.

Nick: He’s damn INSANE! It’s like all he sees now is Lindsay Troy...

Richard: He said it when he came out here. That’s all he wants now and that’s all he’s going to do until he gets the title match he wants.

Silver: YOU’RE GONNA PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

In one last ditch effort to ultimately put down Burnie McCoy, he runs full speed and connects with the third in a succession of gross-looking Punt Kicks to the face, knocking Burnie completely unconscious. Sonny doesn’t even stick around anymore, seeing the damage he’s caused. In a trance, the Seattle native leaves the ring immediately and walks to the back, scaring man, woman, and child alike with the inhuman-looking scowl.

EMTs head past him and quickly hurry down to ringside to attend to both Burnie and Slash McCoy before anything worse could happen to both brothers.

Nick: (gravely) I… can’t believe what we’ve just seen out here. For nearly a year, this maniac was going around claiming to be someone he’s not and we thought that was the brink of insanity… to think that this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg is just unfathomable. Folks, while we try to gain some semblance of order here, we’re going to a commercial. We’ll be back.

The final scene cuts away with both Slash and Burnie McCoy, currently face-down, unconscious, and both in pools of their own blood as the EMTs start to haul them away.

Three men stand inside of Lisa Tyler's office, each one focused on the other as they exchange malevolent glances strong enough to topple a building.

Tom Walczak.

Tyler Rayne.

Munson Monsoon.

Silence slices its way through the air, cold and thick with tension. That is, until a voice calls out to them from the other side of the chair that has the back turned to them.

"You may be asking yourselves why I called you here."

The chair spins around slowly; the menacing grin of the man with the aforementioned nickname greets them with malicious intent.

Tony Gamble: Well, the greatest Five Star champion EVAR!!! felt that you guys have really been stinking up the joint. I mean seriously, I don't know where Lisa ever got the idea that any of you would ever be able to contend with Easton Hall for the greatest title for people not named Tony Gamble, but she was absolutely wrong.

None of this is sitting well with the three men, and just as Tyler Rayne is about to say something smart in response, Tony holds his hand up to silence him and keeps speed talking like that guy that used to make the Micro Machines commercials.

Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

Tony Gamble: Look at you guys. I mean, wasn't there supposed to be like ten of you all competing for the most coveted title for people that want to make a name for themselves in PRIME? I'm so ashamed that I let this joke of a tournament go on for as long as I did, but I'm telling you now that it will not continue. This tournament is disbanded, and you guys can go back to facing guys like Jonathon Winters and Diego Delgado. Now be on your-

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

During Tony's tirade, he failed to hear the door of the office opening. Nor did he hear the sound of heels striking against cold, unrelenting faux marble tile.

Tony Gamble: Who me? Oh, I was just sitting here keeping your seat warm and your guests entertained.

Lisa Tyler: Please, if I wanted you to do that I'd make you stand in front of my chair with a space heater held up over your head. Kill two birds with one stone.

A round of giggles fills the air. Gamble stands up, grinning sarcastically at the group of three, particularly Rayne as he walks around the desk.

Rayne: Douche bag.

Gamble: Prick.

Big Bear: ME!?!

Walczak: Losers.

Gamble: Sheep fu-

Lisa Tyler: Tony, can it.

Gamble turns to Lisa, who is not amused. Not at all.

Walczak: So what’s this all about?

Lisa walks over to her chair, dusts the seat off and plunks herself down. She adjusts her shirt then leans forward, folding her hands on top of the desk.

Lisa Tyler: Unfortunately, our vertically challenged friend here is right. The tournament has been cancelled. I’m-

Upset beyond all belief, Big Bear had put his huge size 14 through the cheap, not-so-sturdy wall of Lisa’s office. Nobody says a word as Big Bear stands on one leg and tries to yank his trunk of a leg out of the small hole. No success.

Walczak: Stuck, Yogi?

Big Bear: Heh, sorry. A little help?

Rayne: Sure.

Without hesitation, Rayne picks up the Grin, handing him to Monsoon. Big Bear swiftly chucks Gamble through the wall, freeing his leg, and the west wall in Lisa’s office. He turns around and shoots Rayne a thumbs up and then he lends Gamble his hand for assistance. Lisa Tyler watches on in horror.

Gamble: Oh, yeah. Thanks, but I’m gonna hold off considering you JUST THREW ME THROUGH A WALL!!~!

Big Bear: Sorry, Ms. Tyler. I just really, really wanted that title shot! REAL BAD!

Lisa Tyler: (rolling her eyes) That was a little overboard for mad, wasn’t it? Whatever, it could've been worse…

She began to imagine an all out war between the four men inside the now three-sided box, then shuts her eyes and shakes the thought out of her mind. After a moment, she opens her eyes again to see Rayne and Gamble making nasty faces at each other while Monsoon tries to make those same faces, only in her direction. Walczak looks on at his rostermates in disgust, then fake-checks an imaginary watch on his wrist to see how much time this whole production is wasting.

As Gamble’s eyes uncross, he notices Lisa paying attention again and stops, deciding instead to knock some of the dust from the wall of of his pants. Rayne doesn't quite get the hint, continuing with his child-like antics. Lisa glares at the men.

Lisa Tyler: I swear, you four are a bunch of children.

Rayne: Well, Gamble here's short enough to be one...

Lisa Tyler: ENOUGH!

And everyone shuts up.

Lisa Tyler: If the four of you want to pick fights in a public sandbox, you do that on your own time. Right now, you're on my time, and while you're on my time you will not waste it. Do I make myself clear?

The men mumble their assent.

Lisa Tyler: Good. As for details on the cancellation, it’s not any of your faults. PRIME wanted this to be a major event, but the effort put forth by the other half of the participants has been low enough to call off the whole shebang.

Big Bear: BOLLOCKS!

Gamble: What?

Rayne: It’s British for-

Walczak: So what the hell do I do?

Rayne: Yeah, I was so going to win that title. You know, to impress Lindsay Troy.

Big Bear, to Gamble: By ‘I’, he meant me.

Lisa Tyler: (warning) You're doing it again...

Gamble: (ignoring Lisa) Pa-lease, people. None of you are worthy enough to call yourselves PRIMEates, let alone a 5-star Champion! I would take all of you out back and make you look like old, decrepit dogs. Dead. Buried. You get the picture.

Lisa Tyler: Yes yes, Tony Gamble is the best proclaimer of the 5 Star Title PRIME has, despite losing it to the new girlfriend of the guy you boys like to call the "Commie Emo."

Gamble seethes.

Walczak: Heh heh, you lost the title to someone shorter than you?

Gamble: I'd make a Polish joke right now, but I really don't want to be covered in anymore sheetrock.

Walczak: Smart thinking.

Lisa Tyler: So, taking Tony's heralding into consideration, as well as Blaine and I realizing that the numbers didn't work with just three, I took the liberty of adding him to the 5-star challenge. The new 5-star Challenge.

Everyone, do the WHATDAFUCK pose!

All: <=O

…Groooovy.

Lisa Tyler: At Colossus IV, PRIME's biggest event of the year, you four will be in a match. It will be Tyler Rayne and Munson Monsoon against Tony Gamble and Tom Walczak. The first team to score a pinfall is the winner.

Walczak: (pointing at Gamble) Why him?

Rayne: Because he's the other heel in this little party, dipshit.

Lisa Tyler: Yes, there's that, and Blaine and I decided to let Tony try and prove that he's the greatest 5-Star Champ--

Gamble: EVAR!!

Lisa Tyler: -which will occupy him at Colossus and he won't be skulking outside, or inside, my office anymore.

Cue: Gamble frowning, el oh el.

Lisa Tyler: Not so fast though, there’s a twist. It-

Big Bear: I hate that vanilla and chocolate crap!

Lisa Tyler: Don't you ever say anything intelligent?

Big Bear: Well, there was the time that...

Lisa Tyler: Don't talk. The twist is that immediately following the pinfall, the winning team will be fighting each other, one on one, for the 5 Star Title shot. Each of you will have to work with your teammate before you can fight him for the prize that each of you so eloquently stated that you want.

She offers up a fake smile.

Lisa Tyler: Fun, huh?

Rayne: Ah, fuck you. And fuck him, too. Just because this little hobbit ass can't get over on Emo, fuckin' Frodo here thinks he can roll in and steal the spotlight me and Munson have been shinin' all over this tournament? This is fuckin' recockulous.

Lisa Tyler: Do I take this sudden outburst to mean that you're afraid, Rayne?

Rayne: The only thing I'm afraid of is ol' boy's buddy Samwise Gamgee hoppin' in the ring and robbing me of a good chance to rectify that little coup Gamble and his fellow Ewoks pulled on Endor. I'm not afraid. I'm just telling you it's bullshit that Mr. Has-Been wants to ride my rising star back into some supposed glory he thinks he had.

Lisa Tyler: That's funny, I could have sworn you've been doing that ever since you signed your name on the dotted line of your PRIME contract.

Rayne: Cute.

Big Bear: Dude, sick burn.

Rayne: Laugh it up, fuzzball.

Gamble is grinning all over, happy to get a free pass to Colossus any time it should happen and even happier to see everyone else bickering amongst themselves at his inclusion.

Gamble: Well then, that’s my cue. I’ll see all you boys at Colussus and you-

Lisa Tyler: Not so fast, Tony. You're not walking out of here without breaking a sweat yourself. You've got a match tonight.

Gamble: Tryin’ to break me, woman? It’s not the giant chicken again, is it? That bastard hasn't clipped his nails in months.

Lisa Tyler: Giant, yes. Chickens, no. You've got Monsoon and Winters tonight.

Big Bear: Yeah, I didn't think you were callin' me a chicken, BossLady.

Monsoon rests his arm atop the head of The Grin, and Gamble nearly busts a vein in his head.

Big Bear: Heh, Minichump.

Gamble: Winters? No problem. But this overgrown Chia Pet...

Lisa Tyler: Alright, all of your welcomes have officially been worn out. My office has been damaged less by more important people than you four, so get the hell out. You’re tracking mud on my new marble and have given me a headache worthy of our next pay-per-view's name.

Big Bear: (looking down) Oops.

The four shuffle out at the same time, colliding in the doorway and shoving each other. They disappear and Lisa lowers her head to her desk, banging her forehead against it.

"Machaiveli St. Romani, please report to the front office...I repeat, Machaiveli St. Romani, please report to the front office."

For the first time within the last thirty or so minutes, the suited St. Romani pushes himself out of the leather chair in which he'd been steadfastly waiting for the call which had finally come. Without haste, he weaves through the backstage area, passing the camera crews and random backstage personas until he finally reached the edifice of the front office.

Seated promptly before him is a seemingly bothered secretary, if only evident by the expression on her pale face. A modern day Chloe O' Brien, if you will. She peers into the eyes of the masked St. Romani and hesitantly speaks.

Secretary: May I help you?

Romani: I was....called? I believe you have a package for me?

Secretary: Oh right...you.

Taking a deep breath that hardly suggested pleasure, she reaches underneath the desk in retrieval of a white envelope.

Secretary: From the desk of Mrs. Tyler...

She handed him the envelope.

Romani: Thank you.

With his purpose fulfilled, Machaiveli prepares himself to exit the rather hostile environment. Suddenly, however, he turns back around to face the Secretary once more.

Romani: Excuse me, Mrs...?

Secretary: What do you want?

Romani: Mrs. What do you want. You wouldn't happen to know the location of The Codemaster, would you?

Secretary: No I wouldn't...and I don't find you humorous in the least bit. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few errands to run.

Knocking down a few shuffles of paperwork along the way, she forces herself from behind the desk, violently stomping out of the office.

"Got to find Codemaster" Romani mumbled under his breath.

With one small glance, he takes note of the intercom microphone in which the Secretary used to draw his attention towards the Front Office. Peering around to make sure no one is watching, he makes his way over to the microphone.

Fiddling with it a bit, he finally managed to turn it on.

Romani: May C-...

He stopped. He knew he couldn't call Codemaster by name. No, that'd cause him to linger about. He needed the Codemaster and he needed him now. With that in mind, he follows an alternate route.

Romani: May I have your attention, please. We are currently in possession of a lost Nintendo Wii. Please come to the Front Office to claim it. Thank You.

Before he can even manage to properly step away from the desk, the office door comes flying open.

The Codemaster: Don't TELL me that Tyler LOST it! I stood in line in the SNOW for that thing! The SNOW! And I'm not talking Jason Snow, here! Although sitting through his promos is already a trial! DAMMIT! Where's that Wii!?

Ripping the office apart in a panic, The Codemaster desperately seeks the highly innovative platform of gaming. When his haste turns up empty, The Codemaster violently snatches St. Romani up by the collar, shaking him profusely all the while screaming in his face.

The Codemaster: You! King! Tell me where it is!?

Romani: Codemaster...CODEMASTER! CALM DOWN!

Snapping out of his hysterical state for a moment, The Codemaster peers deeply into the eyes of the Tiger masked opposer, head titling slightly upon doing so.

The Codemaster: Wait a minute...you're the guy who attacked me last week.

The Codemaster SHOULD be including Coral Avalon in that, but... well... he's not gonna.

Romani: Not exactly. That w-...

The Codemaster: You! If you're holding my Wii hostage, I swear on the lives of Stubbs the Zombie and his unholy zombie children that I will END yo--

Romani: Listen, I don't have your Wii. As a matter of fact, there is no Wii!

Releasing his grasp on St. Romani, The Codemaster takes on a look of devastation.

The Codemaster: No Wii?

Romani: No Wii.

The Codemaster turns to walk away.

Romani: Wait...before you go...I have something for you.

The Codemaster: You? For me? Look, the last time I checked, I don't accept payment in chairshots. Only cash or Pokemon will suffice. ...Do you have a Poliwrath?

Romani: No.

The Codemaster: Curses.

Romani: Look...what my partner, Vangelus Olsig, did last week to you and Coral Avalon was unacceptable. While he's too stubborn to adhere to such a mistake, I am not. Therefore on behalf of the both of us, I grant both you and Coral this peace offering.

Romani hands The Codemaster a wrapped present that resembles the size of a packaged DVD. With confusion ever so present in his eyes, The Codemaster slowly unwraps the present, constantly shifting around in order to make sure no one is attempting a sneak attack. After finally yanking off all of the wrapping, the present is revealed.

Smackdown vs Raw 2007.

...For the PS2.

The Codemaster: ...This is supposed to be a peace offering? It's current gen. Not to MENTION that this is one really lousy game.

In a crazed manner, The Codemaster tosses the game across the room.

The Codemaster: What are you trying to prove here, GUY!? You're trying to make yourself look like a good guy all of the sudden, aren't you? You just want me to forget what you did to me last week? And then...worst of it all...you INSULT me with...THAT?!

Again, he's forgotten Coral.

Romani: You've got to understand...Vangelus just lost it out there last week. It was a mistake. Can't you forgive a mistake.

The Blackest Brother in the Hyrule Kingdom points at Romani, all Phoenix Wright-like.

The Codemaster: OBJECTION!

Cue the "cornered" theme!

The Codemaster: See... it wasn't a mistake. It wasn't even his fault. It was YOURS! You could've stopped him. You could've prevented the attack! But instead, what did you do? You sat there and ALLOWED it to happen. You're just as guilty as he is! And I'm sure the Judge agrees with me!

The Codemaster looks to his left, almost expecting a judge to be standing right there. Romani briefly wonders if the Codemaster has gone insane, before the Codemaster turns back and shrugs.

The Codemaster: Well, he would if he were here.

Romani: Listen, I really d-...

The Codemaster: I don't want to hear it. You're worse than one of them crazed priests from Grandia that turns into a giant killer heart. You lead everyone to believe that you're some sort of saint when deep down you're nothing but an Akuma in human's clothing. All D.Gray-man style and crap. Look at you, with your stupid little Tiger Mask. Who do you think you are? I mean, I called you King before, but now that I look at you, I'm amazed you can talk in any way other than tiger roars. And you know what? King's a child killer anyway. You know what this industry does to child killers, right? We forget about `em! And you, you look like a child killer to me. You haven't set fire to any orphanages lately, have you?

Romani: I would ne-...

The Codemaster: (interrupting) Blahblahblah. Look, King, I've got news for you. Burning orphanages has been done. By guys named Lynx. Trying to kill Lucca and her kids just for the sole purpose of getting back at her for screwing with FATE. And I know, I know, it's tragic, but you know what? That orphanage HAD IT COMING. It attacked Lynx first! What choice did he have but to set it on fire and then pick off as many survivors as he could possibly find? It's common self-defense, man. Everyone should know that. Nobody should ever go and attack orphanages indiscriminately. They should always do it in a scripted battle. Scripted battles are the battles in which you can set people on fire and *not* get arrested for any reason ever. Wrestling taught me that! I mean, that's common sense. Right now, I can't set you on fire. I'd be in jail faster than you can say "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas". The second the bell rings, though, I'm gonna immolate you faster than Eve can get all your mitochondria to move at once and barbeque you. And trust me when I say... I ain't gonna get pregnant with no Ultimate Being just to be able to set you on fire, either. That'd just be freaky. And weird. You get what I'm sayin', don't you?

Romani: ...what?

The Codemaster: Oh, whatever. Look, I feel my heat cooling just by bein' around you. I'm gonna go.

Romani: Please...just hear me out. All I want is for you to understand that I am indeed sorry. I wish it wouldn't have happened that way. Can you atleast confirm to me that you understand that I AM apologizing?

The Codemaster: Apologies are for the weak! They're for the Level 1 Pierres of the world who comically attempt to attack, only to do zero damage! If I had time to apologize to people for setting them on fire, or putting them in a coma with a massive Megaton Hammer-based hemorrhage, or crushing their Pokemon with a single level 100 Dusknoir, or KOing every mother in Smash Bros. with Jigglypuff, or crushing their manhood with a well-placed Greco-Roman Kick in the Super Mushrooms, or jumping on turtle shells in order to get 1-ups, or impaling innocent citizens with the Blades of Chaos using the Circle button, or casting magic missile at the darkness, or proclaiming to the masses that all their base are belong to me, or stealing Pieces of Heart from unsuspecting villagers, or stabbing giant spiders in the eye with the Master Sword, or laughing in the faces of my enemies as my Level 20 Nino massacres every stupid enemy that attacks her with magical powers, or killing Aries, or trying to prove my client innocent by wildly making accusations using the tiniest of clues, or shooting Space Pirates in the balls with a plasma beam, or shooting Salazar's face off with a rocket launcher, or crushing Abyssion using a little girl with a ridiculously oversized axe, or jumping on Dr. Robotnik until he dies, or destroying the Japanese with a constant stream of carefully constructed Kenshin combos, or snapping the necks of innocent Russian guards just trying to make a living in the post-Cold War era, or breaking out of Rosencaster Prison, or shooting my enemies in the kidneys with an ARM, or killing zombies with a lawnmower, or using the forces of darkness to perform mob hits, or getting five stars on Free Bird, or... Heat Man forbid, getting equipped with Bubble Lead... I'd never get anything done! Now, if you'll excuse me... I need a drink.

The Codemaster turns to walk away leaving Romani desperate to find a way to get him to turn back. He chooses the very first thing that comes to mind...

Romani: Well, I guess you wouldn't be interested in this limited edition copy of Zelda: Twilight Princess with bonus features...

You know that sound a car makes when the driver forcefully puts on the brakes and tries to stop just inches before it flies off a cliff and to its demise? The Codemaster hears that sound just now. Everything stops.

Time... stops.

Somewhere in the world, Dio Brando could be heard shouting, "Toki wo tomare!". Then he drops a steamroller on someone and screams "WRYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" before smashing the steamroller to pieces with his elbow.

...What?

Anyway, the Codemaster slowly turns around, eyes glazed over like a box of Krispy Kremes. The fresh kind. Krispy Kremes downright suck if they're stale.

The Codemaster: You mean... you have that?

In an attempt to avoid a lie, Romani doesn't answer, but gives a facial expression that suggests a 'yes'.

The Codemaster: How do I know you're telling the truth?

Romani: You don't. But if I am, you'll have a ton of regret to deal with.

The Codemaster: Show me.

Romani: First, accept my apology.

The Codemaster: Do I need to go over my apology speech again? I mean, seriously, you don't hear ME apologizing for all of the things I've done! You don't hear me apologizing for snapping little Johnny's neck in order to escape a Russian prison, or beating a Goron grandmother with a turtle shell, or falling asleep and using the force of my sleeping to send people flying off the screen, or using a chainsaw bayonet to say "hi" to a locust's face, or destroying the Elite Four, or using Lenalee to kick my enemies off the stage, or swallowing my enemies and taking their powers, or knocking my enemies skyward and shooting them in midair with Ebony and Ivory, or using Aika's Lambda Burst to casually kill every enemy in the area, or sacrificing soldiers in a flamethrower pit in order to get the Trident of Poseidon, or kicking the crap out of the moon before it can crash into Terminus and cause an extinction level event, or using Vanish followed up by Doom, or using PSI Rockin' level Omega to wipe the floor with a Heavilly Armed Pokey, or hitting a two-in-one Fierce Punch and following it up with a Hadouken, or using Geno Whirl to cause 9999 damage, or... Heat Man forbid, killing the God of War in order to take his place.

Romani: I don't know where you received your credentials, but the last time I checked, an acceptance went something along the lines of a simple "I accept your apology".

The Codemaster: Fine...I accept...

Romani: You accept what?

The Codemaster: Your...thing.

Romani: My...what?

The Codemaster remains silent for a moment.

Romani: Fine. I guess I'll just give it to Chainz or someone. He'll enjoy this g-...

The Codemaster: GAH! YOUR APOLOGY! I ACCEPT YOUR APOLOGY! Chainz is so stupid that he makes Umaro look like freaking Sasuke Uchiha in comparison! He'd probably EAT the disc!

Romani: That's all I wanted. All I desire is that you know that I truly am sorry. It wasn't right what Vangelus did and I'm going to make sure it never happens again. What Vangel-...

The Codemaster: Yeah, yeah,yeah...Where's the game?

Slowly, Romani begins to take a couple of steps backwards.

Romani: ...About that.

Suddenly, he jets off, leaving The Codemaster behind with a ferocious glare in his eyes.

The Codemaster: You goddamn gasoline guzzling Goron GRANDMOTHER! If I ever see you again, I will END you! I'll end you like Namco ended the Xenosaga series! You hear me!?

Nick: Folks, we’ve-

Richard: Can someone get a camera over there?

You’d think Steven f’n Bochco (dated reference, ho!) is directing the PRIME cameras as we open with a bumbling, awkward and hella shaky shot, presumably the product of a cameraman sprinting to find his subject.

Nick: I apologize for the blur, but there seems to be some kind of commotion happening in the crowd...

The roar of the audience drowns them out for a second as two somewhat-familiar shapes appear amidst the chaos. With his green dress shirt ripped and stained with sweat, Danny Ferguson stumbles forward into the floor area of the crowd seating. He drops to a knee and breathes deeply, keeping one eye behind him. Seconds later, Nova flies forward with a low dropkick to the Superstar’s back. Ferg sprawls out and skids across the floor, trying desperately to get to his feet and cut off the attack.

Richard: What a cheap shot! Danny had barely walked in the door when Nova jumped him!

Nick: Even if that were true, you can’t argue that Danny doesn’t deserve this.

Richard: Deserves got nothing to do with it.

Ferguson stumbles through the floor crowd and rows of chairs, and they all scramble to get out of his way with Nova in hot pursuit. In a moment of clarity, Danny tries to grab a chair to fend off his foe, but finds it zip-tied to the one next to it. Before he can curse the arena setup crew, he’s caught with a running Yakuza kick to the face, a return on the same move he hit Nova with just two weeks ago.

Once again, he goes down hard, and once again Nova pursues.

Nick: The Risen Star is making sure Ferguson knows that his comments last week didn’t fall on deaf ears! It sounds like the feeling is mutual!

Ferguson slumps against the ringside barricade from the fan side, and waves a hand up above his head in a slightly exaggerated fashion. HINT: The kind of fashion you would use if you were signaling someone. Whatever it is, though, it doesn’t quite work as Nova takes a running start to propel himself into a spear that sends both men tumbling up over the barrier and crashing to ringside.

After some mounted punches, Nova pulls up. He drags Ferguson to a slumped position against the guardrail and stands up. After backing up several steps, he charges for a Foley-esque running knee to the head.

The crowd "ooohs" in pain, but that soon turns into a low rumble, a buzz that hangs in the air like something else is bound to happen.

Nick: What's this, another brawl? Can't we keep everything under control?

A silvery blur flashes past the camera as Nova prepares for another shot. It slams into the Risen Star’s chest and sends him flying back like a bad guy who got shot in an old western. Nova and the meteor crash to the ground in a struggle and the camera finally focuses on the new addition to the party.

Nick: Wait a second...

Richard: Dost mine eyes deceive me?!?!?! Is it really him?!



Chandler Tsonda struggles to get to his feet before laying some hard knees into Nova. The Risen Star is dispatched with a little quicker than ever expected, thanks to the wind being taken from his lungs upon initial impact from The Model Citizen. Tsonda stands up and takes in the fan’s "ohshit" reaction for a few moments, then he steps over the fallen hero and extends a hand to Ferguson.

Without any hesitation, Ferguson takes the hand and pulls up to his feet, exchanging some dap with Tsonda as the crowd turns on the two of them.

Nick: I can’t believe this! Chandler Tsonda has just returned to PRIME and saved his former partner!

Richard: That’s called a summer blockbuster, Nick!

Nova is already pulling himself up on the apron and rather than capitalize on the situation, Ferguson and Tsonda bail, scrambling over to and halfway up the ramp as the former Universal Champeen collects himself. His vision focuses on Tsonda and the realization of the gambit sets in.

Nick: I thought this was a mano-a-mano thing Ferguson was doing! He said he waited months for the chance to get Nova to himself, without the numbers advantage!

Richard: I think you misheard, friend. He didn’t want NOVA to have the numbers advantage! He’s fine with having it himself!

The Risen Star rolls himself into the ring and makes dead-straight eye contact with the actor and the male model. Reveling in the successful play of his ace, Ferguson stares back, a years-old sneer returning to his face. This is most certainly a low blow, an act of indictable proportions, no pun intended with Ferg involved. This is the act of a Danny Ferguson who has not matured and developed into someone worthy of the respect of his audience and his peers. It’s cowardice at its most shallow, but now that Ferguson has achieved a personal depth that went below the skin, the behavior begins to reek of something else entirely: desperation.

But none of that matters to Nova right now.

What matters is that Ferguson’s shot cannot go unanswered.

Richard: Yeah, so, that was pretty interesting. You know. Whatever just happened backstage. Fascinating stuff. I can’t believe we just witnessed…that. It was something I’m supposed to not believe we witnessed, right?

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Richard back from the concession stand. What’d you get, anyway? A…hey! Where the hell did you get a burrito?

Richard: Um, the burrito guy. Duh.

Nick: Did you just say "duh?" Is that…do people even say that anymore?

Richard: Cool people do.

Nick: And what would you know about cool people?

Richard: More than you know about sex.

Nick: Just because I live in my mother’s basement—

Richard: Have you even seen a vagina before?

Nick: What does that have to do with—

Richard: Seriously. Do you even know what a vagina looks like?

Nick: I’ve got an idea. How about we just shoot it right up to Vince Howard for the introductions of our next match? Would that be okay? Could you actually try to call a wrestling match at some point this evening?

Richard: You’re such a virgin.

Nick: I hate you.

And as if on cue, because the end of that cute little exchange just happens to be the cue, Beanie Seagal warns the crowd that it’s time to warm up the heel heat. The fans rise to their feet, jeering loudly for the somber giant. Six foot, ten inches of pure Polish power step out onto the ramp, Walczak turning disgusted sneers at the more boisterous fans along the aisle.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, hailing from GDANSK, POLAND, and weighing in at THREE HUNDRED AND NINTY-FIVE POUNDS…THE POLISH PUNISHER, TOOOOOM WAAAAAAAAAAAALCZAAAAAAAAAK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Walczak steps up to the apron, one giant leg stretching over the top rope. The immense weight of the man looks to strain the very cables of the ring ropes as he easily crosses the highest barrier into the ring. Walczak proceeds to the center of the ring, popping his knuckles and wringing his fists in anticipation for his opponent.

A quick drum beat and the eerie opening licks of "Fuck It" seep into the arena, bringing with them an extreme change in atmosphere. The lights die down, casting the ring and most of the arena into shadow as spotlights float across the fans. The search begins for Tyler Rayne, music picking up momentum along with the roaming lights.

Vince Howard: And his OPPONENT! Weighing in at TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE pounds, he currently resides in TOKYO, JAPAN…TYYYLERRRRRRR RAAAAAAYYYYYYNNNNNNNE!!!!!!!!!!

Shaun, the expletives if you please.

"FUCK IT! I SEE YOU IN ME!!"

Like magic, the spotlights converge on a single spot within the crowd. Specifically, Section 109, Seat 14, where Tyler Rayne and his new friend, the PRIME loving patron of Section 109, Seat 13, are enjoying a tasty tray of nachos and cheese. The fans in the surrounding seats, well, pretty much all of Section 109, explode into random cheers and packs of applause as they realize all eyes have fallen on them. There’s something about being broadcast over national cable television that turns wrestling fans into complete and utter babbling idiots. All the commotion, however, helps to get the attention of Tyler Rayne, since, you know, he’s supposed to be participating in this match and all. Rayne quickly munches down on the last nacho, grabbing a microphone from the waistline of his tights. He holds up a hand, the international gesture for "shut the fuck up," and patiently waits for the fans to follow accordingly.

Rayne: Walczak. Yo. What’s up, buddy? Look, I know, I’m supposed to be down there and all, but, see, I kinda forgot to mention something last week. You said something about giving me my wish, which is what brings us to this match here tonight. Thing is, you stormed out before I could tell you exactly what my wish was.

A pause for dramatic effect. And so that this here fan, we’ll call him Jesse, can dive through about four of his comrades to put himself within screaming range of the microphone.

Jesse: HEY! WALCZAK! WHY DON’T YOU GO FU—

The quickness of Tyler Rayne comes into play here. With the speed of a rabid mongoose, he snatches the microphone away, placing his other hand over the device to keep from transmitting such foul language on the American airwaves.

Nick: Whoa. That was close.

Richard: Yeah. If that guy had leaned just a little bit harder on the girl in front of him, I’m pretty sure her boobs would have popped out.

Rayne: Jesus Christ, man. Seriously. This is cable television. You can’t say that shit. God damn fuckin’ overzealous sons a bitches. Fuck. Where was I?

Nick: We’re so getting kicked off the air for that.

Rayne: Right. Polish. Let’s cut to the quick, shall we? See, in my earlier days, I made something of a name for myself as an…extremist. And I figure since you volunteered to play the role of Robin Williams this evening, what with the wish making and all, you might as well just wiggle your nose or whatever the fuck it is Jeanie does and grant my fuckin’ wish. You ready? Here goes. Genie, I wish…for this match-up…to be contested…under…

…
…
…

Rayne: Wait for it. Wait for it.

…
…

Rayne: HARDCORE RULES!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: Wow. The fans really seem to like that announcement. An unexpected change in the line-up tonight. You never know what’s going to happen on ReVolution!

Richard: I know you’re not going to get laid.

Nick: If you don’t shut up, I’m going to feed you to Renner.

Richard: …

Nick: That’s what I thought.

Oh, those silly, silly fans. There they go, standing and screaming like there’s no tomorrow, all because this crazy kid has teased them with the possibility of bloodshed. Tom Walczak, all four hundred pounds of him, is also standing, having become quite bored with Rayne’s jaw-jacking. The Polish giant is pointing up into the stands, motioning for Rayne to bring his ass down to the ring. Rumor has there was supposed to be a match between the two at some point this evening. Rayne just smiles, nodding politely in Walczak’s direction. He does, however, slowly push his way through the pulsing mass of people, slapping hands with a few of the more inebriated attendants. Rayne pauses at the barricade, taking a moment to "check out the goods" of a particularly attractive brunette in the front row before finally making his way to the ring.

The referee does his best job of corralling Walczak into the center of the ring, allowing Rayne to slide in under the bottom ropes without incident. That lasts all of about two seconds. Walczak shoves the referee to the side, stalking toward Rayne before the much smaller man has a chance to get up.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

We’ll start with a big ass mother flippin’ boot to the side of Rayne’s head. Tyler Rayne finds himself rolling across the mat without ever having a chance to get off it. He tries to put some distance between himself and Walczak, but the near seven foot monster has little trouble closing ground with his massive strides. Another vicious kick to the temple rolls Rayne’s eyes to the back of his head. Walczak follows up with a very simple but effective stomp, smashing Rayne’s face down into the campus. Walczak then leans forward, forcing the mass of his weight down on the boot, grinding his foot into Rayne’s face.

Richard: He’s going to snuff Rayne out like a cigarette!

Nick: I was gonna go with pop his head like a pimple.

Richard: You know how I know you’re gay? You use cliché statements like "pop his head like a pimple."

The referee is on the mat, asking Rayne if he wants to give up. Even if he wanted to answer, the pressure of Walczak’s heel pretty much made opening his mouth at all impossible. Rayne attempts to throw some punches into the back of Walczak’s leg, but at the angle, there just isn’t enough power to do much but make Walczak grin. So the tactic is switched, and Rayne flattens his hand, proceeding to attack Walczak’s calf with knife-edged strikes. This seems to have a much more profitable effect, eventually knotting the muscle up enough that Walczak is forced to remove the pressure. Rayne immediately rolls out of the ring, obviously in a great amount of pain from the unorthodox submission. Walczak, for his part, shakes out the temporary sting in his leg, which affords Rayne the opportunity to re-enter the ring undeterred.

This time there’s just enough distance between the two that Walczak can’t readily reach out to claim his victim. Rayne takes full advantage of this distance, circling around the ring, which forces Walczak to participate in the dance as well. Finally Walczak takes a few quick steps forward, cornering Rayne in, well, the corner. Rayne takes a few cautionary steps in either direction, Walczak always moving to block his escape. Walczak moves in for the attack, a big, clumsy attack that Rayne just barely rolls away from, causing Walczak to strike the top turnbuckle harmlessly and placing Rayne behind him. Walczak turns into a forearm, followed by another. And another and another. Rayne grabs Walczak by the wrist, attempting the Irish Whip, but Walczak just grins and shakes his head. Instead, Walczak yanks his arm back, bringing Rayne along with it, and steps into one of the most devastating clotheslines ever seen in PRIME.

Richard: DAAAAAAAAAMN, son!

Walczak follows up with a few boots before lifting Rayne to his feet. He whips Rayne into the ropes, catches him on the way back and swings him around in a few circles before smashing Rayne down with a sidewalk slam. Walczak then drops a big leg across Rayne’s face before going for the first cover of the match.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!
…...
…...

Rayne throws a shoulder up before we can even get to that dramatic three count. Walczak grumbles, grabbing Rayne by both sides of the head to pull him vertical once again. Rayne throws a few punches at Walczak’s head, loosening the grip. Rayne lashes out with a quick chop to Walczak’s neck, which surprises and stumbles the much larger man. Rayne now takes his turn to grab either side of Walczak’s head, pulling the big bulb down while bringing his knee straight up, creating a collision of pain. The blow straightens Walczak to his full height, which leaves any similar attacks completely out of the question. Which leaves Rayne to chopping away at Walczak’s chest. After a handful of chops, Rayne begins to lash out with his legs, a barrage of quick attacks into Walczak’s left calf and thigh. Walczak attempts to retreat, nearly stumbling into the ropes. Rayne takes a few quick steps to jump forward, putting himself up onto the middle rope, and launching off to drive the point of his elbow right into the top of Walczak’s head. The Polish Punisher staggers again, leaving Rayne to take a springboard off the adjacent ropes, this time putting a dropkick into Walczak’s right knee. Off the middle rope again with a forearm to the face. A few more quick kicks now to the right leg, followed by a front seated dropkick to the left shin. Now some jumping forearms to the chest. Another springboard for a spinning heel kick. And finally, some flat palm blows that just push Walczak the last few inches into the corner.

Nick: A blitzkrieg of offense here from Rayne. He may have just hit Walczak from every angle possible.

Richard: Yes, but notice that Walczak is still standing. All this offense hasn’t done much but make the Polish Punisher angry.

Rayne puts a few more chops to Walczak’s chest then bounds to the opposite turnbuckle to get his running start at Walczak. Rayne jumps into the air, looking for, well, no one really knows because all he accomplishes is getting himself another of those monstrous clotheslines. Rayne almost immediately pushes himself back to his feet, running off the far ropes to get another charging start at Walczak. This time the smaller man eats a big flippin’ boot. But again, albeit a little slower, Rayne pushes himself up and takes another running start at attacking Walczak. This time Walczak catches him, lifting Rayne into the air and above his head, a few military presses to show off his power before throwing Rayne out of the ring. Rayne lands hard, as if there were another way to land, a painful maneuver that leaves Walczak time to climb out of the ring and still have an advantage over his opponent. Walczak lifts Rayne up again, another military press that leaves Rayne falling jaw first onto the barricade. Walczak places Rayne up on his shoulder, a few steps of momentum before driving Rayne back first into the ring apron. Twice. Thrice. Whatever a cool word for four times is. Walczak spins, the same punishing maneuver, this time into the barricade. The Polish Punisher stalks toward the corner, Rayne still caught in the bear-hug like hold, until Walczak finishes off the series by running Rayne spine first right into the steel corner post.

Richard: That’s raw power, baby. Just…UGH! Yeah! Look at that, Nick. Rayne doesn’t stand a chance.

Nick: You sound very homosexual right now. I want you to know that.

Richard: You would know.

Nick: I…damn it.

Walczak rolls Rayne into the ring and goes for his second pin.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

TH—

A shoulder slips up. Frustration furrows Walczak’s face, and he once again goes for the pin, this time pushing his weight down on Rayne’s shoulders.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!

…

Rayne kicks up just enough to break up the count. Walczak begins to drag Rayne up to his feet, but Rayne stops the motion with a desperate attack. In most circles, it’s referred to as the low blow.

Nick: Well, that was blatant.

Richard: You’re damn right it was. Where’s the DQ?!

Nick: Hardcore rules, Richard. That’s perfectly legal.

Richard: Oh, so Rayne’s idea of a fair match is one he can cheat in?

Nick: Nothing’s stopping Walczak from doing the same thing, Rich.

Well, nothing other than the sharp pains shooting up from his testicles. Unfortunately, Rayne’s struggle to get to his feet leaves him little time to take advantage of the situation. Just as he’s prepared himself to re-enter the fight, Walczak is shaking off the effects of the somewhat questionable tactic. But Rayne, certainly much faster than his larger opponent, gets in the first attack.

Richard: KICK!

Nick: STUNNER!!

Richard: WHAM!!!

Nick: Lindz is so going to kill him for that.

Richard: She probably won’t even notice. It’s not like she’d actually have a reason to read this match.

Nick: Point.

With Walczak stunned on the mat by that controversial maneuver, Rayne follows with a standing Shooting Star Press. He then runs full tilt for the far ropes, using the momentum to splash down on Walczak with a rolling senton. Then it’s another springboard, spinning corkscrew moonsault that leads to a pin.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!
…...
…...

THRE—

Walczak literally throws Rayne out of the cover, the bigger man slowly rising to his feet. Just as he sits up, however, Rayne greets him with a seated dropkick to the mush. This gives Rayne time to roll out of the ring. He throws up the apron, much to the delight of the crowd, pulling out a couple of those potentially crowd-pleasing steel chairs. Rayne slides back into the ring, arming himself with one of those chairs just as Walczak has reached his feet.

SMACK!!

A big ol’ overhead chair shot to Walczak’s noggin. But the big man still won’t go down.

BAM!!

This time I more productive attack to the side of Walczak’s leg. The Polish Punisher weebles, but still won’t go down.

CRACK!!

The other leg. He wobbles, but won’t fall down.

BAM!!

POW!!

KA-BLAM!!

KA-BLOOEY!!

KA-KRACKA-SMACKA-BOOM!!

Nick: Call him Paul Bunyon! Rayne out here chopping the Polish Punisher down!

Richard: But he still can’t lay him out.

This is true. While the attack to both legs has brought Walczak down to a knee, he still hasn’t fallen to the mat. So Rayne springs off the far ropes, building a running start, winding up the chair…

BAAAAA-THHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!

For those who don’t read comics, these are all big ass painful sound effects. Just pretend like I know what I’m doing here. By virtue of its many vowels and exclamation points, the last chair shot was obviously the most vicious. Strongest. Hardest. Everything that Rayne could muster. Walczak’s hand is on the mat, the huge appendage the only thing keeping him from falling face first into the mat. And yet, he still hasn’t fallen. Rayne channels what energy he has left into a furious throw that bounces the chair right off Walczak’s head. And finally another dropkick that puts Walczak on his back. Rayne takes the chair with him, hopping over Walczak’s prone body, up to the top turnbuckles. Split-legged moonsault, chair sandwiched between the two.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THREE—

Nick: Walczak kicked out! Holy hell, how did he take all that and kick out!

Richard: Polish power, obviously. Not that you would understand.

Nick: And you would?

Richard: Of course.

Nick: But you’re not Polish.

Richard: I’m a sympathizer.

In the ring, Rayne isn’t having the best of luck getting back to his feet. He did, after all, just moonsault onto a chair. By the time he does recover, Walczak has already gotten to his knees. Rayne throws a few half-hearted punches into Walczak’s head, but the bigger man pushes his opponent away with one powerful shove. Rayne charges in again, this time finding a big fist waiting for him. Rayne falls to all fours, where Walczak delivers a punt to his ribs. Rayne cries out, rolling across the canvas to try and get away. Walczak, of course, stalks after. Rayne gets to his feet, helped a bit by Walczak, and finds himself tossed halfway across the ring by the overwhelming power of the Punisher. Rayne stumbles to his feet, more out of instinct than anything else, and turns into another of those brutal clotheslines. Up again. Another clothesline. Down again. Up again. This time Walczak wraps his big monster paws around Rayne’s throat. Way the friggin’ hell up.

BOOOOOM!!

Nick: Chokeslam on the steel chair!

Richard: That’s it. Someone call your mother.

Nick: Why my mother?

Richard: We need a fat lady. Duh.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THREE!!—

Richard: OH HELL NO!!

Nick: HE KICKED OUT! I don’t know how either of these guys are still going, the punishment they’ve delivered.

Now obviously angered, Walczak stomps out of the ring, searching beneath the apron for his own weapon of destruction. What he finds is a table.

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Not a huge cheer, because my finger slipped off the button and I didn’t wanna go back, but it’s respectable. And let’s be fair about the fact that Walczak could care less whether they cheer him or not. Walczak sets up the table and turns back to the ring, just in time to see Rayne leaping from it with a flying body press. Which Walczak, being all big and strong like, catches, turning Rayne right around and power slamming him onto the announce table.

Richard: SWEET BABY JESUS!

The smaller wrestler falls right into the laps of our two announcers, Walczak meanwhile ripping the cover right off the table. Richard jumps from his chair, effectively dumping Rayne to the floor, and begins to run away. But his path leads straight to Walczak, and the unfortunate announcer plows right into the seven foot monster. Walczak sneers, shoving Richard to the side, but the distraction has given Rayne enough time to take that nice leather desk chair Richard was sitting at and throw it at the Punisher. The chair staggers Walczak, giving Rayne a chance to jump up on the barricade and catch Walczak off guard with a Thesz press. Down both go, and Rayne is immediately um, raining, the forearms down on Walczak’s face. The bigger man takes a few blows before just tossing Rayne to the side. They’re both up, Rayne ducks under a swinging fist and plants a solid knee into Walczak’s abdomen. A quick back elbow stumbles Rayne before he has a chance to continue the assault, and we’re back to evens. The two stand toe-to-toe, face-to-chest, throwin’ bones like they’re auditioning for a Rocky sequel. Walczak seems little effected by Rayne’s punches, while Rayne is trying real hard not to let the much more powerful blows put him down. The trade continues, much to the delight of the fans, Walczak finally taking an inevitable advantage. Both hands wrap tight around Rayne’s throat, and Walczak tosses him, again, spine first into the corner post. This time Walczak attempts a boot, but Rayne moves at the last second, leaving Walczak with nothing to kick but unforgiving steel. Rayne gets a few quick kicks up into the extended leg before Walczak can hobble away. Rayne follows with a chop block that sends the big man down.

Obviously winded, Rayne rolls back into the ring, leaving Walczak to pull himself up by the apron. Rayne gets to his feet, looks down to see opportunity, then sprints off the ropes for a baseball slide. Walczak sidesteps the attack, however, leaving Rayne’s torso open for a series of clubbing blows. Rayne kicks at Walczak’s face, a lame attempt at pushing the monster back. Lame, but effective. Walczak concedes, leaving Rayne an opportunity to scurry into the ring once again. Walczak follows suit, pulling himself up onto the apron and back into the ring. Rayne’s on the attack again, another series of forearms that stagger Walczak back into the ropes. Rayne once again gets his momentum from the other side, but Walczak rushes to the center of the ring to meet him. Walczak tosses Rayne straight up into the air, puts a palm to his chest on the way down and drives Rayne nearly through the mat with a devastating spinebuster.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THRE—

Shoulders. Damn those rising shoulders. Walczak slowly rises to his feet, unprepared for the straight kick to the shin that Rayne delivers from the mat. More annoying than painful, the move does give Rayne an extra couple seconds to get to his feet, where he throws a series of knees into Walczak’s gut to double the bigger man over. Three quick kicks to the back of the leg drop Walczak down to a knee. Rayne to the ropes for like the millionth time, a springboard moonsault into a Reverse DDT.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THR—

Richard: You’ve got to be effin’ kidding me.

Nick: I thought you liked Walczak.

Richard: I like burritos more. And I can’t get another one until one of these guys wins. Which is taking for-ev-er.

Nick: It’s really only been like—

Richard: Oh, shut up.

Both men are near the point of exhaustion. Slowly, Rayne comes up, attempting to drag Walczak with him. One powerful elbow to the gut ends that. Walczak turns quickly, snatching Rayne quickly in a t-bone before tossing him literally across the ring.

Nick: EXPLODING T-BONE SUPLEX!! I didn’t even know Walczak could do that.

Richard: The size of that guy, he can do whatever he wants.

This time Walczak is patient. He takes time to catch his breath. Lets Rayne waste energy pulling himself to his feet. Waiting. Waiting. Almost. Rayne, with a great assistance from the ring ropes, is up at a vertical, though far from coherent. He turns, inadvertently facing Walczak, who suddenly explodes forward with the ferocity of those alligators on the Discovery Channel. Like when they attack a gazelle out of nowhere. Only Rayne’s not a gazelle. And instead of getting eaten, he gets decapitated by the MOST BONE SHATTERING CLOTHESLINE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY!!!!

Richard: POLISH HAMMER!! POLISH EM EFFIN HAMMER!! CALL IT, BITCHES!! THIS ONE’S OVER!!!

Nick: I think we just officially broke the caps lock.

Richard: That’s okay. This’ll probably be the last match Shane ever writes, anyway.

Nick: Is it really that bad?

Richard: Did you ever see "Gigli?"

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THREE!!!—

Nick: RAYNE KICKS OUT!! SWEET BUTT LOVIN’ LORD IN HEAVEN, RAYNE KICKED OUT!!!

This time Walczak jumps to his feet, anger fueling him through the toils of the match. He grabs the referee by the shirt collar, distinctly aware that he cannot be disqualified, shouting curses, or what we assume are curses, in Polish. Even enraged, the Punisher realizes that’s no way to win a match, so he grudgingly turns attention back to Rayne. That narrow escape may have been all Rayne had left. He’s not even trying to get up again. Walczak snickers, knowing this is the end. He drags Rayne up by the hair, pulling the smaller man to the center of the ring. From there it’s powerbomb position, seven plus feet in the air. Walczak shows off some strength, holding Rayne there for a handful of seconds. Then he turns, marching quickly in the direction of the announce table. Toward the ropes. Toward a table he set up on the outside of the ring.

Richard: Oh hell yeah, baby! Polish Powerbomb through the table! This’ll keep that squirt down!

Yes, it will. Well, would. If only Walczak had let go a split second sooner. Instead, thanks in some part to a firm grip he applies to the ropes, Tyler Rayne somehow manages to reverse the powerbomb, flipping the four hundred pound beast over the top rope with a hurricanranna that sends Walczak crashing through the very table he’d intended for Rayne.

Nick: WHAT! A! REVERSAL!

Richard: Desperation move! Pure luck! He must have cheated! Somehow. Probably.

A slow crawl to the prone carcass of Walczak.

ONE!!
…...
…...

TWO!!!
…...
…...

THREE!!!!

Is that it? Are we? Yes! Four exclamation points! That’s it!

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the match…TYLER RAYNE!!

Nick: That was, um…wow. A hard fought victory for Rayne here. And a hellacious battle from both men.

Richard: But he pinned him outside the ring! How is that even legal?

Nick: Hardcore rules, Rich. You should read your guidebook.

Richard: I am so protesting this victory.

Nick: Yes, well, I’m sure you won’t be the only one.

With his PTC Unified championship sparkling on his lap and his pet monster over his shoulder, Jason Snow reclines comfortably backstage in his locker room. There comes a knock at the door, and immediately Snow fires a look over his shoulder.

Jason Snow: See who that is! If it’s a wench, tell her to be gone! I’m sick of their cooing and putrid attempts at seduction. California girls? Brian Wilson and David Lee Roth can suck my -

Chainz’s brow furrows.

Chainz: I’m not your butler, Snow.

Jason Snow: Damn it! What the hell am I paying you for, anyway!?

Despite his fuming, Snow gets up out of his chair and stomps toward the door, muttering to himself all the way. When he opens it, he finds himself staring directly at PRIME’s 5-Star champion, Easton Hall. Hall appears in casual dress, a black t-shirt slung over his torso and the tattoos on his arms plain as day. Green eyes pierce into the PTC Unified champ.

Easton Hall: Lucy. You got some 'splainin' to do.

Jason Snow: Who the hell are you!?

Hall looks a mixture of annoyed and confused.

Easton Hall: The guy you smacked with the chair two weeks ago?

Snow’s eyes narrow until finally a hint of recognition arrives on his face.

Jason Snow: Ah! Yes. I didn’t recognize you without your championship. So what brings you here? I don’t do autographs.

Hall’s face hardens.

Easton Hall: I'm here for answers, Jase. I'm here to figure out exactly why I should wait to waste you in the ring, 'cause I'd love to crack your nose in half right here.

Silent as a shadow, the ever-dangerous Chainz slides up behind Snow. Snow, however, is cool as a cucumber.

Jason Snow: Settle down, plebe. The fact is, I don’t give a damn about you. I care about one thing and one thing only: gold. Since the Universal Championship is wrapped around the waist of a demented wench who’s giant, man-like vaginal region is erupting with STI’s as we speak, I dare not get near her. So naturally, I moved my focus to you - or more specifically, your championship.

Easton Hall: So that’s it? This is all about the gold?

Snow smirks.

Jason Snow: It’s always about the gold, plebe.

It’s Hall’s turn to smirk. He folds his arms over his chest and lifts an eyebrow.

Hall: Excuse me, who are you again?

Snow and Hall share a mocking laugh at the witty rejoinder. Just when we think he’s about to make a reply, Snow casually swings the door shut in Easton Hall’s face, and returns to his reclining chair, picking up his PTC Unified Title along the way. Chainz returns to his former place as well.

Jason Snow: He'll come back.

Chainz glances back at the door, shaking his head.

Small white sign on a door.

'Nitz Donnelly - The Ego of New England'

The camera pans to the left, presenting the narrowed, burning eyes of Wade Elliott. He lifts a thick, balled fist and smashes it against the door.

*WHAM WHAM WHAM*

Wade Elliott: Get yer worthless ass outta that locker room, Donnelly!

Some rustling and mumbling behind the door. The sound of locks unlocking is heard, and soon the door opens, but only a crack, held back by a chain lock. The beady eyes of Nitz Donnelly peek through the door.

Nitz Donnelly: I ain't payin' for this pizza, asshole! It's ten minutes late! And your policy states pretty damn clearly...oh, it's you. Whatta you want?

Wade sticks his fingers into the door, preventing Donnelly from closing. Their eyes burn into each other through the crack.

Wade Elliott: I want my god-damn truck, you fuckin' piece of horse-shit!

Nitz Donnelly: Uhh...no dice, douchebag. It's not here.

Wade Elliott: I will smash this fuckin' door into a whole lotta splinters, Donnelly! Don't fuckin' bullshit me!

Nitz Donnelly: It's in the shop! I'm gettin' some work done for ya!

Wade Elliott: Work? WHAT THE FUCK'RE YOU DOIN' TO MY RIG, YOU SONNOVA BITCH!

In the background we see a group of four security guards, taking note of the ruckus Wade is causing. They start walking toward him.

Nitz Donnelly: It's an improvement, I promise! Jeez, calm your pea-sized testicles...

Wade takes a step back and grits his teeth.

Nitz Donnelly: Ah, shit...

Donnelly slams the door shut, locking it. Wade steps forward and swings his boot into the door, smashing it off its hinges and breaking the lock. Nitz Donnelly is revealed, arms up to protect himself from flying splinters. Wade starts to lunge forward, but finds himself held back by the group of security guards. Nitz starts to laugh, realizing he's safe.

Nitz Donnelly: HAHAHA! Close one, fuckstain! Close one!

Wade Elliott: I'm goin' to put you in the fuckin' dirt, Donnelly! You'd better fuckin' know it!

Nitz Donnelly: Please. I left you lying in the parking lot easy enough, didn't I? You're a waste of space on this roster, Elliott.

Wade Elliott (trying to break free): We'll god-damn see! If you were a smart one you'd stay the fuck away from that ring tonight!

Nitz Donnelly: And if YOU were a "smart one" you'd go home to Alabama and stick to fuckin' a horse.

The security team finally gets a good enough hold on Wade to drag him away and down the hall. Nitz steps into the hallway, grinning as he watches his rival being taken away. He nods to himself, then turns to his mess of a door.

Nitz Donnelly: Fuck that guy's got a hell of a boot...

He steps over the splintered door and into his room.

Let's go somewhere else!

Perspiration beads up on the brow of the former Five Star Champion as his eyes shift around nervously, desperately searching for an answer to the predicament he has been forced into by such a formidable foe.

Tony Gamble: You think you got me, don't you?

With a sense of despair flashing in his eyes like a neon sign outside of an Atlanta Strip Club, Tony tries to put on his best dominating grin as he stares at the lone black checker piece trapped in a corner by three red 'kinged' pieces, stalking his piece like a lion ready to pounce upon an injured wildebeast.

Tony Gamble: I'll have you know that I expected you to do this, I planned for you to get all happy and excited so I can snatch the taste of defeat right out of your mouth before you bit into it. I am the master of mind games, fool. And I'll have you know that...

With a seemingly forced effort, Gamble sneezes all over the checkerboard and shifts in his seat just enough to knock the board and it's pieces onto the floor.

Tony Gamble: Oh... I'm sorry. Darn, I was just going to take you out too...

Gamble shakes his head as he stares at the pieces spread out across the cold lifeless tile.

Tony Gamble: I tell you what. I'll give you a break this time and let it end in a draw. How does that sound?

Man's voice: There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.

A man comes running up behind Tony just as he glances over his shoulder.

Tony Gamble: I'm sorry, I'm not signing autographs tonight. Maybe if you come by later I'll-

The man runs right past Gamble and lifts a child out of the seat across from where Gamble is sitting.

Man: How many times have I told you not to wander off while daddy is working. You had me worried sick.

Tony Gamble: I was just kidding. I'll be happy to sign an autograph for you.

The man turns to Gamble with the kid in his arms.

Man: I'm so sorry. I hope she didn't disturb you.

Tony Gamble: No, not at all. We were just having a nice friendly game of checkers. Feel free to bring her around anytime you're busy, it's not a problem.

The man carries the child toward the door, her head on her Father's shoulder as Tony's expression suddenly changes and he begins to mouth a few words at her in a barely audible whisper.

Tony Gamble: This isn't over, kid. Not by a long shot.

He then drags his index finger across his throat before pointing at the child, a motion only seen by the child and a man walking past the room as the door opened.

A man that Tony Gamble not only has the privilege of facing in a few moments, but a man that has no problem fighting for the good of those not able to fight for themselves.

? ? ?: Hey, chump-

The Big Bear himself, Munson Monsoon.

Munson Monsoon: -you got somethin’ to say?

Monsoon walks into the room with authority, looking down upon the Lollipop Guild member with a look of disdain flashing violently in the corner of his eye, like a violent storm lighting up an evening sky.

Tony Gamble: What... No no no. I was threatening that guy walking out. He's a real prick. Can you believe he was trying to sell me his daughter for an autograph and a pack of smokes?

Big Bear glances over his shoulder toward the door, but it has already closed and the man and child are long gone.

Tony Gamble: I tell you the nerve of some people. Hey, don't I know you?

The fan favorite turns back to find Gamble giving him the once over.

Munson Monsoon: Yeah, sort of. We just met in the BossLady’s office.

Gamble still has a puzzled look on his face.

Tony Gamble: You were in there?

Monsoon nods as he lets out an audible sigh.

Munson Monsoon: Of course, Minichumps have minibrains. You helped me get my foot out of the wall. Thanks again. Oh yeah, we’re tyin’ up later, too.

Big Bear notices the former Five Star champion shaking his head in unsure deliberation.

Munson Monsoon: You know, when you started making those absurd height difference measurements with your hands?

Tony mouths the word 'oh' before nodding his head.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, you look bigger now for some reason... Did you swallow Winters during the break?

Munson Monsoon: Even better… your mom.

Tony tries his best not to laugh, but a nervous chuckle still manages to escape his tightly pressed lips. It's hard not to imagine Big Bear squeezing himself into a tiny little desk and writing in a Big Chief tablet with a big fat pencil when he talks.

Munson Monsoon: You can laugh now, but you better believe you won't be laughing after I pound your head into your throat. I know what kind of guy you are, and you better believe that I'm going to put a stop to you and your little escapades.

Yeah, that made him double over and clutch his gut in laughter.

Tony Gamble: No you didn't... Just come in here... And say that.

Munson Monsoon: I don't see why you would find that funny.

Tony Gamble: You all but pointed your finger at me and wag it in front of my face, before telling me to say my prayers and take my vitamins.

He still has a hard time catching his breath and talking at the same time.

Munson Monsoon: Trust me, Minichump, all the vitamins and prayers you could come up with in a lifetime wouldn’t help when it’s you and me, again, in that ring. And I’m sure, that when you walk out of here tonight all busted and dechumpified, you’ll figure out that I was not the reason the 5-Star Challenge failed.

Tony Gamble: Yeah... Okay... I tell you what, why don't you head that way now... I'll be there waiting for you.

Monsoon cracks his knuckles a few feet from Gamble's face and then lets out a slight grin before walking out of the door saying three little words:

Munson Monsoon: It’s time to BUST. THAT. CHUMP. (turning the corner, walking away) Was that more than three? Bust…That…Chump. Yeah, three. HOY-OOO!!!!!

What, no one ever said the boy could count.

Up in the Team Ferguson box suite, the champagne has been uncorked. Music bumps and scantily-clad ladies grind as everyone is having whatever the modern version of a "grand ol' time" equates to. In the middle of it all, the top-of-the-world tandem of Danny Ferguson and Chandler Tsonda are partying like it's 2005.

Chandler Tsonda: So, about this whole 'unquenchable thirst for revenge' thing you're running - which I totally dig, bee tee dub - you didn't, um...you didn't plan on putting me on your list, didya?

Danny Ferguson: You?

Chandler Tsonda: Well, you know, I kinda, uh...the thing is, someone might make the case that, uh...maybe I kinda, depending on your perception of things, I might have...well, I kinda declined to step in and save you from going to jail so I could take your belt.

Danny Ferguson: Really?

Chandler Tsonda: If you watch the tape, it kinda seems that way.

Danny Ferguson: Huh.

Chandler Tsonda: Purely unintentional. Ok, semi-intentional.

Danny Ferguson: Chan, what was the most important piece of advice I ever gave you?

Chandler Tsonda: Wear protection with Alba?

Danny Ferguson: Besides that.

Chandler Tsonda: Don't do anything you wouldn't do?

Danny Ferguson: Exactly. I would have turned my back on you in a heartbeat in a similar situation.

Chandler Tsonda: That means a lot to me, Danny. But if you don't mind me asking, what's with the _ act on the other guys?

Danny Ferguson: Nova and Face-Fucker both actively tried to take me down, and merited responses. I can't really get on someone because of passive indifference.

Chandler Tsonda: You got Chet canned because of passive indifference.

Danny Ferguson: Chet was a dick.

Chandler Tsonda: And you're comfortable with this logical disconnect.

Danny Ferguson: I work in Hollywood, Chan.

Chandler Tsonda: True 'nuff.

Danny Ferguson: Anyway, I'm almost done with that. Once I am finished for good with Nova, it'll be time for bigger and better projects.

Chandler Tsonda: Which is why you called me.

Danny Ferguson: Actually, I called you because I needed someone who thinks Nova's a bigger dick than I am.

Chandler Tsonda: I wouldn't go that far. But I do appreciate a good business opportunity.

Danny Ferguson: Right. I forget that you're a suit now.

Chandler Tsonda: Check with Hova, friend - I'm not a businessman, I'm a business, man. All that time off gave me the opportunity to pursue some marketing opportunities and icon development. I'm a global brand, ya'll.

Danny Ferguson: Well...I just wanted to win a belt or two.

Chandler Tsonda: Right, right. Just out of morbid curiousity, what's your international marketing rubric for that plan looking like?

Danny Ferguson: Excuse me?

Chandler Tsonda: Overseas media buys, cross-lingual sales points?

Danny Ferguson: I, uh...I usually had someone do that stuff for me.

Chandler Tsonda: Of course you did. Tell you what, let me make a few calls, I'll have my guy punch out a few packets on global integration and send them your way. What's your fax?

Danny Ferguson: I'm standing right here.

Chandler Tsonda: Mmhmm. Well, we'll work something out.

Right then, the door flies open and The Illustrious Face-Eater storms the party.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: FELIX CUMPLEANOS, BITCHES!

He stomps forward and slaps a hand on the shoulder of both men, a beaming smile on his face.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Nice double-fuck out there. Don't remember getting the memo about it, but it looks like you fuckers did pretty well for yourselves.

He starts laughing and Danny joins in, then Tsonda joins in, then a few people around join in, too. It's an Austin-Powers-esque laugh fest right there as all three men are near howling. Slowly, though, Danny and Chandler die off and look a little uncomfortable.

Chandler Tsonda: Aha...whothefuckisthisguy?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: What? You talking about me?

Danny Ferguson: Nobody. Just forget him. (over his shoulder) Dam?

Fergusons twin tower bodyguards appear out of the crowd and each grab an arm, lifting Facey slightly off the ground.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: (to bodyguards) This shit is old. (to FerguTsonda) Guys! What about the good times we had! What about the BAND, MAN!?!?!!? WHAT ABOUT THAT TIME IN ACAPULCO? WITH THE CHICK WITH NO HANDS AND THE TINY FEET WHO WAS REALLY GOOD AT THAT ONE THING?! YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

Chandler Tsonda: Seriously, do I know this guy?

Danny Ferguson: Best that you don't. Guys, if you could...

The Illustrious Face-Eater: BUT THE PIECES ARE IN PLACE! IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER!

Danny Ferguson: Yeah, if you forget that you were the one who blew it into pieces to begin with. Scram.

The guards lug Facey towards the door, but he kicks and wails.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: You can't do this to me! You can't do this to US!

Danny Ferguson: Who's US? You're old news, asshead. After I dispatch with Nova, I'm going to become the first guy in PRIME history to hold the tag titles with three separate partners.

Chandler Tsonda: Tsuperstar Enterprises.

Danny Ferguson: Kind of ironic that blowing yourself up and coming back renders to useless to my own bid for immortality, isn't it?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I CA- did you write that line beforehand?

Danny Ferguson: Maybe. Did it sound forced?

Chandler Tsonda: It was a little unnatural.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Kinda too evil-overlordy for my tastes.

Danny Ferguson: Sorry, I was going for a Lex Luthor kind of thing.

Chandler Tsonda: Kevin Spacey Luthor or Gene Hackman Luthor?

Danny Ferguson: Duh. Spacey.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THAT'S FUCKING IT! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME? D-E-D, DEAD. AND THIS AIN'T NO 'I'MMA BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA YOU' TYPE DEAD, OH NO! I'M TALKING PUPPY-IN-A-MICROWAVE DEAD!

He struggles and kicks against the guards, but they pull him back and finish parading him to the door. It swings open and Facey is heaved out onto the outside floor with a single shrug. The door slams in his face as he runs back toward it. With that out of the way, Danny and Chandler return to their regularly scheduled activities.

Chandler Tsonda: Hey, when I called us Tsuperstar Enterprises, you knew I was spelling it with a T, right?

Danny Ferguson: I had a feeling.

Chandler Tsonda: Sweet.

Vince Howard: The following is a triple threat match.

The arena lights dim as "Aerials" by System of a Down hits on the PA system.

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

The lights return and we see Jonathan Winters stood at the top of the rampway, with a cold, stern look prominently plastered across his face.

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

Cause we are the ones that want to play,
Always want to go,
But you never want to stay,

The fans regard Winters as he regards them; with great indifference and makes his way down the aisle undeterred.

And we are the ones that want to choose,
Always want to play,
But you never want to lose.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…weighing in at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds…Jonathan Winters!!!

Aerials, in the sky,
When you lose small mind,
You free your life.

Winters strolls over to a corner and props himself up there, waiting for his opponents to make their appearance.

Vince Howard: And his opponent... Weighing in at two hundred fifty eight pounds...

The Wal*Tron flashes the PRIME logo then sits at a stale black state. The arena lights dim down, lowering visibility to jack shit. Camera flashes and the backstage lighting is all to luminate the entry way slightly. The music intro began...

Standin in the rain, With his head hung low
Couldn't get a ticket, It was a sold out show
Heard the roar of the crowd, He could picture the scene
Put his head to the wall, Then like a distant scream
He heard one guitar...

The Wal*Tron flickers between a black screen and something else. It looks like the aisleway to the ring, but from a different show. Everyone instantly becomes happier in their pants on cue as the guitar rips through the PA speakers.

Just blew him away
Saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day
Saw a beat up old six-string in a secondhand store
Didnt know how to play it, but he knew for sure
That one guitar...

Vince Howard: 'BIIIIGG BEAAAAARR' MUNSON MONSOOOOOOON!!!!

Another scorching, rip-roraring TWANG floods the hearing department of every PRIMEate, THEIR MOM, and some. This time the huge roar accompanied the emergence of Munson Monsoon from the flashing brightness that is the strobe light display right in front of the backstage entry, accented by a bright white pyro effect. Big Bear comes out with his arms raised, each index finger pointed to the sky.

Felt good in his hands
Didnt take long, to understand
Just one guitar, slung waaay down low
Was a one way ticket
Only one way to go...

Big Bear, full of intensity, pointed and jawed at the crowd to the left. He gave the 'YOU READY?! EFF YES!' gesture, pounding his chest enough times to top King Kong. He flipped views, heading to the other side and repeating his signature 'COME AND GET IT!' motions. The Wal*Tron is a montage of Big Bear vamping up the arenas he has been through, flashing 'BIG BEAR MUNSON MONSOON' transparently over the footage.

So he started rockin!
Aint never gonna stop
Gotta keep on rock-in!
Someday, gonna make it to the top

The massive beast was walking along side the aisle, slapping hands all over the place. He reached out, tapping hands with some of the more distant fans, everybody gets to love the Bear. He continued on, slapping hands and jammin' out to the sweet tune that was his theme.

And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero
He took one guitar, juke box hero, stars in his eyes
Juke box hero, he'll come alive tonight

Monsoon was now scaling the ring steps to the ropes, then hopped up on the turnbuckle, pointing to all of the fans. EACH-AND-EVERY-ONE. He stopped, locking eyes with some putz, wearing CHAIRMAN OF PRIME propaganda, and booing him. He reared back, pointing his giant left hand at the kid, eyes filled with passion.

CROWD + BIG BEAR: BUST! THAT! CHUMP!!

The fan, dejected and sad, crapped himself then ran off - mullett swinging the entire way to the ladie's room. The entire arena basked in the misfortune of one young man, including Big Bear.

Now he needs to keep rockin
He just cant stop
Gotta keep on rock-in
That boy has got to stay on top

Hopping down, he motions for the crowd to cheer more, throwing his arms in the air as the foreigner classic tune blasts on over the speaker system. He began to play the air-guitar.

And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Yeah, juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
With that one guitar hell come alive
Come alive tonight...

The guitar solo that is more bad ass than Mr. T begins.

Like Ted Nugent's prodigy, Munson drops to his knees - air soloing his way to the hearts of every daughter, mother, fruitcake, and girl in the 17-69 age group... 17 is legal in New York, I heard.

Monsoon hops to his feet, tearing his glasses off and flexes for the crowd as a fast-paced light show highlights the ring. He tosses his glasses away to the crowd and then removes his headband, tossing it to a totally smokin' hot babe, who just so happened to not be wearing a bra.

Vince Howard: And finally... Weighing in at a buck fifty dripping wet...

"You think I'm funny... Funny how?"


The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica's 'Better Than You' begins to blast through the PA System. Tony Gamble walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance toward the crowd before making his way toward the ring once the lyrics of the song kick in.



## I look at you, then you me
Hungry and thirsty are we
Holding the lion's share
Holding the key
Holding me back 'cause I'm striving to be ##


Vince Howard: TOOONY 'THE GRIIIN' GAAAAAMBLLLLLE!!!


Tony marches proudly down the small portion of ramp, no-selling the crowd's jeers and snide remarks as he remains focused on the ring. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.



## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##



Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring at his opponents for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. The Wal*tron now shows footage from Revolution 106, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his 'Stop Laughing At Me' signature move.



## Lock horns, I push and I strive
Some how I feel more alive
Bury the need for it
Bury the seed
Bury me deep when there's no will to be ##



A wide grin is painted on his face as he hears the negative reaction from the crowd as he lifts his arms into the air. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.



## Better than you
Better than you
Better than you
Better than you ##

The bell sounds as this match is suddenly underway. Gamble is quickly attacked by both of his opponents, two men that have no love for the arrogant prick that thinks he is better than them, as they continue punching and kicking away until he's backed into the corner. Winters climbs to the middle rope to begin a ten punch combo ... But he's pulled down by Munson Monsoon, who then awkwardly tries to climb the turnbuckle. He manages to get three punches in before he's pulled down by an angry looking Winters. The two men argue for a few moments, seemingly unable to agree on what to do. But it's enough of a distraction for them not to notice as Gamble climbs to the top turnbuckle. Of course, his opponents turn around just in the nick of time, right before they each get caught with a dual missile dropkick!

Richard: Say hello to the greatest 5 Star Champion EVAR!!

Nick: That statement holds as much water as a colander.

Richard: Are you stupid, why would you put water in a calendar?

Nick: No, I sai- Nevermind.

The crowd begin to boo as Tony jumps back to his feet, followed close behind by Winters. Big Bear gets back to his feet as well as Gamble lands hard rights to both men. But they're still standing. He tries again, but they're still standing - so Tony goes against the ropes ... And straight into a lariat from Winters! Monsoon goes to lift his fallen foe back up, but Winters intervenes by pulling back at the shoulder. The two men argue for a second, but it's really not long before they inevitably begin to trade shots back and forth. Winters seems to have the upper hand as he hammers away wildly, forcing Monsoon back against the ropes. Repeated shots to the face, one after the other, uninterrupted until a recovered Tony Gamble runs in with a dropkick to WInters, sending him tumbling to the outside! Monsoon staggers away from the ropes, looking briefly to the outside as he's caught from behind with a shot to the knee!

1...

2. No!

Kick-out!

Nick: That wasn't even a two count, what is Gamble thinking trying to go for a pin this early.

Richard: Survival.

Nick: Good point.

Both men stand again as Big Bear tries for a clothesline, only to find it ducked and countered with a shoulder right to the gut of the big man! He drops down to a knee, just as Winters raises to his feet on the outside. Gamble runs toward the opposite ropes, does a somersault into a backflip over the top rope - thus hitting Jonathon Winters with a modified moonsault that brings the crowd to it's feet!

Nick: It's not everyday that Gamble does something good to bring the fans to their feet.

Richard: The man is an entertainer, and he knows that he needs to pull out all the stops if he's going to win this match.

The crowd continue booing as Gamble slams Winters into the steel steps once, before rolling back into the ring. One again, Munson Monsoon is on his feet and charging toward the the little midget who could. Gamble tries to duck out of the way, but Big Bear still manages to catch him and toss him into the ropes. Gamble bounces off the ropes and runs right into a big bear hug from Big Bear, who then just simply drops down – slamming all of his weight onto the much smaller man! Lateral press,

1...

2...

Richard: Gamble got his foot on the ropes!

Nick: You sound like a ten year old at the new Transformers movie.

Richard: No, you should have heard ME at the new Transformers movie. I was much louder than this.

Monsoon stands up in frustration, lifting Gamble up by the hair, but Winters has rolled back into the ring and drills Monsoon with a Yakuza kick to the back of the head. He drops down for the cover, as Gamble stumbles against the ropes, still groggy from the effects of a large man dropping all of his weight on him.

Now he knows what Chains feels like when he visits the prison showers.

1...

2...

No! Saved!

Tony Gamble just leapt and broke up the cover with a low dropkick to the skull of Winters! 'Jonathon rolls to the outside to shake the cobwebs out, leaving his opponents in the ring again. Monsoon manages to use the ropes to get back to his feet as Gamble makes his way over - and gets hit with a boot to the gut. An Irish whip follows and Gamble is sent across the ring ... But Monsoon lowers his head too early, and it's his turn to get caught, this time with an implant DDT!

The crowd are growing restless as the man they've grown to despise, Tony Gamble lies in wait in one corner. A chorus of boos ringing out as clear as day as Munson Monsoon stands up yet again – 'Indifference Maker'! Tony Gamble just got taken out by Winters' superkick and Winters goes for a cover,

1...

2...

Nick: Big Bear isn't going to let this match end so early.

Richard: Tony would've kicked out in time.

Nick: Oh, you think so do you?

Richard: Oh yeah, he's way too good to lose to a superkick. It's in his book.

Monsoon drags Winters up to his feet. A few stiff forearm shots to the face sends Winters back against the ropes, but Monsoon just continues firing off rights and lefts.

From his spot in the corner, Gamble has risen to his feet as he charges at, and clotheslines both of his opponents. The crowd cheers as they watch him bounce off of them and flip backwards across the mat. Monsoon grabs Winters by the head and smashes his head into the turnbuckle as Gamble gets to his feet. Gamble's caught with a vicious lariat that flips him through the air, before dropping him down like an old rag doll. Monsoon drags him back to his feet and tosses him over the top rope like he was playing fetch with a dog.

Nick: Did you see the way Big Bear just flung your hero out of the ring?

Richard: Tony's just playing possum, you know how he is.

Nick: A cheater. A backstabber. Gloryhound.

Richard: You're so off base, it's not even funny.

Monsoon turns his attention back to Winters just in time to get caught with a series of knife edge chops. Each one forcing Munson closer to the corner. An Irish whip does the job just fine though as Munson Monsoon lands hard against the turnbuckles. Winters looks to follow up with a running clothesline - but Monsoon gets a boot up! Winters is staggered by that last shot as Monsoon runs out of the corner, driving a knee into his gut like a runaway train. Lateral press,

1...

2...

No!

Nick: Monsoon nearly had the win there, a win that could really get his momentum going here in PRIME.

Richard: Yeah, I think he's going to have to put in a little more work against a guy like Winters.

Nick: Winters, weren't you just praising Gizmo a little while ago?

Richard: I didn't say Winters was going to win, just that Big Bear wasn't going to beat him.

Gamble is back in the ring by this point, and Monsoon catches him with a boot to the gut before driving him into the canvas with a piledriver. The big man stands up over his fallen foe - head butt! He goes for a cover,

1...

2...

No!

Nick: Something is wrong with Gamble, he practically walked into that one.

Nick looks around, but Richard is nowhere to be found.

Richard: Is it over?

Nick looks under the table to find Richard cradling his legs and tucking his head between his knees.

Nick: What are you doing down there, we're in the middle of a match.

Richard: Hello, we're in LA! You didn't feel the tremors?

Nick: Oh. My. God.

Jonathon is back up to his feet, as Big Bear pulls Gamble up for a suplex. Monsoon stands up again, only to hit a leg drop across Gamble's throat. Gamble is dragged to his feet yet again, and he looks out of it. Of course, Winters comes to his rescue when he connects with a kick to the gut before grabbing and dropping Monsoon with a reverse DDT!

Nick: The gods must be shining down on Gamble tonight, because I don't know how much more of this he could have taken.

Richard: The man's a survivor, he's going to make it.

No, that wasn't Beyonce.

Nick: ...

Richard: What?

Nick just shakes his head as the action continues in the ring.

Winters lifts Monsoon to his feet and lets him stagger back against the ropes, and the pudgy fellow is stranded. Winters runs against the ropes and charges at the prone Bear. Winters hits him with a stiff running knee lift. It forces Monsoon to fall face first in the center of the ring, as Jonathon Winters climbs out onto the apron and up to the top rope. Munson is slow in getting back to his feet, but he eventually manages to do so as Winters 'flies' through the air, connecting with a Double Axe Handle Smash to the top of the skull!

Richard: And he isn't wearing his lucky yellow helmet either.

Nick: Will you stop that.

Richard: What, have you heard the man speak... I doubt that is going to do him any favors.

Nick: You're terrible.

Before Winters can go for the cover, Gamble has re-entered the ring. He's been lying in wait for a few moments, waiting for Winters to turn around. Winters looks around briefly as Gamble charges – and connects.

Richard: DID YOU SEE THAT!?

Nick: Did he just use Winters' Indifference Maker on him?

Richard: A taste of his own medicine, and Winters looks to be out of it.

Nick: Where's he going?

Gamble kicks Winters out of the ring, then walks over and sizes up the big man – who doesn't look as big laying there like a beached whale.

Nick: Can he do it?

Gamble wraps one of those tree trunk like legs around his twigs, then notices that this just isn't going to work.

Nick: He's too big, Gamble cannot lock on the Smile For Me!

Richard: He has this match in the bag, all he has to do is pin him!

Gamble mounts Monsoon's back, certain to restrain the man's large arms before wrapping his arms around Big Bear's head and sticking his fish hooked fingers into his mouth.

Richard: He's got it!

Monsoon starts to paw away at Gamble, but he cannot get the man's fingers out of his mouth.

Nick: He's not tapping! Munson Monsoon refuses to give up!

Big Bear gets a knee up, using his strength to stand with Gamble on his back.

Richard: Uh oh.

Uh oh is correct, as Monsoon charges backward toward the corner with Gamble still on his back. Gamble spins around on Monsoon's neck just as the big man drives his back into the turnbuckle, and the impact makes the big man stumble forward out of the corner. Gamble uses the big man's momentum to carry him over with a move that once again brings the fans to their feet.

Richard: Hurracanrana!!!

Gamble drapes an arm over the big man, both of them exhausted. The crowd boos as the referee slaps the mat.






1!!!






Winters rolls into the ring, and the crowd begins to cheer.






2!!!!




Winters leaps and drops an elbow on Gamble's chest as the ref's hand slaps the mat one more time.






3!!!!!!!






Nick: WINTERS BROKE IT UP!!

The crowd pops huge, and the whole arena is deafening.

Nick: WINTERS SAVED BIG BEA-

The sound of the bell cuts him off short, as the referee lifts his hand up into the air and holds three fingers up.

Richard: YEEEEES!!!!

Vince Howard: Here is your winner... TOOONY 'THE GRIIIN' GAAAAAMBLLLLLE!!!

The referee lifts Gamble's arm into the air, and Winters, Monsoon, Nick... Hell, the whole damn arena are in shock. They simply cannot believe it.

In the office of acting…um…whatever-the-hell-she-is Lisa Tyler, a repairman tightens the hinges on her door. He gives the top left corner one last hearty tug with the ol’ wrench, and turns back towards her.

Repairman: All set, Ms. Tyler. This door should be more than three times as sturdy as the last. Someone would have to be behind the wheel of a front-end loader to get through it.

Lisa Tyler: Well-done! I have to tell you, it’s become a real problem around here having people kicking in the door all the time, usually outraged and demanding my IMMEDIATE attenti-

Just then she’s interrupted by a loud THUMP followed by the all-too-familiar sound of a body hitting the concrete floor outside.

Voice: (Muffled) Agh, GOD! Ohhhh, ow-ow-ow-ow…

The repairman is startled, but Lisa rolls her eyes and motions for him to open the door. He does, revealing Nova on the ground outside it, clutching at his knee. He’s sucking in air between his clenched teeth and letting out little groans. He turns, unsquinting his eyes to glare wide-eyed at Tyler.

Nova: What the HELL about the door, Lisa?! Does everyone else know about this? Am I the only victim?

The confused cameraman offers the Risen Star a hand, but Nova swats it away in annoyance and climbs to his feet of his own accord. He stomps into the office, lighting up a cigarette and slamming his hand down on the desk, scattering papers.

Nova: We gotta talk.

Lisa gestures to the repairman to leave and leans back in her chair, folding her arms.

Lisa Tyler: Okay, shoot…but dispense with the drama.

Nova: I’m PISSED OFF, Lisa!

He gestures to the blood crusted around his swollen lip and the shiner that’s forming up nicely underneath his eye.

Nova: Look at me. I wasn’t even on the card tonight.

Lisa Tyler: Some might say you aren’t doing much to make the situation any easier on anyone. By the way if you wanna do any side gigs like managing Hollywood talent, I’d appreciate being in the loop.

Nova: Some might go to hell, Lisa. And if that’s what "some might think," they definitely aren’t gonna be happy when I ask you to give me Danny Ferguson and Chandler Tsonda in a tag match next week…

There’s a moment of awkward silence. The former Universal Champion takes a drag of his cigarette.

Nova: …which is…what I’m, uh…doing now.

Lisa Tyler: (Taking a nice, deep breath) Weeeell…generally I try to keep a policy of NOT allowing the talent to take over the booking of the company and basically turn my office into a waypost for running PRIME themselves, which, believe me, would be a terrible idea…

Nova: Oh, come off it, Tyler! I remember when you couldn’t get an interview with Peter Vetra, so come off this fucking power trip!

Tyler waits a moment before taking another deep breath and continuing.

Lisa Tyler: …buuuuuut…I appreciate that you didn’t cash in your rematch clause for the main event at Colossus IV…I mean, not that it wouldn’t be great to close out an ENTIRE YEAR of Pay-Per-Views with Nova main events…but I think it’s time to freshen it up a little, don’t you?

Nova: (Shrugging) Sorry I kick so much ass. Don’t hate the playa.

Lisa Tyler: Right. So that’s good…but the thing is, handicap matches are so over and done with, Nova. That’s what it would be. In case you’re too high to notice, there’s no one standing behind you.

Nova: Finding a partner is my problem, not yours, Tyler. Book it.

Tyler reshuffles some of the papers on her desk, taking her time to send the former Fuck You leader a message...and then…

Lisa Tyler: Fine. Find yourself a partner and you can have it. But if you can’t, I’m not sending you out there to get slaughtered, no matter how much Danny makes your blood boil. And cut it out with the backstage brawling and show interruptions…you’re giving me headaches.

The Risen Star offers a polite nod.

Nova: Fine. Don’t you go giving away my spot. I’ll be finding that partner.

He turns and walks briskly towards the door before turning back.

Nova: Oh, by the way…going from bubbly slut to power-hungry...well, still ‘slut,’ I guess…didn’t do very good things for you, Lisa. You’ve got…(motioning around his face)…lines…

Turning, he walks out the door, giving the door a nice "I got the last word in, and it was a decent burn on top of that" slam. A touch of sass for flavor. Lisa’s jaw is floating in her latte, but she doesn’t notice.

All evening Devin Shakur has been stuck inside of his locker room, unable to go out even to get a drink of water. He had to get his new lady, Sun Tzu, to do all of the moving around, and he was starting to get anxious. In just a couple of minutes his match would be coming up and this was one that he had to have. He would not accept losing for the third straight match in a row.

With Sun Tzu straddled across his midsection, Shakur has his left hand on her left leg and his right hand is on a cellular phone, staring intently at the screen. A guess would deduce that Shakur is not waiting this intently on his match to start. Suddenly, the alarm on the phone goes off, and Shakur pushes a button on the right side of the phone before speaking into it.

Devin Shakur: Go, go, go

Camera Switch to Corridor 21b

A door pops open and out appears someone who remarkably resembles Commie Emo down to a T…

The only difference is that he is completely naked. He begins to walk down the corridor, blatantly passing in front of Dusk’s locker room and the security right in front of it.

Security Guard Matt: SHAKUR!

Shakur turns around and greets the security guard with a wave and starts to bite a ham sandwich that appeared out of no where. The other two security guards come over and stare down at Shakur, looking fully intent on beating him up.

Shakur can only reply with…

Devin Shakur: Moon rocks? Moon rocks? Any of you got moon rocks?

When Shakur sees that none of them have moon rocks and they look intent on beating him up, he books it the other way with the three security guards keeping the distance surprisingly close. Shakur rounds another random corridor and goes into a supply closet. He reappears into sight one second later, and all three of the security guards look horrified at what he is carrying.

Security Guard Craig: RUN!

Devin Shakur: BAHAHAHAHAHA!

Devin Shakur chases the three security guards back down the corridor with a giant…

Teabag

Devin Shakur: I’M GOING TO BE THE KING OF THE MOON!

Camera Switch: Gorilla position

Another door opens and out comes yet another person who looks like Devin Shakur. This one is dressed in a nice black Armani suit and has on an obviously fake beard with some killer sideburns. There also seem to be massive shoulder pads in the suit, making him out to be a giant. Shakur stops about sixty feet from the interview area and holds out his hands, getting everybody else to stop and stare at him. He clinches both of his fists, puts them at his side, and then busts out…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

TEH ARM FLAPPING POWER WALK!

Everybody in the backstage area takes out their camera phones and begins to take pictures of this miraculous event which no longer takes place anymore in PRIME. A couple of security guards who believe that they are seeing Shakur walk up to the slow walking individual and stand in front him.

Devin Shakur: FATHER PRIME IS HERE, MY CHILDREN!

Security Guard Seth: What the fuck is this, Shakur?

Security Guard Vince (McMahon): Seriously, you know you aren’t supposed to be out of the locker room, Tyler’s orders.

Devin Shakur: SILENCE! Allow me to present to you a slice of majestic oratory…

Devin Shakur raises his arms up to the sky and just like magic the ceiling tiles remove themselves and down comes an OLD SKOOL MIC!!!!!1111111 Shakur grabs the microphone and pulls it close.

Devin Shakur: Turn around

WHAP! WHAP!

Before the two security guards can, a massive object hits them both in the back of the head, sending them down to the ground. The camera gets a good shot of the person who was able to do this in one swing…

Another Devin Shakur, but this time with a chin that goes down to the floor.

Devin Shakur: Ah, Devin Youngblood, perfect timing.

The two Shakur’s high five each other.

Camera Switch to Lisa Tyler’s office

Lisa Tyler is doing some necessary paperwork before the next match comes on the television. The night has been fairly decent, definitely better when wrestlers are not being arrested. All of a sudden there is a knock at her door.

Lisa Tyler: It’s open

The door flies open and in steps a rather thin Devin Shakur who is wearing a mask that resembles one illustrious face eater that PRIME harbors on its roster. Lisa Tyler’s eyebrows burrow down and look at the individual with suspicious eyes.

Lisa Tyler: Shakur, what the hell did I tell you about leaving the locker room? SECURITY!

Instantly, five rather large men come into the room and surround the masked Shakur. He looks around and sees that he is practically screwed.

Lisa Tyler: Did you really think that no one would recognize you. Get him out of here.

Before security can touch him, the Shakur holds up his hands, which surprisingly gets the security force to stop…

Shakur then flashes the West Side gang signal with both of his hands…

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Before exploding into little bits and pieces, throwing all the security men down to the floor. Lisa Tyler stands there in shock, not sure what to say.

It only gets worse from here when a petite white figure manages to slide under the door and appear off the ground in front of Tyler’s face.

BOOM!

And a zombie version of Shakur breaks through the wall. The security guards get up to find this sight, and are all about to ask for a raise if they ever make it out of here alive.

Camera Switch Main Interviewing Area

The scene is of mass panic with one Devin Shakur power walking, another with a massive chin knocking security people out left and right, and yet another chasing security around with a giant teabag. Some additional security from around the building comes in and assists the fallen men.

Only for yet another wave of Shakur’s to come from all available doors.

A Shakur with a bald head and bulging muscles everywhere charges toward three security guards and knocks all of them down. We get a read on his T-Shirt

"I got raped by Chainz and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt"

He takes two of the guards, one in each hand, and brings them behind the soda machine. The banging sounds made a couple of minutes later do not indicate happy times for said security folk.

Shakur Chainz: I LOVE BIG TITS!

A Devin Shakur who is walking furiously on his knees, has a scar on one side of his face, and looks ironically like Tony Gamble, moves out into the area and begins to hit people in the package with low blows. All of them fall down and sell the moves dramatically.

Devin Gamble Shakur: STOP LAUGHING AT ME!

Yet another wave of security comes from the parking lot, and they are met by the two Devin Shakur’s that nobody wants to see. One is wearing incredible blonde hair, and is carrying around a foam PTC Unified Title belt. He raises up his eyebrows and stares at Faith Rodriguez, who begins to shake before screaming out in ecstasy. She falls down and is very embarrassed.

Two male security guards try to tackle the Jason Snow wannabe when a man with just as evil of a stare glares at both of them, and freezes them in place with his signature stare.

Devin Shakur Deville: >=)

Devin Youngblood Shakur knocks both of them down with his massive chin. The Jason Snow version glares at two of the male security guards. They fight to stay upright and forcefully shut their mouths so as to not scream in ecstasy. Unfortunately, Deville picks up on this and gives them the >=), forcing them to freeze. Snow gives them one last glare, and two screams of ecstasy follows suit.

Camera Switch to inside of Jonathan Winters locker room

All while this has been going down, the REAL Devin Shakur escaped his locker room and is pummeling Winters into oblivion. Shakur slams a knee to the head, delivers an elbow strike to the ribs, and slams him up against the wooden locker. Shakur backs up and delivers a Yakuza kick, breaking one of the shelves and sending Winters down in a slump.

Devin Shakur: You want to ruin my night you douchebag?

Shakur plants a kick to the ribs of Winters, picks him up, delivers a spinning back kick, another knee to the head, and finally delivers a devastating STO to Winters, planting him face first into the tiled floor. Shakur stands up, spits on Winters, and makes a beeline down the corridor, and out into the main interviewing area where all of his look-alikes are pummeling the entire security force into submission. Shakur continues his run, ducks a security guard who was thrown by Youngblood’s chin, shields his eyes from the Deville and Snow models, and finally gets out of sight without receiving some enlightenment from Chainz. A couple of left turns and Shakur is back in his locker room, and quickly shuts the door.

Sun Tzu just shakes her head in disbelief at Commie Emo

Devin Shakur: What, that was the most genius thing I’ve ever come up with.

A thunderous knock on his door turns Shakur around to open the device and see a furious Lisa Tyler standing there.

Devin Shakur: Can I help you with something?

Lisa Tyler: WHY IN THE HELL IS MY SECURITY FORCE GETTING BEATEN UP BY VERSIONS OF YOU?

Devin Shakur: What? I’ve been in here the whole time.

Lisa Tyler: …

Devin Shakur: Why would I leave the locker room when I’ve got her to entertain me for the whole evening?

Lisa Tyler: …

Devin Shakur: Whatever happened to being presumed innocent until proven guilty?

Lisa Tyler: …Ugh, this isn’t over Shakur.

She turns on a dime and walks away, Shakur snickering behind her back before shutting the door.

It is a widely held belief that Code Red Mountain Dew, nectar from the very halls of Olympus itself, is actual proof of fact that not only does God exist, but he does, indeed, love us. Okay. Well maybe that’s just a wide-held belief of Tyler Rayne, seen here still in his wrestling gear, cell phone in his left hand, the right procuring the aforementioned beverage from the chamber in the vending machine.

Rayne: I feel like hell, kid. What kind of dumb ass question is that?

He unscrews the top, a smile creasing his face as he enjoys the heavenly goodness contained within the plastic bottle.

Rayne: What do you mean old? I’m older than she is. Just because she’s not perpetually twenty-three like some people I know… Fine. Whatever. Regardless, she’s still hot. No, I haven’t actually talked to her yet. Yes, I’m getting to it. Oh, fuck you, Katt.

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A note of distinction. While that may sound (read) like the crowd, it is, in fact, not the crowd at all. What it is, is the six foot ten inch, four hundred some odd pound Polish express roaring its way down the hall now currently resided by Tyler Rayne. Rayne turns, staring in both surprise and horror at the oncoming locomotive.

Rayne: Hey, Katt, listen, I’m going to have to call you back. Something just came up and…WHOOOOOOFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!

That’s the sound of all air escaping his lungs as Tom Walczak, the Polish Punisher and one angry son of a bitch, drives his shoulder into the abdomen of Tyler Rayne. More a tackle than the far-too-oft used spear, the takedown nevertheless drives Rayne painfully to the arena floor, a four hundred pound angry European looking to split his skull like a melon. One ham fisted punch nearly blacks Rayne into unconsciousness. The second one is worse. There’s a third. And possibly a fourth. Honestly, the world is just a hazy blur at this point.

Rayne’s hands splay up into Walczak’s face, searching something like a blind man, until his thumbs finally find the soft spot of Walczak’s eyes. Then they push inward, a threatening attempt to pop the orbs right out of socket. Walczak’s not as dumb as some make him out to be, and he quickly lets go of the hold. The Polish Punisher rubs at his eyes, an subconscious attempt at wiping away the pain. Rayne stands to his feet, wiping blood from his nose.

Rayne: This is the part where I get pissed.

Followed by the part where he plants the point of his elbow straight into Walczak’s forehead. There’s some staggering, which Rayne precipitates with a few of them so-called forearm shivers. Then it seems as if Walczak has had enough. He takes two giant hands, wraps them right around Rayne’s neck, and proceeds to squeeze. Hard. There’s really actually no way for Rayne to fight out of it. He begins to turn red, then slightly purplish. His eyes are kind of bulging a bit more than what they should be. He could be crying. The blood, oddly enough, has stopped dripping from his nose. Instead of killing him, however satisfying that may be, Walczak instead tosses Rayne about seven feet down the hall, right next to that Pepsi machine he’d just purchased from.

Walczak stalks forward. He’s too angry to even talk shit. Rayne scurries backward, looking about the hall for pretty much anything that will save his wretched soul. His best bet is a nearby trash can, which he quickly takes hold of. And then, with everything he has left, Rayne smashes the trash can right into Walczak’s face. Then it’s a tackle. Well, kind of. Rayne’s not actually big enough to take Walczak down, but he drives that shoulder into Walczak’s abdomen nonetheless, pushing for all he’s worth as he throws a series of rabbit punches directly onto Walczak’s kidney. Walczak, brute force being his forte and all, lifts Rayne straight up by the waistline of his pants, spins about a few times, then discus tosses the little sumnabitch right through the glass window of the snack machine.

This is one of those scenarios when adrenaline takes over the better part of your brain. The part that would normally tell you to stay the fuck down. Nah. Not Tyler Rayne. Hell, he may not even have that part of his brain. So, he pushes himself out of that vending machine, a handful of candy bars in tow. Then, much like a child, he tosses the candy bars at Walczak’s head. This, obviously, only infuriates the giant even more. But Rayne, being that little bit crazy that he is, decides to do something completely unexpected. He jumps back into the vending machine, feet planted firmly in the broken opening, then pushes himself up, scrambling atop the snack dispenser. Of course he has to crouch to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, a particular problem that Tony Gamble would not have had, but the elevation does give Rayne enough vantage to dive from. He turns his body, somehow, enough to take Walczak around the neck, spinning the giant to the ground with a head-scissors takeover. Rayne mounts his nemesis, dropping a series of vicious elbows and forearms down on Walczak’s face and head. The entire barrage is quite stunning, particularly for the Punisher. But Tom manages to find his wits enough to push Rayne away, proceeding to roll after. Which leaves the two kind of at a checkmate, each one struggling to get a leverage point as the other pushes, punches, elbows, and shoves his enemy away.

That’s when the security guards come in. A whole mess of them. A troop. Possibly even a gaggle. The easiest route is to take care of Rayne first. It only requires a handful of security guards to pull him away and restrain him. Which leaves the rest to try and stand between him and Walczak, who they wisely have chosen not to attempt to hold. Rayne, for his part, attempts to fight off his captors while Walczak paces in an attempt to find a crack in this wall of men before him.

"Enough. Enough. Enough."

You get three guesses. If one of them isn’t Lisa Tyler, you’re wrong. Go home and study. The figurehead of backstage affairs here in PRIME takes a commanding stance between the two of them, eyes closed and fingers rubbing at her temples. Okay, so it’s probably not that commanding, but her presence alone tends to get people’s attention.

Lisa: That’s it! I’ve had it with you people. Every friggin’ one of you thinks you need to start a fight in my arena. It ends tonight. You.

Her finger points threateningly at Walczak.

Lisa: These men are going to lead you out of my building. I don’t want to even think about you until your name is announced for your match next week. Go.

For a few tense seconds, Walczak remains. The cold, merciless eyes never turn from Tyler Rayne. Finally he grunts, a condescending acknowledgement, and allows himself to be led toward the exit. Once she is assured of the Punisher’s absence, Lisa turns her attention to Rayne, who has now been released by the guards. Though they do remain very, very nearby.

Rayne: He started it.

Lisa: Do you think you’re cute? Do you think that’s—

Rayne: Personally, I prefer the term, "attractive." Cute’s kind of a puppy thing. And it’s just dick to think of yourself as "hot." So—

Lisa: No. Stop. I don’t care. I’ve had enough of you and your mouth for one evening.

Rayne: I could show you some other parts of my body, if you wanted.

She clenches her fist tightly at her side, nails damn near drawing blood from the palm of her hand.

Lisa: I am this close to suspending your ass. Go to the locker room. Get yourself changed. And get the hell out of my building. You cause another scene like this again, you’ll find yourself at the end of the unemployment line. Are we clear?

Rayne: Like the lake.

A pause. She stares, obviously not satisfied with the answer.

Rayne: Crystal. Crystal Lake. Jason Vorhees? Friday the Thirteenth?

Nope. Nothing.

Rayne: Yes. We’re clear.

Lisa: Good. Now go.

She turns to storm off, not bothering to actually see if he can follow such simple commands. There are still yet other children that need checking up on tonight.

Tonight was an average night for PRIME’s Commie Emo. Sure, he got beaten up by Winters, but he managed to return fire and got to fool around with Sun Tzu before all of the attack fiasco went down. Good times in his book. Now, with security at his side, Shakur makes his way down the hall, the burly men making sure that Shakur doesn’t pull another fast one on them like earlier.

Shakur makes the left hand turn and can see the gorilla position straight ahead when someone enters from his left side.

Nitz Donnelly: Man, you obviously get yourself into too much trouble around here. The frigid bitch with a golden pen arranged this shit huh? That one behind you is about to hump your leg.

Shakur turns around and glares at the one security guard in question

Shakur: You don't want me to get those clones back here and fuck you up. Half of them know kung fu and the other half watch the Matrix religiously. And yes, Tyler arranged this, although it didn't really do much good since we've all thrown down tonight. I'm surprised she didn't duct tape your mouth after arriving here with those promos you cut on the portable.

The Ego of New England laughs, not so much at Shakur’s comment, but more in the direction of the absent Lisa Tyler and her questionable actions as of late.

Nitz Donnelly: True, but she’s smart in a way as well. Whether it be opening her legs for favors or knowing where the money is, she knows where her bread is buttered. She wouldn’t dare attempt to shut my mouth because I AM money for this company. You are too, so this leash is just a bullshit ploy to protect a future money match. All these asshole suits and skirts in the offices think the same.

Devin Shakur: She can save money matches, I will give her that, but her talent picking ability is only good half the time. You are the wise side of her and we are about to face the dumb side. If the two of us put our heads together, we'll come out on top. The only thing that concerns me tonight is winning. It doesn't matter who gets the fall, we just need to win.

Donnelly nods, agreeing with the comments of PRIME’s Commie Emo.

Nitz Donnelly: Most certainly we’re on the same side about that. I don’t get along with many people inside this hobby cause I just plain as day don’t fuckin’ like em. But I’m sure we’ll dispatch of the trash to give this place a more talent oriented base. The only thing Elliott is good for is breeding cross-eyed, one armed family members and don’t even get me started on the supposed Champion. She’s so tight, razor blades and iodine would make for a more satisfying fuck. So let’s go school their asses shall we?

Devin Shakur: Let's take em to school.

Shakur keeps a poker face, but in his head is wondering from what part of deep left field the razor blades and iodine comment came from. Security begins to march, escorting Shakur and Donnelly through the halls towards the ring to spoil the fans victory party for their heroes.

Richard: It's hammer time, Nick! My home slices, Nitz Donnelly and Devin Shakur, are about to go toe to toe against Lindsay Troy and Wade Elliott!

Nick: Opponents last week and partners tonight, Troy and Elliott both have a little frustration to let loose, and lucky for Wade, in this match he finally gets to get his hands on Nitz Donnelly!

"Back in Black" by AC/DC.

Richard: Ooooh, snap! Shakur in the building!

The rockin' rifts of AC/DC smash through the Staples Center. Pyros go off, some lights flicker, your general shebangabang. Shakur soon steps out onto the ramp, greeted by boos. He makes no remark as he begins to descend the entrance ramp.

"Back in black!
I hit the sack!
I've been too long, I'm glad to be back,
Yes I'm, let loose!
From the noose!
That's kept me hangin' about,
I've been lookin' at the sky cause it's getting' me high!
Forget the hearse, cuz I never die!
I got, nine lives!
Cats eyes!
Abusin' every one of them and runnin' wild"

Nick: Congratulations, Devin! You're the one-millionth wrestler to use that song for an entrance theme!

Richard: Quiet!

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen! Our next match-up is scheduled for Tag Team Competition! First, hailing from Raleigh, North Carolina, standing six feet, two inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and nineteen pounds....Deeeeeeviiiiinnn Shakuuuuuuuuuurrrr!

Shakur crawls into the ring, taking place in his corner, stretching and preparing himself for the match.

"Cause I'm back!
Yes, I'm baaack!
Well I'mmmm baack!
Yes I'm, baack!
Well I'm, baaAAaaAAAACK!
BaaAAaaAAAACK!
Well I'mmm back in black!
Yes I'm back in blaaAACK!"

The music fades away, the boos ringing through the arena.

"Thow up your rock-fiiist! If you're feelin' it when I drop this!"

"Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch hits the PA, and the boos raise to a deafening level. Lights flicker to the beat, and The Ego of New England, Nitz Donnelly steps onto the ramp, head bobbing to the grooves as he walks down the ramp.

Vince Howard: And his partner, from Boston, Massachusetts, standing six feet, one inch and weighing in at two-hundred and twenty-four pounds, he is The Ego of New England!....Niiiiiiiiitz Dooonnelllyyyyyyy!!!!

"Show em' how we blow the spot! Let's make it hot, let's shock-em' with the body-rock! Til' the party stops!
It's time, to take it up a notch! And keep it locked, for all, the head-bangers in the parkin' lot!
Here we come! If you're ready or not! No time to talk, cuz we on the clock, bringin' that 'uh uh' to your block!
Let me show you where we're comin' from! It don't stop, from L.-A. to New York, show me what you got now!"

Nitz steps into the ring, arms to the air in front of the booing crowd, a big grin on his face.

Nick: That kid is unbearable.

Richard: What, because he speaks his mind?

Nick: Well...yeah.

"Alll I knooow, is what it did take to make-this!
Alll I aaaam, is what it will take to break-this!
Alll I knooow, is what it did take to make-this!
Alll I aaaam, is what it will take to break-this!
Light it up now!
Light it up now!"

"Rawkfist" fades off as Nitz stretches, eyes on the entrance ramp.

"Fire it Up" by Black Label Society.

The fans begin to cheer.

Nick: Here comes The Big Dog!

The distorted noise of BLS smashes the PA. Pyros hit the ramp, exploding with the beat. Wade soon steps out, eyes burning a hole into the forehead of Nitz Donnelly.

Nick: That is the gaze of one pissed of sonnova bitch, Rich.

"FIRE IT UP, LET THE EN-GINES ROLLL!
IT'S TIME TO BUUURN IT DOOOOWN!
KEEP BLEEDING ON, TIL' THE DAY YOU DIIIE!
FOR-EVER LOOOVE IT LOOOOUD!
YEEEEAAH!"

Vince Howard: And their opponents! First, from Pine Ridge, Alabama, standing six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-four pounds...The Blue Collar Brawler! Waaaaade Eeeellllioooootttt!

Wade lumbers forward, stopping a quarter of the way down the ramp, eyes narrowed at his opponent. The music fades, leaving only the noise of the cheering crowd. Wade looks back over his shoulder...

Godsmack. "The Enemy."

The roof is ripped to shreds.

The lights pulsate to the heavy chords of Godsmack. Soon, the Queen of the Ring steps onto the ramp, Universal Title around her waist.

Nick: AND HERE'S THE CHAMP!

"Hey! Oooh, Mr. Back-stabbin' Son of a Bitch!
You're livin' in a world that will soon be dyyiiin'!
And I know, everybody knows you try to be like me!
But even at your best, as a man, you couldn't equal half of me!"

Lindsay steps down the ramp, taking position next to Wade, eyes on the ring.

Vince Howard: And his partner! She hails from Tampa, Florida. She stands six feet, three inches tall, and weighs in at one-hundred and seventy pounds...she is the QUEEN OF THE RING...she is THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION...LIIIINDDSSAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY TROOOOOOOYYYYY!!!

"IIII aaam re-aliiziiin'!
That every-body's lost their simple waaaays!
And nooow that it's heeere, I see it all so cleeearrllyy!
IIII'VE come face-to-face with the Enemyyy!"

Godsmack starts fading away, and the lights come up to full. The arena roars for the partners, who stand staring at their opponents.

Elliott nods to Troy.

Troy nods to Elliott.

They bolt.

Nick: And here we go, the two starting things off real early!

DING DING DING!

Donnelly and Shakur immediately jump into defensive position as Elliott and Troy burst down the ramp. Troy drops her title before diving through the ropes. Wade hops onto the curtain and climbs in as swift as possible. Troy comes out of a roll in front of Shakur, hitting him in the side with a kick and following up with a flurry of punches. Wade and Donnelly run at each other, only for Wade to spear him to the floor, punching the ever-loving shit out of the Ego of New England.

Richard: Fucking cheaters!

Nick: Starting off with a brawl! This is gonna be a helluva match!

The four continue to brawl in the ring. The ref starts to break things up a bit, calling for Devin Shakur and Lindsay Troy as the legal members. Wade leans on the ropes, ready to pounce on Donnelly, who stands opposite of him, ready to do the same.

Shakur and Troy circle a moment before the inevitable lock-up. The two push, until Troy throws a knee into Shakur's gut. He doubles over for a bit, enough time for Troy to spin him to the ground with a snap-mare. She capitalizes, bouncing off the ropes, connecting with a solid dropkick to Shakur's chest.

Nick: The Universal Champ coming out with fire tonight!

Lindsay hops up, bounds off the ropes to the side, runs at the fallen Shakur, and immediately throws herself into a somersault, landing her leg across Shakur's neck with a legdrop.

Nick: ALL the fire!

She goes for an early cover. The ref counts.

ONE!

T...kickout!

Richard: Stupid bitch, Shakur's a lot tougher than that!

Shakur kicks out without much problem, though a little groggy from the lighting fast assault. Lindsay starts to stand, grabbing Shakur's hair to bring with her, only to be sent stumbling thanks to a knee shot by Shakur. The Commie Emo quickly gets to his feet before Troy can get her wits about her. She turns into a flurry of Yakuza kicks from Shakur, sending her back into the ropes. Devin pushes her off, sending her running across the ring. She returns off the rebound, finding herself caught in the arms of Shakur and smashes into the mat with a Belly-to-Belly suplex.

Richard: Thatta boy!

Shakur stands, comfortable. Troy clutches the back of her neck as she sits up. Shakur grabs a fistful of her hair, bringing her to her feet. Shakur catches her with a couple elbow strikes, then pushes her off the ropes once more. She bends into the ropes, only to find herself face-planting on the mat, as Nitz Donnelly grabs her by her ankles.

Nick: Oh, real classy, Donnelly!

Richard: Couldn't have said it better! Way to go, brotha!

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nitz puts his hands up in defense, big grin on his face. The ref warns him, only to receive a polite middle finger.

Back in the ring, Shakur lays nasty strikes to the fallen Universal Champion. Shakur lifts her to her feet, then lifts her off the ground, cradling her, then dropping quick, connecting a nasty backbreaker. Troy crumbles, and Shakur pins.

ONE!

TWO!...kickout!

Nick: It's gonna take more than that, you dirty Commie!

Crowd: "CUT YOUR HA-IR!" *clap clap, clapclapclap* "CUT YOUR HA-IR!" *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

Shakur shows signs of annoyance, but returns his focus to the matter at hand. He strikes her with his palms a few times, further dizzying the Queen of the Ring. He hooks his arm around her neck, expecting a DDT. However, he is surprised to find himself being lifted into the air. Troy, teeth grit, heaves upward, sliding Shakur onto her shoulders and dropping down with an ugly Death Valley Driver.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: And a helluva reversal from the Champ!

Shakur crumbles, stars in his eyes. Troy stands from the assault, just as groggy, and stumbles backwards into her corner, finding support of the turnbuckle. She then notices the eager paw of Wade Elliott, fire in his eyes. She slaps it, sending The Blue Collar-Brawler into the match like a raging bull.

Nick: And here comes Elliott, looking for blood!

Shakur stands, shaking the cobwebs from the last attack. He turns, ready to fight on, only to find the freight-train-like Wade Elliott barreling into his midsection with a heavy spear, sending him to the ground. Wade mounts the Commie Emo, smashing into him with a flurry of lefts and rights.

Richard: C'mon, Shakur! Get Donnelly in there!

Wade stands, immediately laying the boots to Shakur. He grabs his shaggy hair in a vice grip, bring him to his feet. He throws Shakur off the ropes, only to return him to the mat with a stiff-as-shit big boot to the face, dropping Shakur like a rock.

Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Wade jaws something to Shakur, all piss n' vinegar. He drops down to cover.

ONE!

TWO!

T...kickout!

Shakur heaves for breath, shoulder off the mat.

Nick: A close pinfall there, Rich!

Richard: Nothing close about it, Nick. This in-bred piece of gutter-trash has nothing on Shakur.

Wade would beg to differ, laying a few good right hands into Shakur's noggin. Wade stands, grabbing Shakur's legs. He falls back, sending Shakur flying overhead and into a turnbuckle with a groan. Wade hops up, runs at Shakur and leaps, crushing him with a body-slam.

Nick: Elliott on a roll tonight! Relentlessly bashing on the Commie Emo!

Wade pulls Shakur toward the middle of the ring with a fistful of hair. The Drifter turns to Troy, asking her something. She nods. He reaches over, tagging her in. The two hook their arms around either side of Shakur's back, lift him high into the air, and smash him onto his back with a double vertical suplex.

Nick: Great teamwork from the Champ and The Big Dog!

Elliott steps onto the apron, leaving a refreshed Queen of the Ring to do her business. She runs at Shakur, hitting him with a baseball slide to the side of the head.

Crowd: OOOOOOOOH!

She stands, bringing Shakur with her, and throws him off the ropes. Luckily for Shakur, he is able to hook his arms around the ropes, stopping his motion and thwarting an attempted dropkick from Troy, who lands on the mat, unharmed, but like I said, thwarted. Shakur reaches to his partner, who tags eagerly. Shakur escapes as Troy stands back to her feet, only to find a lightning quick Nitz Donnelly leaping onto the top rope and flying into her face with a springboard lariat.

Richard: Holy shit! This kid can fly!

Troy drops. Donnelly hops to his feet, ready to roll. Troy stands, but is soon to the floor again as Donnelly, juiced up, hits her with a bulldog. He jumps up, bounding off the ropes. Troy stands, shaking her head, and finds the mat one more time as Donnelly knocks her in the jaw with a spinning heel kick.

Richard: That's the way to come out swingin', Nitz!

Nick: Things don't look good for our Universal Champion!

Nitz pumps his fist, turning to a turnbuckle, starting to climb. He reaches the top, eyes the fallen Troy, turns away, and launches backward, going for a stupidly high Moonsault. However, Lindsay is able to gain enough strength to roll out of the way, causing Donnelly to crash to the mat, clutching his stomach.

Nick: Close call!

Troy stands, groggy, as does Nitz. Troy moves in, clubbing him in the head with a right. Nitz returns the favor. Troy hits him again, returned with the same from Nitz. Troy hits him once, twice, thrice, then grabs his arm, whips him off the ropes, and tosses him over head and onto his face with a big flapjack.

Nick: Here's the comeback!

Nitz smashes his jaw, wincing in pain. Troy stands, ready to pursue, but Nitz scrambles, tagging in the no longer disoriented Devin Shakur. Troy stops mid-ring, ready for defense. Shakur steps in, hands up. The two bolt at each other, smashing into each other with strong rights and lefts. Shakur pops her in the stomach with a kick, then quickly sends her rolling with a snap DDT. He turns to attack, only to find his legs kicked out from under him. Troy hops up. She drops the boot to him twice, stands him up, grabs him around the neck, and smashes him down with a nasty neck-breaker. She drops to pin.

ONE!

TWO!

TH...kickout!

Richard: Whew!

Troy shows signs of frustration. The crowd roars for her as she smashes Shakur in the face with some nasty elbows. She hops up and bounces off the ropes. She goes for another front-flip legdrop, only to see Shakur rolling out of the way. She recovers, landing on her feet, keeping her momentum and bounces off the opposite end. Shakur stands, finding Troy, grapples her, and throws her overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex.

Richard: That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!

He jumps at the opportunity, dropping to a knee, grabbing the sitting Troy and driving his knuckle into her temple. She yells in pain, grabbing his arm, trying to rip herself free.

Nick: Knuckle to Temple! That's gotta hurt a SHIT ton!

He holds for a good ten seconds before releasing the submission. Troy grabs at her aching head, but not for long, as he smacks her in the back with a nasty thrust kick. She snaps forward, then back, lying flat in the ring. Shakur brings her to her feet, throws a few extended knuckle punches to her ribs, and tosses her off the ropes. He runs after her, looking for an immediate clothesline. She has the same idea off the rebound, and the two collide, clotheslining each other in the middle of the ring.

Nick: Ooooh, shit!

The two stir, stars circling their heads. The crowd roars for Troy to stand, while Wade and Nitz extend their hands as far as they can, eager to get at each other. The ref begins to count the two out.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The two start getting to their feet.

Richard: C'mon, Shakur!

FOUR!

FIVE!

The two get to their knees.

SIX!

They begin to crawl to their corners.

Nick: This'll be close!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Troy dives forward, slapping Wade's hand. He swiftly steps into the ring. Shakur, moments later, slaps the hand of Donnelly, who leaps over the ropes. They rush each other.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Nick: HERE WE GO! WADE AND NITZ FINALLY GET THEIR HANDS ON EACH OTHER IN THE RING!

The two trade blows in the center, Wade, being a the brawler he is, gets the upper hand, smashing a few heavy rights into Donnelly before kneeing him in the gut and smashing him down with a DDT. He turns, wild-eyed, and starts to stomp his brains out. Wade lifts him up and whips him toward the turnbuckle, running behind him. Nitz gains his composure and is able to stop himself, hands on the turnbuckle, and with his momentum hoists himself up in the air, causing Wade to run underneath him. The Ego comes down, wrapping his legs around The Drifter and spinning him to the mat with an improvised Hurricarana.

Nick: This kid doesn't deserve the light of day, much less praise, but his athleticism cannot be denied!

Wade shakes the cobwebs. Nitz follows up quick, baseball sliding Wade in the lower back. Wade grimaces, but starts to stand, only to be toppled as Nitz leaps onto the second rope and smacks him with a dropkick.

Richard: This kid is out of control!

Nitz runs up, looking for a pin, hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO! kickout!

Wade pushes the smaller Donnelly off of him without much problem. The Big Dog grits his teeth, pushing himself up. Nitz stands, preparing for an assault. Nitz, somewhat cornered, looks to escape, attempting to baseball slide between Wade's legs. Wade has other ideas, and stops the sliding Nitz in mid-slide with a downward stomp onto his chest. Nitz grimaces, clutching his sternum.

Nick: Oooh, god! That's a collapsed lung right their.

Wade spits, then grabs Nitz's hair, standing him up. He delivers to nasty right hand hooks, an elbow, then whips Nitz into the turnbuckle with a thud. He runs at him, smashing him with a heavy bodyslam, sending him to a seated position. Wade grabs the ropes and proceeds to stomp Nitz furiously in the gut with his big boots. Nitz nearly pukes.

Wade lumbers back to his corner, slapping the hand of the Universal Champion, who joins him in the ring. They stalk towad Nitz, but find him slapping Shakur's hand. Shakur jumps in, only to be met with a big flapjack from Troy and Elliott, crowd roaring. However, Nitz has managed to climb to the top turnbuckle during the endeaver. Wade and Lindsay turn, and are both sent toppling with a huge double dropkick from The Ego of New England!

Richard: Holy shit!

All four competitors lie battered in the ring. Troy, the legal woman, stands, looking for Shakur, the legal man. She sees him stand and stalks up to him, still groggy, only to be sent reeling back with a punch to the throat.

Richard: Reverse Evolution Theory! God that's nasty!

Troy clutches her throat, and the Commie Emo attacks, hitting her in the sides with snap kicks, pushing her back. He pushes her off the ropes, sending her running toward her own corner. He then bounds off the same ropes to gain momentum. Troy sees Wade, just ready for a tag, and slaps his hand. He climbs in as fast as he can, and steps in just in time to see Shakur running at him. Wade lifts Shakur high and fucking hammers him down with a bone-splintering spinebuster.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: Oooh boy! The Big Dog is ready to play!

Wade mounts Shakur, hitting him with countless mounted punches. Wade stands, lays a heavy boot, then pulls Shakur to his feet. Wade goes to lift Shakur in the air, but Shakur is able to reverse himself away, finding himself behind Wade. He reaches around and grabs Wade in a reverse guillotine.

Richard: Oh snap! This is over if he can lock it in!

He doesn't, however, as Wade, with a might roar, paralleled to that of the Norse Gods themselves...or just a pained yell...throws himself forward, sending Shakur over his back. Devin is able to land on his feet, though no longer holding onto Wade.

Shakur turns around, and finds a boot hitting his stomach. Wade bends down, turns, and hoists Shakur onto his shoulder, then swiftly and ferociously obliterates him into the mat with an Oklahoma Slam.

Nick: THE REBEL YELL! THAT'S IT!

Wade quickly drops down, hooking Shakur's leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

"Fire it Up" by Black Label Society.

Vince Howard: Here are your winners...LINDSAY TROY, AND WADE ELLIOTT!

Wade rolls out of the ring, finding his partner. The walk up the ramp, Wade and Lindsay holding each other up. They hold hands in the air, walking backwards, grins on their faces as Nitz Donnelly spits his mouth off. Shakur shakes his head, visibly frustrated as the crowd blows the roof off with their cheers.

Nick: Troy and Elliott take the match! Wade getting a small bit of revenge in his first bout against Donnelly!

Richard: Fuckin' bullshit! That no-talent ass clown can't hold a candle to either of them, and neither can Troy!

Nick: Tell that to her belt, Rich! Don't go anywhere! Dusk! Lavellle! Intense Title! NEXT!

Commercial break.

We cut backstage to a locker room. It’s sparsely decorated. The only notable furnishings are a small television, a locker and a bench. Pierce Lavelle is pacing up and down the small locker room, clicking his thumbs as he thinks. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. By his feet is his wrestling attire and Intense title. Pushing the earphones of his ipod into his ear he hits shuffle and continues pacing, running through his thoughts.

Turning around he changes position and quickens his pace. Clearly frustrated as he mumbles. Cheers from fans aren’t audible but he turns to the camera, a look of determination in his eyes. He hasn’t been able to sit still since Revolution 132 when he had his encounter with Dusk. The fight sent a wave of adrenaline through him and a realisation that he longed to finally end this issue with Dusk. It wasn’t just Dusk though that had plagued his dreams. Winters and Shakur were also on his mind. Despite finally reaching a higher position on the totem pole of this expansive company, he still found himself deep in a muddy swamp with Shakur, Winters and Dusk and every step he took seemed to be the wrong one. He was sinking and if he didn’t end this soon he knew he’d lose the small amount of hope and enjoyment he still had.

Pausing his ipod he grunted and gripped the door handle. Yanking the door open he gazed toward two security officials. Both had their arms folded and looked toward him with piercing eyes.

Lavelle: Look, I don’t need to be babysat. Why don’t you guys go and get something to drink.

Security official "Matt": Afraid not. We have our orders.

Lavelle: Oh come on. Since when do cops follow the book!

They moved forward now with a stern gaze. Pierce raised his arms in a submissive manner.

Lavelle: OK, wrong use of words. Seriously though I will behave, but surely you’re thirsty.

Security official "Daniel": I’m actually kind of hungry.

Lavelle smiled pulling out his wallet.

Security official "Matt": We have our orders Pierce. I’m afraid you can’t leave your locker room.

Grunting he shut the door and leant against it sighing with anger. Putting his ipod on top of his wrestling attire he looked around the room in a frivolous attempt to escape. He searched the bathroom window but found it was too small to fit through. Stepping out with his hands in his pockets he rocked on his heels and looked up.

A smile lined his lips as he dragged the bench over and stepped onto it. Using his hand he pushed up and the tiling moved without issue revealing a large gap.

Cue the PRIME logo against a black background. The PRIME logo begins spinning, revealing the shapes and colors of the scene to come. A quick, cartoon jingle plays behind the scene. The music ends, the spinning stops, and PRIME’s star-studded locker room is revealed. Minus, of course, pretty much all the stars at this late in the program. In fact, there’s only one star in the locker room at this moment. Tyler Rayne, whom, by virtue of being relatively new, may not even be considered a star yet. Perhaps more of a white dwarf. Those are the smaller stars, right? The baby ones?

Rayne: Personally, I’d prefer Stark Tower.

He winces, dabbing an alcohol soaked cloth upon the fine cuts and scratches received in his most recent scuffle with Tom Walczak. Two in one evening. You’d think Rayne might’ve done something to anger the Polish Punisher.

Brooks: What did you say?

Ah, yes. Angelica Brooks. It’d hardly be an appropriate evening without her appearance in Rayne’s locker room, now would it? She sits, somewhat reserved, perhaps still a bit uncomfortable after the events of last week, upon a bench in the locker room. Tyler Rayne turns from the mirror, limping just slightly in her direction.

Rayne: Stark Tower. I would prefer that to the Hall of Justice. It’s an Avengers thing. Justice League. Marvel versus DC.

Brooks: How hard did Walczak hit you, again?

Tyler shakes his head in dismissal and sits down beside the young reporter.

Rayne: Forget it. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were all…pissed. Or something.

Brooks: Well, I figure since Faith’s the one who instigated that whole ordeal, maybe, you know, I overreacted a little bit last week.

Rayne: Just a little bit.

Brooks: Yeah, well, it looked pretty damn bad from where I was standing. You were all but ready to fuck Faith right then and there.

Rayne: Oh, fuck you. She took advantage of a situation. And she probably just did it to get in your head, what with that senior interview position up for grabs. Besides, even if I was going to fuck Faith, what do you care? It’s not like we’re…

A loud clanging noise interrupts whatever it was he intended to say. Both PRIMEates look up to the ceiling, noting the small clouds of dust puffing down from them. There’s a loud "OUCH" and another clamor, an impact echoing against metal, before the ceiling all together collapses, bursting under the pressure of the body that comes crashing to their feet.

Angelica and Tyler both put hands to their mouths, coughing up the excessive dust and debris now wafting in the air. The body coughs, as well, a slight grin spreading across the face of one Pierce Lavelle as he opens his eyes to see just where it is he’s landed. He’s covered in dust, cobwebs and soot.

Rayne: Nice of you to drop in, Pierce.

Lavelle: I was in the neighborhood.

The two share a quick laugh, Tyler standing to extend an arm down to his friend. The 5-Star Challenger pulls the Intense Champion to his feet, Pierce immediately going to work at brushing the entire residue from his clothing.

Brooks: Are you okay?

Lavelle furrows a brow and pads himself down. A frown laces his lips as he pulls a PSP from his pocket. It’s broken and the screen is completely shattered.

Lavelle: Eh yeah I’m fine … Oh you’ve got to be – I broke my PSP. DAMNIT. I hope I still have that guarantee.

Rayne: You know they sell cases for those, right? To protect 'em. Like, if you happen to fall out of a ceiling. You do realize you just fell out of the ceiling.

Lavelle shrugs his shoulders and puts the PSP back into pocket.

Lavelle: Well the window in the toilet was too small and I have the blues brothers watching the door. The only other option was the ceiling. A little Mission Impossible of me!

Rayne: Tom Cruise would be so proud. So...what? Just out for a little fresh air? Not that I mind the company. It's just...odd. With the entrance and all.

Lavelle: Just thought I’d go for the stroll and maybe pop in on a good friend that paid me a visit, but I seem to have taken the wrong turn. It’s dark up there and I think I saw a rat!

Rayne: Weird. I didn't figure Winters and his ego could both fit in there!

Lavelle laughs and turns to see Brooks stood silently to one side. He looks up at the ceiling and smiles, he then turns back to Tyler. Both men have cuts and bruises on them from earlier in the show. Dusk’s surprise attack on Pierce and Walczak’s attack on Rayne.

Lavelle: Say I couldn’t borrow your PSP could I? I’m under house arrest at the moment!

Rayne laughs and turns to his locker, digging through the various gaming magazines before he uncovers the handheld device.

Rayne: I thought the point of house arrest was you weren’t supposed to leave.

Pierce smiles, reaching out to take the gift, but Rayne doesn't quit let go of the prize just yet.

Rayne: You're not going to break this one, are you?

Lavelle: Well … You got a guarantee?

Rayne: Yeah. I guarantee if you break it, you're paying for the fuckin' thing.

Rayne rolls his eyes, a teasing grin across his face, and releases the PSP into the Intense Champion's hand. Lavelle shakes his head and hands the PSP back to Rayne.

Lavelle: Perhaps you should hold that for a while. I can’t account for when Dusk might show up.

Lavelle turns around the room and steps over the broken ceiling tiles and runs his hand through his hair, dust and cobwebs flutter down on his shoulders.

Lavelle: How are you Angelica? I’m afraid I lost my manners when I hit the floor.

Brooks smiled and nodded her head.

Brooks: I’m doing fine, thanks Pierce. You took quite the fall, you sure you’re okay.

Lavelle grinned, folding his arms.

Lavelle: I am now!

Tyler slugged Lavelle slightly in the shoulder.

Lavelle: OW! What was that for? I just meant … you know if we had more people like Angelica around here this place would be nice.

Rayne: At the very least, there'd be less of my ass kicked by ugly bald guys.

Lavelle: Or hormonal, tantrum throwing, envious men like Dusk.

Brooks just smiles, still a little in shock from the ceiling caving in and Pierce looking completely at ease.

Lavelle: So who kicked your ass then? Want me to pay him a visit?

Rayne: Walczak? Nah. I'm sure there'll be plenty of chances for me to bust his ass later. This late in the evening he's probably already got his dick stuck in a vodka bottle, anyway. Hate for you to drop in on that.

Lavelle smiled looking toward Rayne and Brooks.

Lavelle: Did I drop in on something, is that what you keep hinting at Tyler?

Rayne: Nothing more than an awkward conversation. Which, thankfully, you've postponed. You might make for a good friend after all, Lavelle.

Brooks: And what awkward conversation would that be?

Oops. Tyler looks over to Pierce for some support, but the Intense Champion has nothing to offer but an uncomfortable shrug.

Rayne: Yeah, so um...Colossus is coming up. That's exciting. Right?

Lavelle folds his arms, looking at Tyler and Brooks bicker with raised eyebrows.

Lavelle: Exciting?! I just signed on for a blood bath, if anything I’m nervous. Sometimes I don’t know when to shut my pride off, you know.

Rayne: Something about a four-hundred pound Polish gorilla makes me think that, yes, I do know. Ironically enough, this whole 5-Star thing, seems I've gotten myself into a very similar situation as you. Only, without, you know, all the gayness from Emo.

Lavelle laughs.

Lavelle: Well Emo seems to have gotten his Chinese wo-man!

Brooks: You'll be fine, Pierce. You're Intense Champion for a reason, right?

Lavelle: Ugh … Yeah I guess -

He stops talking as noise and the sound of feet is heard from outside. He looks with a tense expression toward the door handle.

Brooks: I’ll check it out.

Lavelle: (whispering) Thank you.

Brooks opens the door a tad and looks out into the hallway, the officials are still outside his locker room eight doors down. She shuts the door and turns around, shaking her head.

Lavelle: OK. Good, that was –

His words are disturbed by a high pitched ring tone. "Sexy Back" by Justin Timberlake blares through the room. Stopping all three in mid-sentence as Brooks and Rayne turn to Lavelle with large grins.

Lavelle: What?! It’s a catchy tune!

He pulls his mobile from his pocket and his eyes widen. He stands frozen letting the phone ring. Finally he speaks, not answering the call.

Lavelle: Shit, it’s Lisa…What do I do?

Lavelle shoves the ringing phone back into his pocket and runs to the door he opens it a tad and sees the security officials, he shuts the door and looks up.

Lavelle: Quick, give me a boost buddy.

Rayne: I was just thinking the same thing. You know, it's amazing how we're N*Sync like that. Hard to believe, really.

Lavelle shakes his head, laughing.

Lavelle: Dude, I said this song was good but I’m not a screaming teenage girl … N*Sync…OH MAN!

Brooks laughs and Rayne shrugs his shoulders.

Rayne bends down, cupping his hands for Pierce's foot. One big push later and Lavelle is crawling back into the hole from whence he came.

Rayne: Bye, bye, bye.

Lavelle: Oh man there’s spiders up here. UGH!

His head pokes out through the darkened hole.

Lavelle: You wouldn’t happen to have a torch, would you? I don’t like it up here!

Rayne: Just tell them you're Winters. Then even the spiders won't care enough to bother you.

Lavelle: Right! Cause that’ll scare away an eight legged monster!

Lavelle turns back in and Brooks and Rayne can hear him crawling. Rayne looks up at the dismantled ceiling and smiles.

Rayne: Thanks for dropping in.

We cut back to Lavelle’s locker room as he collapses to the floor and sighs with relief. Pushing the ceiling tile back into place he moves the bench back and turns to the door as it opens, his heart jumping out of his chest.

Lisa Tyler: Why didn’t you answer your phone?

Lavelle turns around, he looks a mess.

Lavelle: I was on the toilet.

Tyler shakes her head in disgust.

Tyler: I just want to make sure that you will stick to the rules and there won’t be any trouble.

Lavelle nods his head.

Lavelle: Of course. I’ll behave, scouts honour!

He’s grinning and looking toward the two guards behind Tyler. She nods her head and looks around the room. Moving toward him.

Tyler: I better have your word on that.

Lavelle: I promise I won’t leave this locker room and cause mischief!

Tyler: Good. Now get yourself cleaned up, you’ve a match tonight.

Lavelle salutes her as she leaves and bursts out laughing as he looks up to the ceiling and then at his ring attire.

The Codemaster is not happy.

And when the Codemaster isn't happy, the Blue Rogues probably aren't happy either. He's in the locker room that the Blue Rogues occupied for the night, despite not having to defend their titles tonight, and he's expressing his anger.

Codemaster: I'm angry.

See? Totally an expression of anger.

The Codemaster is expressing this without Coral Avalon in the area, primarilly because... you know, he's not REALLY one of the cool kids. He's just some guy that hangs out with them that's probably only there because his girlfriend's cute or something. Rather, the Codemaster's ranting to pretty much everyone else in the Rogues.

Codemaster: That's why I'm gonna get back at that guy. Whoever he is.

Robert Falk: ...you don't remember who made a fool out of you?

Codemaster: Well, you know... let's say I'm up here.

The Codemaster puts his hand up above his head.

Codemaster: This guy is somewhere around here.

The Codemaster puts his hand around mid-thigh level.

Codemaster: That's quite a bit of a gulf, there. I can't be expected to remember the names of everyone below me. Like... I don't even KNOW what YOUR name is.

Whimpering can be heard from El Janito. Beef, meanwhile, decides to save face.

Beef: I'm Beef. From Mega Job.

Codemaster: Okay. Whatever.

Pause.

Coral Avalon walks in, holding a bottle of water. He sees the Codemaster huddled up with his buddies, and decides to ignore them and go about his business. He's gotten used to the fact that he's usually ignored despite being the guy that often saves the titles for his team, and he casually sits down.

Codemaster: Look, it's time to strike back at that spawn camper who did this to me. I think his name was Romanov or something.

Coral: (idly) Romani.

Codemaster: ...Romani. I want to set this guy up the bomb. I want this guy to pay. Badly.

Coral realizes what he might have just contributed and suddenly decides to ask.

Coral: What the hell are you people doing?

Codemaster: Exacting revenge of an appropriately Kratos-like level.

Coral: ......Why?

The Codemaster, annoyed, looks up at the former Kleptomaniac.

Codemaster: I don't recollect having to explain things to you, Locke. Just sit back and let me handle my own problems.

Coral: Okay, but if I get an angry Irish guy coming after me again, I'm gonna tell him where to find you. And I hope he hospitalizes you when he does, because then, at least, you'll listen to me next time when I say that what you're doing is a pretty bad idea.

Codemaster: Pfft.

The Codemaster waves him off. Mega Job soon mimicks this action, if only so they can look cool in front of Codemaster.

Codemaster: You concentrate on keeping the belts on us, and I'll concentrate on smiting our enemies with Mjolnir-like powers.

Coral: Shouldn't those two things happen at the same time? In a wrestling ring?

Codemaster: You know what? Stop talking.

Coral: Bu--

Codemaster: Seriously, stop talking, Locke. Your logic will not work with the types of plans I have in mind.

Coral: ...What plans?

Codemaster: The type that ends with this Romani guy entering Kefka's World of Ruin. By way of horrible beating. The sort of horrible beating that results from our usual fare of gang attacks, unfair tactics, and cheat codes.

Coral: You can't solve all your problems with beatdowns.

Codemaster: Hasn't failed me yet.

Coral, as usual, feels a headache in just talking to the Codemaster. He decides to just leave, but on his way out, he turns back to the Codemaster.

Coral: You know what... why not give it until next week to enact your brilliant plan? (mutters under breath) Maybe by then, you'll have forgotten about it.

Codemaster: What was that?

Coral: Nothing.

With that, Coral leaves.

The Codemaster looks at the clock, and sighs.

Codemaster: Gentlemen, we shall prepare our plan for next week.

Scott Falk: Why the fuck next week? Can't we beat him down in the fucking parking lot?

Codemaster: If it doesn't happen on TV, it didn't happen. Show's almost over, might as well wait for next week.

Alexandria: ...That doesn't make sense to me.

Codemaster: Yeah, well, deal with it, Princess. We'll be in another castle next week.

Normally, Lindsay Troy would shout "Who is it?" at the sound of a knock on her dressing room door, given that approximately half the time, it seems like someone waiting to ogle or attack her…

…but when the knock comes in the form of the bass line to the Talking Heads’ "Psycho Killer," she figures she can probably guess who it is. Regardless, the door opens and the Risen Star makes his way into the room. He wastes no time.

Nova: We’re taking on Fergface and the gay Vietnamese guy next week. It’s goin’ DOWN, BABY! Up top for Team Forties n’ Blunts – that’s what I decided we should call ourselves, by the way, Forties n’ Blunts – (holding his hand up) come on, gimme some skin!

Lindsay Troy: (sighing) No.

Nova’s hand continues to hang in the air as he so anticipates it being met that he actually continues on with his excited rant.

Nova: THAT’S right, girl! It’s gonna be a showdooowwwn in the Coooooww Pal-wait a moment, you never slapped my hand, did you?

The Universal Champion shakes her head slowly.

Lindsay Troy: No, I didn’t.

The Risen Star’s gaze darts between Troy and his hanging hand.

Nova: You’re not going to be my tag team partner next week, are you?

Another shake, little brown curls dancing in the air.

Lindsay Troy: No, I’m not.

Nova: Well, why the hell not, Lindz? Didn’t you see what happened out there?

Lindsay Troy: Caesar, you know I can’t line up with you against Danny any more than I can line up with Danny against you. This is one personal vendetta that I’m staying clear of.

Nova: Oh, that’s just FINE, Lindz! Stick with ol’ D-Fergs after he practically knocks your block off on his way to sticking me from behind like a fucking coward, and…

Lindsay Troy: …and was there last week, at least trying to stop the Fuckhead! You know the Fuckhead, right? Sonny Silver, your friend, remember?

Nova snorts and opens his mouth to reply. The Queen of the Ring holds out a hand, but it’s her eyes that cut off the Risen Star.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t. You. Even. Dare. First off, you can’t talk to me AT ALL about what alliances I should or should not retain. Ever. As in, the rest of our careers. Second, as I alluded to a moment ago, you’re still palling around with the Fuckhead despite his recent skitzophrenic 180 or 270 or whatever.

Nova: No, I’m not. Pssshh, girl, please…

Suddenly he phone blows up with a text message. Nova turns it secretively away from Troy.

From: Sonny Sizzle

We still on 4 Harry Potter?

Nova flips the phone shut with a quick snap.

Nova: Alright, I see your point, but I HATE those bastards and Lisa won’t sign off on the match unless…

Troy places a hand on the Risen Star’s shoulder and gives him a sympathetic look, shutting him up.

Lindsay Troy: (Quietly) Caes…no. Okay? I can't.

Nova stares her in the eye for a moment, and then finally nods, beaten.

Nova: Alright.

They stand there silent, and then Nova breaks the stare, stepping back and moving towards the door.

Nova: Well, I better jet, then. I gotta go find another partner for next week. (Laughing weakly) Shouldn’t be so hard, huh? I’m sure plenty of people would want to…uh…

Not even bothering to finish the sentence, he ducks out of the room, leaving Troy alone. She sits down on a bench, her hands in her lap.

Lindsay Troy: I'm sorry.

Out in the hallway, Nova wanders, kicking his feet aimlessly as the resin-coated gears in his mind slowly shift.

Nova: Shit…maybe I should’ve considered that Lindz was my only real option before running my mouth off to Tyler. Oh well, fuck it, I’ll think of something…aaaaafter I roast this coner!

He goes to pull a joint from behind his ear (FUN FACT: In early 2005, they started growing there), but finds none there. His eyes go wide and he fumbles around the side of his head, but still no spliff. He scans the floor. No way did he drop it. Standing up, he curls a hand into a fist and goes to punch the nearest thing that won’t break his hand…but then just sighs and slumps his shoulders.

Nova: GOD, today sucks. No partner, no weed…

The Risen Star rounds a corner, and who else should he see on this hectic evening than the Illustrious Face-Eater, Adam Dick, standing idly nearby. Facey is cursing to himself as he stomps towards down the hall towards Nova, only he doesn't notice the former Champ right away. No, he's too busy cursing to himself and staring at the floor in front of him.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Asshole fag with his asshole friend. I don't even like those douches anyways...

Uh oh, someone needs to listen to their Taking Back Sunday CD.

Nova stops in his tracks as they pass one another, Dick’s grumblings reaching his ears. He turns his head back, cocking an eyebrow.

Nova: Excuse me. I know that you generally refer to, well, everyone as douches, assholes, fags, fagasses, assfags, or my personal favorite, douchefag…but who specifically might you be referring to in this case?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I don't even know WHAT the fuck their names are. Alls I know is they both wax their chests and get their eyebrows plucked, and that one of them is possibly the weirdest looking Asian I have EVER seen. AND THEY'RE BOTH ASSDOUCHEHOLEFAGS.

Nova scratches his beard, slightly taken aback.

Nova: Wow…you really don’t have any idea about who you were here before your…I dunno, spontaneous combustion, I guess…do you?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Um.... I'll plead the fifth on that one. I DO KNOW, however, that I kicked TONS of ass. Like, ASSLOADS of ASS. I kicked so much ass that I have so many enemies, I CAN'T EVEN KEEP THEM STRAIGHT! Seriously dude, that fucking sucks! I tried to walk up to the catering guy and order a burrito. HE GAVE ME A CHIMICHANGA! The nerve of these motherfuckers, you know? Taking advantage of my, um... you know, whatever it is they're taking advantage of. It's fucking SABOTAGE, man. AIN'T NOBODY TO TRUST.

Facey takes a small step backwards, giving Nova a peculiar eye.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Wait a second--how do I know you're not the enemy?

Truth be told, if Nova explained in its entirety their feud of last summer that included Nova sending Facey about three hundred Singing Testigrams® to Facey one night, them spending ReVolution 100 literally stuck together – during which Nova won the Intense Title – all of which led to Facey’s spontaneous combustion at Colossus III, only for Dick to engineer a holographic image of himself that convinced Nova it was his ghost and that Danny Ferguson was his murderer by way of slipping him highly allergic pistacchios before the show, and that Nova must avenge him by alerting the authorities and getting Danny thrown in the pen, only for Facey to show up at King of Kings after Nova won the Universal Title and punch him in the balls…

…well, Facey might consider him the enemy.

But Nova takes the chance to start fresh.

Nova: Because we used to smoke weed together, like, all the time. (Laughing) Man, you were such a fucking MOOCH.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: WHAT?! THE PURVEYOR OF FACES--A MOOCH? OUTRAGE! TRAVESTY! AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, BULLSHIT!

Facey reaches into his crotch and withdraws a Ziplock Freezer bag STUFFED with the stickiest, the ickiest, the fabled Buds of Utopia, THE BOMB BOMB B.G. BANGIN'!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'm BLUNTMAN AND CHRONIC, I'm so Holden McNeil in this bitch.

But even the weed is secondary at this point to the plans hatching in the mind of the Risen Star.

Nova: Word, man. That’s a fat sack. Let’s go for a walk.

Fifteen minutes later…

Nova and Facey lounge about in an empty conference room, reclined back in chairs with their eyes on a gigantic TV mounted to the wall. Nova rips the bleezy in hand and hands it off to the Man-Boy before breaking the hallowed smoking silence.

Nova: Yo, Face.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Sup, Novy-Baby.

Nova: Dude…you remember those douchefags you mentioned earlier?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Captain Backne and the Metrosexual Man?

Nova: Word. Weeelll…we’s boys n’ shit again – I mean now - ain’t we?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: That depends. You're not gonna, like, start lurking around every time I pull out a dank sack, are ya? Because this asshole Hobo named Johnny always did that in this other place I used to work for. CRAMPED MY STYLE.

Nova: (waving a hand dismissively) Naaah, son. I bring the Dig-Dug-Diggity Bong Bomb Dank-Sizzle on the REGULAR. Just happened to be out this week. We can roast till the fire alarms go off at the Staples Center…but I need your help.

The Risen Star takes the joint back from the Face and takes a rip.

Nova: *Coughing* I need you as my…*cough*…my tag par-*cough*-par-*cough*…I need…*cough*…damn, this is DAT SHIT, ain’t it?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THE BOMB BOMB B.G. BANGIN', FOOL.

Nova passes it back to Facey, smoke bellowing through his fist clutched at his mouth, who himself rips it like a champ.

Nova: True. Dude, be my tag partner next week and let’s pwn those fruit cups like soldiers do. You down?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Who against?

Nova: Those douchefags, remember?!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Oh, right. Them. Well, I've already got a partner.....

Nova is prepared with puppy dog eyes. This is accentuated by the marijuana, giving Nova's eyes an even glossier look to them, making his plea THAT MUCH more irresistible.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: What the hell? I wouldn't mind kicking the shit out of those two dickholes. LET'S DO IT!

The Risen Star grins broadly.

Nova: Let’s do it.


Fist pound.


PROBLEM SOLVED.

For the first time in a long time, Mike Wade strolls the backstage corridors of PRIME's flagship show BY HIMSELF. Absent is the companionship of his good friend and partner, Adam Dick.

This is, of course, why he wanders the halls. He frantically searches high and low, sweat on his brow with a worried expression etched on his facial. Where could Adam be? It's not like him to disappear when they made plans earlier for how they'd spend the rest of their night.

And BOY did they ever have plans. BIG PLANS. Plans that involve Gelatto, Pillow fights, and a hefty marathon of Cris Angel Mindfreak, otherwise known as SATAN HIMSELF.

However, with the Face-Eater MIA, so are the Unfuckables' plans.

Mike Wade: FAAAAAAAACE. FAAAAAAAAAACE! Dammit, times like this I wish me friend Mickey were here. He's always up for a hardcore night of fun!

Just then, a voice rings out with deep tone, much bravado, and perhaps the slightest bit of a lisp.

"Hark, Captain Crackhead! I hear a citizen in need!"

Suddenly two men, one in a blue jumpsuit and one in a red jumpsuit, appear in front of Wade as if by magic. Or jumping from off camera. Either way. The shorter one, who has a backpack slung over his shoulder (tights don't have pockets), looks at Wade seriously.

Ian: Hello, fair citizen! Are you looking for a missing person? Me and my partner here specialize in helping people. Maybe we can serve you on your quest!

Mike Wade: What the hell are you getting at boy? This ain't one of those 'reality' pornos where you try and pick some hapless dude off the street with the hopes of bedding them for money, is it?! Because if it is, THERE'S A SHIT STORM A-COMMIN!

Mike switches to his fighting stance, always a light-switch away in regards to an Irishman. His fists wind as he sizes up the two 'Super-Heroes,' their costumes obviously not as imposing as they hoped.

Mike Wade: I'll kill you and your dirty, fetish porn!

The taller superhero, named Gildenstern for those paying attention, leans over to his friend and whispers.

Gil: Is that a leprechaun? I've never seen them in the wild, only at zoos.

Ian nods.

Ian: What are you supposed to do when you encounter one?

It is to be noted that Ian and Gil have dropped their superhero baritone.

Gil: I don't know...don't you give it gold to make it go away?

Ian shrugs, then digs in his backpack and pulls out a shiny coin.

Ian: Here's a Chuckie Cheese coin. You can probably play skee ball with it if you find another one on the ground.

Mike Wade: You ignorant cockhounds! I oughtta slap you over the head with me own pet Leprechaun! If my mate Mickey were here, he'd slap the taste out of your mouths for not showing Leprechauns the respect they deserve! Calling me a Leprechaun just cause I'm Irish? That's the most disrespectful--

In mid lecture, Ian Nackedy attempts to pull away the offered Chuckie Cheese Token, only to have an angered Mike Wade snatch it away.

Mike Wade: And now you're gonna pull this shit? INDIAN GIVER!

Very skillfully, Wade places the coin between his thumb and middle fingers, flicking it right into Gildenstern's eye at a devastating pace.

Not faster than a speeding bullet, though. Which happens to be how fast Ian's hands are as he grabs the coin and puts it back in his bag quicker than you can say "That wasn't realistic at all why am I watching this crap?"

Done saying it? Okay, onward.

Ian: Sorry to offend leprechauns, my new friend, I'm sure they're good people...and tasty, too. Now, back to the matter at hand...how long has your friend been missing?

Mike Wade: The Leprechaun? He ain't missing, ye git!

Ian: Now, not that one. Your presumed lover.

Mike Wade: My what?! You mean the Face?!

Ian: Yes, the face, and probably the rest of him too.

Mike Wade: I don't know how long he's been gone! Alls I know is I made him a nice raw meat smoothie in preparation for his Unified Title Match next week, and when I went to give it to him he was gone!

Gildenstern suddenly pulls out a notepad from his tights (strange, I know) and begins jotting down.

Gil: So you were about to give your friend a meat smoothie, you say? Hey, Super Dirk, I don't speak homosexual. Is that a slang for penis?

Ian nods.

Gil: Okay, so you went to give him your penis but he was gone. Have you checked every possible area of the arena?

Mike Wade: .....

Mike's face is bright red. He doesn't know whether he should scream, throw fists, or shit in his hand and smear it in their faces.

He opts for option D, which itself is a combinations of options A & B, and attacks both men with arms flailing.

Ian: Captain Crackhead, the homosexual is attacking!

Gil: It might spit fashion sense on you! Run!

After shouting "Super Dirk Away!" Ian runs off down the hallway with Gildenstern taking his lead and Mike Wade in hot pursuit.

Mike Wade: FECKIN' KILL YOU!

The backstage held an air of unease as the staff prepared for the main event. A match scheduled to be anything but civil. It was to be a blood bath and as the security officials rallied into their groups they knew a riot could be on their hands.

Tensing, Pierce Lavelle tightened the draw strings on his tights and heaved a nervous sigh. Slinging his title on his shoulder he reflected a moment, wondering whether this would be the last time he would hold the gold plated leather. He gazed toward the security officials designated to escort him to ringside and he couldn’t help but grin. In all his years in wrestling, not once had he required an escort but here, now, his career in PRIME had taken him down a path of adrenaline and blood lust. Something he hoped would end come Colossus so he could continue to gain a sturdier footing in this great company.

Security official "Matt": You ready Mr. Lavelle?

Lavelle: As ready as I’ll ever be. So, you going to carry me out.

The security official named "Matt" grinned as he removed handcuffs, they glistened in the unkind overhead. He raised his arms in defeat.

Lavelle: Look, I promise I won’t do anything stupid. Just don’t handcuff me for my entrance.

Security official "Matt": Rules are rules.

Lavelle: Live a little man. You’ve got the entire precinct down here. I’m only one man.

The other officers in question are all waiting patiently, hands clasped onto their belts.

Lavelle looks with wide eyes at the handcuffs and sighs, strapping his title around his waist he extends his hands and Matt obliges, fastening the handcuffs on him.

Lavelle: Just so you know, I didn’t even start the fight earlier.

Security official "Daniel": Come on boss, he said he wouldn’t.

Lavelle smirks and cocks his head to the side in a sort of ‘pwwease’ manner. The official and or boss isn’t impressed. He grips Lavelle’s upper arm roughly and pushes him forward.

Security official "Matt": Your boss has given us strict orders.

Lavelle: She’s an uptight bitch though. She needs to get laid …

The officials grumble a little but remain quiet.

Lavelle: Tough crowd. I wonder if Shakur is around, he could spare some of that Emo’ness your way! You know … EMOTION!

Security official "Matt": Come on, move it.

Lavelle: I’m going but I ain’t exactly pleased about this. I’m not a felon.

Security official "Matt": Disturbing the peace is a crime, Mr. Lavelle.

Lavelle: You think this place is peaceful?! Ha. If I did anything it would be shutting the three little piggies up. Dusk, Shakur and Winters are putting Dr. Phil out of business … haven’t you heard?

Lavelle grunts and looks toward the corridor, it’s silent and his stomach is doing somersaults. The belt is loose on his hip and he isn’t sure about tonight’s match but Tyler has made this match his punishment. Biting down on his lower lip he stops.

Lavelle: Look, officer, I have an itch … would you mind?!

The officers snicker as their boss, Matt, pushes Lavelle forward.

Security official "Matt": No more stalling. Your match is going to begin.

Lavelle turns around, almost nose-to-nose with Matt. He lifts his arms up.

Lavelle: Look we’re almost there, I’ve been good so far. How about removing the handcuffs?

Matt raised his brow, questioning the request in his mind.

Lavelle: You have ten men watching me. Come on.

Security official "Matt": If you remain quiet from here to the ring, then I’ll remove them.

Lavelle: OK, deal.

Lavelle turns around smiling, he grabbed the officers keys. Twiddling them in his hand he loosened the cuff on his right hand.

In the distance a grumbling is heard and strict orders are announced. Another group of officers appears around the corner. They begin to spread as they turn the corner revealing their detainee, Dusk. He’s also handcuffed and extremely docile considering the man stood a few feet in front of him. Matt tenses and pulls Lavelle back.

Lavelle: Well this isn’t uncomfortable.

Security official "Matt": I thought you had gone?

Security official: We were delayed!

The security officer handling Dusk’s escort team grunts as he nods his head to Dusk. Dusk is grinning now, head dipped in a malicious gaze. Lavelle is shaking off the anxiety and gently bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Security official "Matt": You go first, we’ll hang back here then.

Lavelle: And break up the fun, awe, party-pooper.

Dusk: I’ll see you in the ring, Pierce!

Dusk snickers as he turns. Suddenly Lavelle lunges, he swings the dangling handcuff at the security official stood in front of Dusk, it takes him down. Swooping his leg up he connects with Dusk’s groin. Dusk slumps to his knees. Lavelle is smiling as he’s dragged back by his escorts.

Lavelle: Alright, I’m cool. Just had to do that.

Security official "Matt": I’m handcuffing you for your entrance.

Shaking his head he hands the keys back and feels the clasps tighten.

Lavelle: It was worth it. See you out there, Dusk.

Dusk looks up at Lavelle and you can just see the anger in his eyes.

Dusk: You'll get what's coming to you...

Nick: its main event time, and man, we’ve got one hell of a one coming up here tonight! Two men who have gone at each other throats for months now are hopefully going to settle part of their feud here tonight.

Richard: Look, did you see the damage those two did last week? Hell, they got arrested along with Winters and Shakur! Something tells me that no matter who wins tonight, it’s going to be far from over.

Nick: That might be true as all night, we’ve seen these four men locked in their respective locker rooms and yet they’ve still been able to get at each other! After last week’s riot, you have to start to get a feeling that they will go to no end to destroy each other.

Richard: And it’s all going to come to an end at Colossus IV in a few short weeks.

Nick: I think that’s going to be a match that just blows the roof off honestly. That show is starting to shape up into an amazing card.

Richard: Okay, we’ve done our allotment of civil conversation, now can we move the fuck on?

Nick: Thank God, I was getting tired of having to be nice to you.

Richard: Same here.

The lights suddenly go out, plunging the unsuspecting crowd into the darkness. Flashbulbs shatter throughout the arena, trying to illuminate ringside, just in case they’re missing anything.

Then, the driving beats of ‘Map of the Problematique’ by Muse fills the arena, as an explosion is heard illuminating the arena once more. Standing on the stage, with his head down, is Pierce Lavelle, and the crowd is going absolutely crazy.

Slowly, he raises his head showing off his new look and a cocky smile lines his face as he looks toward the ring, his music blaring loudly over the speakers.

Announcer: From Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing 235 pounds… he is the current PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION… PIERCE LAVELLE.

When Piece Lavelle rolls into the ring, he climbs one of the corners, stands in a crucifix pose, letting out a mighty bellow.

Pierce Lavelle jumps off the turnbuckle, turning to look at his opponent, his eyes locked as the lyrics slowly come to an end. The crowd silences as the metal words course through their ears…

Both men are on opposite sides of the ring as they stare at each other, not wanting to make a move before the other man does. The tension in the ring is unbearable as the crowd is heavily in favor of Dusk even though there is a good section of the arena firmly behind Lavelle. They stare at each other as the referee walks up to Lavelle and takes the Intense Title from him before showing it off to the crowd. As the referee does that, both men’s eyes break from each other and upon the Intense Title. Tonight, that's what it was all about, winning that title. The referee shows it to Dusk one final time before walking it over to the timekeeper. The stakes were there in front of them and only one man was going to walk away with that title.

Richard: The arena is jumping tonight!

Nick: It really is as they've been pumped up for this match all evening long.

Richard: You have to wonder what kind of condition Lavelle is.

Nick: Condition? What the hell are you talking about?

Richard: I'm referring to that attack earlier from Dusk on Lavelle.

Nick: Um... how about the fact that Dusk is fighting with an injured knee courtesy of Lavelle.

Richard: I think that was a mistake. Actually, I know it was a mistake.

Nick: A mistake?! Pierce picked up a television and bashed it into Dusk's knee!

Richard: I have it on good authority that it was an accident. My sources never lie Nick!

Nick: Whatever.

In the ring, the bell goes off yet both men remain frozen in time. The fans continue to grow louder and louder in volume, but for Lavelle and Dusk they hear none of that. Instead, they're focus is on this moment in time, ready to make a strike, but not wanting to make a mistake. Lavelle, not one for a lack of confidence, steps out of his corner and starts to move towards Dusk who continues to remain in the same place. He feels no pressure to move, instead relishing in the fact that Lavelle is moving towards him. As Lavelle comes closer, Dusk steps forward and locks the two men into a collar and elbow tie-up. Both men fight each other, trying to gain the advantage. The slightly larger Dusk starts to take advantage of the situation and starts to push Lavelle into the opposite corner, showing no signs of pain from his right knee. As he moves closer to the corner, he all of a sudden pushes Lavelle as hard as he can and Lavelle collides hard back first into the corner. Lavelle looks at Dusk and then at the referee who just stands there. Lavelle, feigning shock, then explodes out of the corner with a fist. Yet, Dusk blocks it and follows it up with a flurry of rights himself. After the fourth shot, Lavelle drops to his back and rolls out of the ring. The fans immediately start to chant Dusk's name.

Nick: I don't think Lavelle expected this out of Dusk tonight.

Richard: See, I'm pretty sure he's faking that knee injury.

Nick: Oh get off it.

Richard: Seriously, he's walking around in that ring as if he's not even injured. He's trying to get the sympathy vote.

Nick: Who the hell is he, Shakur?

Lavelle walks around the outside for a moment, his hands on his hips, as he gathers himself. Dusk just waits for Lavelle inside of the ring, taunting him while he's at it. Lavelle then turns from Dusk obviously infuriated with himself. Seeing the opening, Dusk bounces off the ropes and races at Lavelle. Lavelle then turns around only to see Dusk flying over the top rope and he connects with a suicide dive! The fans immediately begin to chant Dusk's name!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Richard: See! Fake injury! Disqualify him!

Nick: I don't remember that being one of the stipulations.

Richard: I don't care, make it one.

Nick: I'll get right on that.

Outside of the ring, Dusk and Lavelle take no time in getting back up. Dusk goes in for another punch to Lavelle's face, but Lavelle is able to react faster as he drills his elbow into Dusk's stomach before nailing him with a Russian Leg Sweep. Dusk's head hits the padded mat pretty hard as Lavelle gets back up and awaits on his opponent to get back into the room. Dusk isn't down for long as he gets himself back up and glares at Lavelle before sliding into the ring. Pierce is ready for him though as he meets him on his way in and begins to stomp away at him. Dusk continues to fight though as he gets back up even under the barrage. Lavelle immediately starts laying into Dusk with hard right hands before whipping Dusk into the ropes and connecting with a flying back elbow that grounds Dusk once again.

Nick: And Lavelle starting to show the signs that made him the Intense Champion last month.

Richard: Looks like that knee is starting to slow Dusk down.

Nick: You're impossible, you know that?

Richard: My mother tells me the same thing. Damn bitch.

Lavelle then grabs the back of Dusk's head and nails him with a knife edge chop that echoes throughout the arena. Dusk winces in pain as Lavelle slams his fist into Dusk's forehead that pushes the former champion into the corner. Keeping up with the intensity, Lavelle then slams a few knees into Dusk's gut before whipping him across the ring, causing Dusk to go back first into the turnbuckle this time around. After a few seconds Lavelle rushes out of the corner and launches onto the second rope right next to Dusk while wrapping his arm around Dusk's head. He then leaps to the edge of the ring and slams Dusk's throat against the ropes. Without a moment's hesitation, Dusk grabs at his throat and stumbles slightly from the impact. Lavelle then proceeds to climb up the nearby turnbuckle and as Dusk turns around he nails Dusk with a perfect missile dropkick. As Lavelle gets back up he sees that Dusk isn't moving much and goes in for the pin.

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

Dusk is able to kick out right after the two count and Lavelle just sits up without a single worry in the world. Instead, he pulls himself up off the mat and looks at his fallen foe before ripping him off the mat.

Richard: After a strong start from Dusk, it would appear that Lavelle is firmly in the driver's seat.

Nick: Dusk can't be happy with this start at all as Lavelle has started off getting the better of him nearly from the get go.

Richard: I'm not surprised if you ask me. Dusk's got his mind on too many things.

Nick: Oh lord, not another match where Richard bashes the face at every turn he gets. Doesn't that ever get old?

Richard: ...nope!

Lavelle then slams a few forearms into Dusk's face, stunning the Lost Soul, before he wraps his arms around Dusk's waist and nails him with a belly-to-belly suplex. Dusk doesn't get a chance to breathe though as Lavelle immediately gets on top and starts to slam his fist into his face. Dusk tries to cover up, but is unable to as Lavelle throws all of his weight behind it. Then, he gets off of Dusk and grabs his right leg and props it up on the nearby turnbuckle. Lavelle, wanting to extract as much pain as possible, ties Dusk's leg with the ropes and Dusk tries to scramble out of the predicament with no avail. Lavelle just smiles as he positions himself right over Dusk's injured knee and leaps up into the air with the help of the ropes and slams all of his weight into the injured knee. Dusk yells out in pain as he can feel the bones grinding together. Lavelle can only smile as he casually walks over to the nearby turnbuckle and begins to climb it.

Nick: Now Lavelle is focusing his attentions on the injured knee, the knee he injured last week, which is the smart thing to do if you ask me. Any skilled wrestler will tell you that's the way you win matches like this.

Richard: If Lavelle didn't do this then I'd smack the shit out of him.

Nick: Oh, would you now?

Richard: Nah, not really. Just wanted to say I would. Do you always have to ruin my fun, Nick?

Nick: Yeah, I really do.

Having reached the top of the turnbuckle, Pierce looks around before setting his sights on Dusk and precisely Dusk's knee. Then, without anymore hesitation, he leaps off the top rope and nails a moonsault onto the injured knee of Dusk! Dusk cringes from the pain as he attempts to grab at his knee but is unable to do so. The fans just watch on as Lavelle squirms around for a moment, feeling slightly winded from the maneuver. Yet, after a few moments he starts to get his air back and moves over to Dusk where he yanks his leg out of the ropes and goes for the cover once again!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

Once again, Dusk is able to kick out firmly after the two count. Lavelle rolls off of his opponent and can only stare at him as Dusk lays there in pain. Lavelle bounces up to his feet and then runs into the ropes before jumping into the air and slamming his knee across Dusk's face. Immediately, Dusk covers his face as Lavelle pulls him up off the ground before nailing him with an uppercut that sends Dusk stumbling around the ring from the pain. Lavelle stalks the former Intense Champion before nailing him with a pumphandle slam that winds Dusk in the center of the ring. Knowing that he's weakened Dusk enough, he starts to focus on his own strengths as he walks over to Dusk's injured leg. He then picks up both of Dusk's legs before he folds them over each other. He then places his knee on top of Dusk's shins and starts to apply pressure. The fans wince as Lavelle just puts as much pressure as he can into the Indian Deathlock.

Richard: And here's the end of the match everyone! Time to go home!

Nick: This is going to just grind Dusk's knee until it's basically nothing but goop.

Richard: Seriously, out of all the worlds at your disposal, you use goop?

Nick: Like you're such a master of the thesaurus.

Richard: Okay, low blow!

The referee begins to check on Dusk who is wincing in pain from the maneuver. Lavelle just looks at his opponent, enjoying the pain he's causing Dusk, and feels like he has this match in hand. Dusk just looks out at the crowd as he continues to hold on, feeling as if his knee is about to explode. With Dusk on his back, Lavelle knows he has him in the right position as he continues to apply the pressure, wanting to shatter Dusk's knees. Slowly, the fans start to chant Dusk's name, not wanting him to feel like he is alone in this. The referee continues to check on Dusk who just continues to yell out in pain, but keeps telling the referee that he refuses to give up. Lavelle can only look at Dusk as he yells at his opponent to just give up. However, Dusk refuses to do so as he just continues to grit it out, trying to find the strength from somewhere. The chant for his name continues to build.

Dusk! Dusk! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!! DUSK!!

Nick: And the fans starting to show their support for Dusk. This could very well be the end of his career though if he doesn't find a way to get out of this move!

Richard: Oh God, that would be a perfect day honestly.

Nick: I'm sure you'd love that.

Richard: That's like Christmas coming early for me. When are the fans going to realize that this never works though? Wrestlers don't work like that.

Nick: What wrestling do you watch?

Richard: I don't.

Nick Would: That would explain everything.

Dusk begins to feel the momentum pulsate through him as he starts to ball of his fists. Lavelle refuses to relinquish any of the pressure as the fans start to turn against him. He doesn't care though as he applies even more pressure and starts to yell, the pressure starting to get to him. Dusk yells out as well as he can feel his knee starting to feel numb to him. Knowing he needs to do something, sits up and slams a fist into Lavelle's jaw. Lavelle feels the blow but does everything in his power to hold on. Dusk, knowing he needs to keep the offense up, slams his fist into Lavelle's jaw once again. And again. Lavelle though is like a rock as he keeps taking the punishment. Knowing that desperate times call for desperate measures, he grabs the back of Lavelle's head and slams their two heads together, effectively breaking the hold, but also applying more pressure on his knee.

Richard: Damnit!

Nick: A gutsy move by Dusk who took even more pain onto his knee, but was able to break the move. You just have to wonder how much damage has been done at this point though. Even with the hold off of him, Dusk might not be effective at all inside of that ring.

Richard: Oh, believe me, that is the case. Lavelle is still fresh while Dusk is like Old Yeller; time to take him out back and put him to sleep.

Nick: There are some days that I wish they'd do that to you Richard.

In the ring, Dusk starts to roll away from Lavelle, hoping to create some distance between the two. However, Lavelle is having none of this as he walks over to Dusk and starts to pull him off the mat. Dusk though retaliates with a few shoulders to the midsection before flipping Lavelle over his shoulder and to the outside! The fans continue to chant Dusk on as he pulls himself up using the ropes and tries to put some weight on his leg. Yet, the pain is unbearable. Outside of the ring, Lavelle starts to get back up, and Dusk knows he's just going to have to fight through the pain. Instead of taking the easy route, Dusk bounces off the ropes, his face wincing the whole time, and goes for another high risk move. However, Lavelle is ready for him as he ducks it. Dusk though also takes that into consideration and instead of just launching himself, he is able to change in mid air and lands on the apron. The sudden change puts him in a world of pain though as his right leg slams down onto the apron hard. However, he knows he has no time to waste as he jumps onto the middle rope and leaps off into a moonsault. Yet, instead of the two colliding their bodies together, Dusk overshoots slightly and grabs Lavelle's head and slams him with a reverse DDT!


Nick: And yet another gutsy move from Dusk who has decided to toss all caution into the wind it would appear! The fans are going crazy after that move!

Richard: Dusk continues to show no caution, but with the shape his body is in right now, that is going to be his downfall. There is no way that he's going to be able to win this match if he isn't smarter from here on out.

Nick: Is that concern I hear?

Richard: No, it's wine. I had some before the show.

Nick: Riiight.

Lavelle and Dusk slowly start to rise, Dusk obviously slower than Lavelle as he gauges the damage done to his knee. Lavelle, seeing that he still is in control of the match walks over to Dusk and slams his boot into the side of Dusk's head. Dusk drops to the ground like a sack of bricks as Lavelle grabs him and rolls him back into the ring. Dusk continues to try and move though, knowing that he needs to slow down Lavelle who is climbing back into the ring. As he gets into the ring, he begins to stalk Dusk who is determined to put some distance between them. Yet, Lavelle isn't keen on going this route as he rushes up to Dusk who slams his left leg firmly into the chest of Lavelle who falls to the mat from the sudden movement from Dusk. Using the ropes, Dusk starts to pull himself up and is on his feet by the time Lavelle is back on his feet as well. Then, not wanting to let this opportunity slip out of his hands, slams his fists into Lavelle face, dropping the champion back to the mat! Yet, he's not down for long and Dusk nails his foe once again before whipping him into the ropes. As Lavelle bounces off the ropes, he uses his right leg to balance him as he nails Lavelle with a roundhouse kick that plants the champion on the mat once again. Dusk immediately goes for the cover!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

At two and a half, the Intense Champion is able to kick out and Dusk rolls off of him. Lavelle starts to pull himself together as both men get up at the same time. Dusk, able to use his agility, slips behind Lavelle's back and wraps the smaller man up before nailing him with a German Suplex! This sends a huge momentum surge through the fans and Dusk as he holds onto Lavelle and pulls him back up. Lavelle, looking dazed, is unable to fight off Dusk as Dusk lifts Lavelle up again and nails him with another German Suplex. There's a buzz through the arena as Dusk fights to bring Lavelle up to his feet again, and nails him with another German Suplex, this time bridging himself for the pin!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

...

Just in the nick of time, Lavelle is able to roll out of the pin as the fans were certain that Dusk was about to pull off the victory. Dusk just lays there for a moment, making sure he gets his breath back.

Nick: Now, after Lavelle had controlled the match, Dusk seems to be fighting back to show that he belongs in this match, and deserves to be the champion once again.

Richard: Dusk did nothing to prove that he deserved this rematch. Instead, Tyler wanting to show that she had power here in PRIME, made this match at the expense of Lavelle.

Nick: Who isn't completely innocent in this fray, remember that!

Richard: You say potatoes, I say potatoes.

Nick: You just said the same thing.

Richard: Exactly!

Nick: The joys of working with an idiot.

Lavelle starts to sit up as Dusk once again uses the ropes to help him up to his feet so he can balance himself. Looking at his fallen opponent, he limps over there and pulls him out before slamming his fists into his face and then whipping him into the ropes. As Lavelle bounces back, Dusk leaps out of his shoes nearly and slams into Lavelle with a Lou Thesz Press. Dusk starts to slam his fists, each one harder then the last one, as the fans roar out his name in support. With the referee telling him to get off of Lavelle, Dusk gets up and looks at the fans as he storms over to the corner waiting for Lavelle to pull himself up. He just stalks Lavelle with his eyes, waiting for him to pull himself up. Slowly, Pierce does exactly that, unaware of his surroundings. As he makes it to his feet, he slowly turns towards Dusk, trying to find out where his opponent is. As he does so, Dusk explodes out of the corner, not showing any signs of pain, and nails Pierce with a spear that knocks the wind out of the Intense Champion. Dusk immediately goes for the pin!

ONE!

...

...

TWO!

...

...

With the referee's hand coming down, Lavelle is able to kick out. The fans groan as they were certain it would be Dusk walking out with the victory. Dusk sits up and looks at Lavelle who is seemingly unconscious. Dusk then slams his fist into the mat as the pain is starting to work against him.

Richard: Look at Dusk getting all mad. It's so cute.

Nick: Lavelle is one hell of a competitor, that's for sure.

Richard: That's the best you can do?

Nick: What?

Richard: You're so biased!

Nick: That's like the pot calling the kettle black.

Richard: What? I'm not black.

Dusk starts to pull himself up without the aide of the ropes. Lavelle slowly starts to do the same thing as Dusk walks over to him and tries to help him up. Lavelle though leaps up and nails Dusk with an uppercut. Dusk stumbles backwards, dazed and shocked by the move, before rushing at the champion. However, Lavelle is ready for him as he is able to duck just in the nick of time. As he ducks, he is able to wrap one of his arms around Dusk's legs before standing up and falling backwards, otherwise known as the Mountain Bomb!

ONE!

...

...

TWO!

...

...

Even with the wind being knocked out of him, Dusk is able to get a shoulder up as Pierce curses out loud at not being able to put away Dusk! Pierce, feeling the momentum starting to shift back into his favor, pulls himself up and begins to stomp away at Dusk, making sure that he stays down on the mat for a little bit longer.

Nick: And just like that, Lavelle is back in control of the match. These two men are giving it there all here!

Richard: Pierce is, not so sure about Dusk.

Nick: Of course not, because that would require you to actually watch the match.

Richard: Exactly, and they don't pay you for that.

Nick: And what do they pay you for?

Richard: I'm not exactly sure about that yet.

Back in the ring, Lavelle is seen climbing one of the turnbuckles. His eyes are focused upon Dusk as he just sits there, planning his next attack. Dusk starts to pull himself up and as he turns towards Lavelle, Pierce leaps off the top rope into a front flip before nailing the Dragonrana on the former champion! The referee, caught by surprise at this turn of events, slides into position and begins to start counting.

ONE!

...

...

TWO!

...

...

THR-- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: What?! Check the tapes! I'm pretty sure Dusk JUST lost!

Nick: Yeah, I'm pretty sure he didn't.

Richard: How can you be so sure?

Nick: Because the referee's hand never hit.

Richard: Are you sure?

Nick: Yep.

Richard: ...fine.

Lavelle looks at the referee and seems to be with Richard in thinking that he had the three count. The referee tells Pierce only two as Lavelle yells out at the referee. Instead of getting lost in that argument, he focuses his attentions back on Dusk and walks over to his right leg. He starts to pull it towards him, but Dusk is able to reach up and grab Lavelle before rolling him into a small package! The referee once again begins to count.

ONE!

...

...

TWO!

...

...

As the referee starts to go for the three count though, Lavelle is able to kick out as shock is etched on his face from the surprise maneuver. Immediately, Dusk gets up and slams his knees into Dusk's face, making sure that Dusk understands who is in control around here. The fans immediately boo this act from Pierce.

Nick: And the fans showing their displeasure with Lavelle who has started to act a lot less friendly over the past few weeks.

Richard: I don't think he is, Nick.

Nick: Then what're the fans booing?

Richard: Your face.

Nick: How original. Moving on.

Dusk is seen face down into the mat as he makes sure that none of the bones in his face are broken. Lavelle though has other plans as he walks over to Dusk and rips him off the mat. He gets right in Dusk's face before kneeing him in the midsection. With Dusk bent over, he wraps his arm around his head and lifts him up high in the air! He just holds Dusk up there as he walks around the ring, allowing the blood in Dusk's head to start flowing straight to his head. The fans can only look on as Pierce shows his strength and weakens Dusk before falling backwards and dropping Dusk on the back of his head. The former Intense Champion just lays their motionless as Lavelle smiles at the damage he is doing. Yet, he knows how quickly the momentum can shift in this kind of match and quickly walks over to Dusk before picking him back off the mat. With one kick to the midsection, Lavelle picks Dusk up into a power bomb position. The fans can already see where this is heading.

Richard: And let's say good night to Dusky!

Nick: You're so lucky he didn't hear you calling him that.

Richard: Yeah, he doesn't scare me.

Nick: Now, he doesn't. Later, after he watched the show, you might be.

Richard: ...true. But, for now, he doesn't scare me.

Lavelle just holds Dusk up there as he then walks over to the nearest turnbuckle, the fans already knowing that this is the end of Dusk as they know him. With as much force as he possibly could have, Lavelle slams the back of Dusk's neck and head into the turnbuckle. Dusk just slumps to the ground as a result of the WHIPLASH! Pierce can look around and knows that the title is his in just a matter of seconds. He turns Dusk's body over and cockily goes for the cover!

ONE!

...

...

TWO!

...

...

...

...

THRE------ NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

The fans chant Dusk on as he is able to get his left shoulder just mere moments before the referee's hand hit the mat! Lavelle rolls off of his opponent and looks at the referee angrily. He yells at the referee to open his eyes and gets up off the ground to get in the referee's face as he thinks this match should be over. However, the fact remains that Dusk was somehow able to get his left shoulder up just barely. He lays there, motionless, and seemingly dead as Lavelle yells at the referee that he's not satisfied with the results. He looks out at the fans and just glares before walking over to Dusk and pulling him up off the mat. He then whips him into the ropes and goes for a clothesline that Dusk ducks. Dusk bounces off the ropes and Lavelle is ready for him as he goes for another clothesline, but Dusk is able to duck that one again. As Lavelle turns around, Dusk has picked up speed and is flying through the air, nailing a flying crossbody that sends both men to the ground.


YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: God, I've seen this one too many times that I can tell you what's going to happen now.

Nick: Oh yeah.

Richard: Yeah.

Nick: I was agreeing with you.

Richard: I hate it when you do that.

Nick: I'm sure you do.

Lavelle is the first to start moving as the fans continue to chant Dusk's name. Pierce starts to pull himself up and stares at Dusk before smiling, knowing that he is still in control of the match while his opponent lies motionless on the mat. As Lavelle starts to pull himself back up to the mat, Dusk kicks up and just waits for Lavelle to look at him once again. The fans pop. Of course.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Pierce immediately turns around only to be met with a punch that drops him to the mat. Lavelle scrambles back up to his feet and is dropped again! Once again, Lavelle gets back to his feet before he's whipped into the ropes by Dusk who nails him with a textbook dropkick that gets the fans behind him once again.

Lavelle hits the mat with a hard thud and rolls to one side, taking deep breaths.

Nick: Dusk now on the offensive.

Richard: Such a close match.

Lavelle and Dusk stand up, the referee is stood dead in the center, eyes wide with fear. Fear of the unknown. Lavelle wipes his chin as beads of sweat drip down. There’s a grin on his lips. Dusk begins to flex his knuckles and muscles. Suddenly out of nowhere the two charge toward one another. Lavelle ducks the vicious clothesline and receives a pop from his fan base. Dusk drops to one knee missing Lavelle’s roundhouse kick. They two turn and slam…

Lavelle hits the clothesline.

Dusk hits the clothesline.

Nick: Brilliant.

Richard: Typical.

"LETS GO LAVELLE"

"LETS GO DUSK"

Lavelle rises onto his feet, steadying his balance as he wobbles to one side. Dusk slowly gains his footing, using the ropes as an aid. He turns around and BAM … Lavelle delivers a swift kick to the gut. Lavelle hooks Dusk’s head between his legs and hoists him into a powerbomb formation.

The fans are in uproar. Cheering on the Intense Champion while the Dusk fans boo the maneuver. Lavelle spins and runs … he chucks Dusk … WHIPLASH.

Nick: HE DID IT!

Richard: WHIPLASH. Dusk looks to be out cold.

Lavelle flips Dusk over and goes for the pin.

ONEEEEEE

TWOOOOO

THREEEEE

The bell sounds as Lavelle rises onto the back of his knees and looks around as the fans cheer.

Nick: He’s not out of the woods yet. In two weeks he has to defend the belt against Shakur, Winters and Dusk.

Richard: In a very difficult match.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner … and still INTENSE champion … PIERCE LAVELLE

"Map of the Problematique" by Muse erupts onto the sound system.

Pierce takes his title with a smile and slowly climbs down the apron leaving Dusk alone in the ring.