Another week, another show. Everything is as usual, except for the fact that Blaine Blair and Lisa Tyler stand in front of a door leading into the arena. They seem to be waiting for someone; someone they don’t in fact fancy as can be seen from the security guards standing with them.

The door opens and Michael ‘Chainz’ Sloan strolls through like the big man on campus. He’s sporting a nice tan, expensive suit, and sun glasses. One main addiction is the wedding band nestled on his ring finger.

Tracy is at his side like usual sporting her own massive diamond. It’s the kind that would make any woman jealous even knowing that it came from Chainz.

Tracy’s smile fades a bit as she sees the greeting party, but Michael’s remains fixed on his face.

Chainz: Well what do I owe this pleasure to?

Lisa: Cut the crap Sloan. Has your time away taught you nothing?

Chainz: Oh it’s taught me plenty, like for one this show is shit without me.

He smiles and steps forward. His sick smile is still the thing of nightmares and makes Lisa Tyler cringe and take a step back.

Chainz: Now where’s Jason Snow?

Blaine: That’s what we’re here to discuss with you right now.

Chainz: Unless you’re offering him to me on a silver platter we have nothing to discuss.

He wraps his hand into Tracy and takes a step forward. The guards circle him to prevent him from passing. Chainz stops, lifts his sunglasses, and looks back at Blaine.

Chainz: Are we really going to play this game? Seems a bit childish, no?

Blaine: Look, when I suspended you I had no intention on bringing you back. This show was doing fine without you. So don’t think we need you here.

Chainz: You keep telling yourself that. Look what’s happened while I’ve been gone. Look how many people have retired in your precious organization. Last I checked you still have a champion that ain’t worth a shit to anyone other than the freak show mentality of it all. Every time I turn the show on I laugh when I see her walking around thinking she’s really the best. Tell me Blaine, how much do you pay Silver to take a dive to keep your little side show on top?

Blaine: If you’re not a believer in her abilities why don’t you go tell her to her face?

Chainz: In time. Right now I have a much prettier face to look at.

He strokes Tracy’s cheek and smiles.

Lisa: God you really are a worthless sack of shit. Now listen, I’m not playing games with you. Snow wanted you back, he got you back. We’re done with this. Whatever you two have planned is your own business and you would be wise to keep it to yourselves. If your shit spills out and becomes our business we’re going to have trouble. See right now if you two beat the hell out of each other it’s fine by me, but you’re not using our show as your personal two man fight to the death. Got me?

Chainz snarls at her, but keeps his mouth shut for the moment.

Lisa: You start screwing my show up and these fine guards will see to it that you have a very unpleasant exit.

Chainz: We done?

Lisa: Get out of my sight.

Chainz: I was just about to say the same thing you.

Chainz puts his glasses down and the guards part for him. He takes Tracy’s hand and leads her forward. From around the corner emerges Jason Snow, steel pipe in hand. He smacks it in his hand as he stares at Chainz.

Chainz: Hello honey, I’m home.

He smiles and laughs opening his arms and inviting Snow for a fight. The guards quickly block the two off in case Snow was going to make a move, but he just stands there his eyes never leaving Sloan’s. He points the pipe at him and disappears behind the corner.

Chainz: Pussy.

Taking Tracy with him Chainz walks down a different corner towards his locker room.

The camera opens up inside the backstage of the Hartford Civic Center in front of the back door leading to the rear parking lot.

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH

The sound of a large vehicle slamming on its breaks is heard through the door, followed by the killing of a big engine, followed by the slam of a car door, which is followed by the sounds of heavy boots on pavement.

WHABAM!

And the door is kicked in, revealing the heavy steel-toed boot of PRIME's 'Bama Bruiser and Intense Champion, Wade Elliott. He stomps inside, rage strewn across his goateed face, one hand gripping his Intense Belt. He thuds down the hall, past the workout room and catering. Elliott cuts a tight corner, knuckles now turning white from his grip on the belt's leather, and he doesn't walk ten feet when a side door opens and Lindsay Troy strides out, nearly walking right into him. Troy stops herself short before the collision occurs, but Wade keeps right on walking, either not noticing her or not caring.

Lindsay Troy: Wade? Hey!

The 'Hey!' is more of an attention-getting exclamation than a cheerful greeting, and it seems to slow the Big Dog down. Wade takes a moment to look over his shoulder, but quickly returns to his determined march

Wade Elliott: Head on back to yer locker room, Lindsay, I've got my own fuckin' business to take care of!

Lindsay Troy: Oh, yeah, like I do what I'm told...

She shuts the door and jogs after him, showing no signs of any troubling knee pain that may have been left over from Sonny Silver's beating. Wade sighs, yet keeps right on walking, knowing that he's not going to get rid of her that easily. Friends, y'know, don't do that.

Lindsay Troy: Got a tight enough grip on that belt?

She falls into stride beside him, looking down at his hand.

Wade growls.

Wade Elliott: Ain't as tight as the grip I'll have 'round Shakur, Gamble, and Silver's necks soon as I see em'!

Lindsay Troy: If only God blessed you with three hands...

Troy trails off, her eyes traveling away from Elliott's hand and down to the floor. There's a momentary silence before she murmurs:

Lindsay Troy: I'm sorry I wasn't there.

Wade breathes out his nose for a moment before replying to the Universal Champion.

Wade Elliott: It ain't about that, Lindsay! I never 'xpect no one to fight my battles with me! All this is about is me beatin' seven shades of fuckin' shit outta the three of them! By my lonesome! At the same fuckin' time if I have to!

Lindsay Troy: Sometimes unexpected help is the best kind, Wade. And I didn't...couldn't...give it. Christ, I hate no-contact clauses.

She looks at him then, still not managing to catch his eye, and averts her gaze once more.

Lindsay Troy: I know you want to do this by yourself, but can you be realistic for maybe point-two seconds?

Wade stops on a dime, spinning 90 degrees to stand face to face with the Queen of the Ring.

Wade Elliott: Sure Lindsay...alright! Time's fuckin' up!

Wade turns away again...

...and is spun right back around, his narrowed eyes meeting hers.

Lindsay Troy: Don't patronize me, Wade. It's an art you haven't mastered.

Wade Elliott: Then what, Lindsay?! Whadda you 'xpect me to do? Stand 'ere and lissen' to ya tell me that I'm outta my league again? That I can't handle em' by my lonesome? Just like last week when you said I couldn't beat Silver? IS THAT WHAT YOU 'XPECT ME TO DO?!

Lindsay Troy: First of all, I didn't say that you couldn't beat Sonny. I said that you couldn't beat him your way. And second of all, I...

Troy cuts herself off, a flash of something behind her eyes makes Wade scrunch his face tighter.

Lindsay Troy: You know what? Fine. Fucking have it your way. You want to go give them a wallop? Be my guest. It's what you're good at, after all.

And in a very uncharacteristic move, Lindsay Troy...walks away.

Wade watches her walk off, the anger in his face offering no signs of diminishing.

Wade Elliott: Yer god damn right it is...

And with that, Wade stomps in the other direction, back to his rage-filled warpath.

Lavelle: I don’t care whether there was traffic or not. I’m paying you way above the limit here.

The cool and collected man with slicked back hair remains in the driver seat, eyes dead ahead. He clicks his tongue and reaches inside his leather coat and removes from it a manila folder.

Man: It’s all there.

Lavelle holds the folder and wiggles it, it moves without much force and it feels light. He turns his attention back to the stoic driver.

Lavelle: This is it? I could’ve done better myself for free.

Man: That’s all there was on your friend. Like I said, that’s it.

Lavelle grunts and slips the man a wad of dollar bills before leaving the passenger seat. Stood in the cold parking garage he opens the folder and pulls out a map of Japan and turns it over.

Lavelle: Son of a bit - !

The car speeds off and he’s gone before Pierce can fling the thin map at the corrupt investigator.

Brooks: What you got there?

Lavelle jumps, his heart skips a beat, but he’s not quick enough to remove the map.

Lavelle: Nothing.

Brooks: I’m not blind, Pierce.

Lavelle: No, course not, but this little thing … it’s nothing!

Lavelle grinned and gritted his teeth. The pierce of paper literally meant nothing to him. He’d hired help to find Tyler Rayne, not be given a map of Japan. He had no interest in taking a trip.

Brooks: Right. You’ve been acting weird since last week.

Lavelle: So you’re speaking to our species now!

Brooks kicked the concrete with the tip of her heel and swayed slightly from side-to-side, building up the courage to talk.

Brooks: I took my anger for Rayne out on you, but I’m not too good. I know he’s missing.

Lavelle heaved a sigh of relief.

Lavelle: Phew. I’m not the only one, I think Lisa thinks I’ve lost my mind or I’m covering for Rayne but it’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.

Brooks: I went to his house, he hasn’t been home and his friends haven’t seen or heard from him. This is very unlike him. Even the love of his life Lindsay Troy hasn’t heard from him.

Surprisingly enough she managed to finish the last sentence without an ounce of envy or hurt, she seemed completely at ease with that new revelation. Instead he noticed a hint of worry and care.

Lavelle: Well who needs Lisa Tyler? She wants to fire him, I say we focus on finding him and then fix that mess.

Brooks nodded her head and then pointed at the page in his hand.

Brooks: Now, what’s that in your hand, because the guy in the car didn’t seem like nothing?

He handed her the map of Japan and drilled his hands into his pockets. In a low tone he continued their conversation.

Lavelle: He was a private detective. I should’ve done this myself, I paid him a hundred dollars for a map of Japan. It means nothing to me.

Brooks seemed engulphed in the photo, her eyes brightening.

Brooks: This means more than you know.

Lavelle: Really?

Brooks: Do you still have that book Rayne gave you for Sloan’s wedding …?

Lavelle: Yeah. Why?

Brooks: It has all the places Rayne used to visit in Japan but also a lot of names of people.

Lavelle looked at Brooks.

Lavelle: What aren’t you telling me?

Brooks grunted and slipped the photo into her handbag and gently took a step closer.

Brooks: He’s got a lot of skeletons in Japan. I think that’s our best bet.

Lavelle: Our? Hold on. I can’t go to Japan.

Brooks took out her car keys and handed them to Pierce.

Brooks: You’re not going to Japan. You’re going to get me that book.

Obliging, he took the keys and turned to the car.

Lavelle: What you going to do?

But she was gone, the sound of her high heels fading in the distance. Shrugging his shoulders he clicked the small unlock button and the sound of an alarm went off. He turned and stared at a Mini Cooper, it was pink ... and small.

Lavelle: This won’t look weird at all.

# LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #
# GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #

Richard: I look forward to this music every week..

Nick: I thought you hated it.

Richard: I do, but for some reason I can't get the damn tune out of my head.

As "LOUD AND ANGRY" by the J.Nathan Raby/Leon J. Perniciaro Acoustic Guitar and Heavily Edited Vocals Supergroup plays, two men enter the arena and look around for a second. Ian, wearing tattered denim jeans and a sleeveless denim vest, runs his fingers through his spiked hair before tilting his sunglasses down, did I mention the five o' clock shadow on his face, well it's there. Gildenstern is wearing black shiny pants and a red leather jacket full of zippers, his hair is moist and curly and he has on one white glove.

# 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 sounds almost female.

"80's pop stars, SHAMMON!"

At this, the screeching guitar kicks in and Ian Nackedy struts toward the ring as Gil does the moonwalk.

Howard: The following match is a tag team match and is for one fall. Introducing Aaron…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 partying like 80's pop stars. After a second, their music cuts.

Nick: I really wasn't expecting this.

Richard: I'm speechless.

Nick: Aren't you glad Risk and Reward already came to the ring?

Richard: I missed their whole entrance.

Nick: Yeah, well it's the new Hawtness.

Richard: That's what I hear.

As the bell rings, Gildenstern and Tyler Chance begin to circle each other. After about three times of doing this, Gil decides to be the aggressor and goes in for a collar to elbow tie up. Chance wasn’t for this, as he sent a hard knee strike into the midsection of Gil, causing him to back pedal to the ropes.

Nick: Collar to elbow tie up averted with a stiff knee to the midsection. Tyler isn’t going to give him a chance to gain an advantage here.

Not giving his opponent a chance to breathe, Chance stalks over to his opponent, and irish whips him across the ring into the turnbuckle his partner is in. Tyler charges his opponent, but Gil ducks and shoots out of the corner, much to the chagrin of the crowd. Chance only received a post to the chest as he was unable to stop his momentum. He grimaces as he peels himself out of the corner, clutching at his chest.

Richard: Wow, nice move right there. I don't think the post knows what hit him.

As he starts to make his way from the turnbuckle, Aaron Andrews slaps him on the back, and comes through into the ring like a bullet. The unexpecting Gil is startled as the apparently illegal man rushes toward him with only anger in his eyes. Chance sees his partner break loose and charge, asking himself what the hell was going through the man’s head.

Nick: Was that a tag? Whatever the case, Andrews seems to be on a mission here.

Richard: I think Tyler is asking himself that same question.

Level heads do prevail, as Gil nails a picture perfect drop toe hold on the charging Andrews, bringing his neck across the bottom ring rope across the ring from his friendly turnbuckle. This didn’t stop Chance from simply walking toward Gil, picking him up, and then throwing him down on the mat with a scoop slam. The referee quickly gets between both men as Tyler went to continue his assault, demanding Chance go to his corner as he was the illegal man. Tyler argues the call, but finally relents and walks angrily to his corner. The crowd make sure to give the official an ear full for doing that.

Richard: There you go, unbiased officiating. I don’t care what these rednecks think, Tyler had no business being in that ring.

Nick: Just like you on a microphone.

Richard: HEY! I spent a lot of money to sound this good.

Nick: When are you giving them the other half?

Richard: I alrea- Damn.

Aaron is still on the mat, grabbing at his neck as Gil pulls himself up. He lifts Aaron up, and then forcefully pushes into the corner, allowing Nackedy to restrain his arms as Gil reels off a powerful knife edge chop in the corner. Andrews slumped down slightly, but Gil brought his head back up before sending another scintillating chop across his chest. The referee interjects himself, making sure that Nackedy lets go and tells the pair if they try anything like that again that they would be sorry. Ian just plays with the dangling jewelry on his ear as Gil grabs his crotch and yells, "OH!!!"

Nick: A bit too far.

Richard: Hey, the guy has a pretty good voice.

Nick: You're kidding right?

Richard: You better believe it.

Gil continues on, lifting Andrews up and blasting him across the face with a right hand. Aaron went to his left knee from the impact, but quickly stands back up as Gil once again blasts him across the face with a right. Same reaction. Gil was thinking this was going to be too easy as he went for another right, but much to his dismay, Andrews caught it and returned the favor by blasting him across the face with one of his own. Staggered slightly, Gil doesn’t know what to do as he simply stumbles forward, allowing himself to be hit with a fist of stone from Andrews, sending Gil right onto his back. Adrenaline carries Gil, allowing him to get up rather quickly, but he is sent right back down onto the mat with another fist of stone style punch. The crowd begins to boo when Andrews kisses his fist.

Nick: Fans don't seem to like the arrogance shown by Aaron Andrews.

Richard: They're just upset that he knows he's better than them.

Andrews quickly picks up Gil, and snaps him to the mat with a snapmare. Before too long, he gets up and gives Gil a stiff soccer kick right into his lower back, making Gil grimace in pain. Aaron starts to lift Gil up by his hair, but the natural berries Gil used to give his hair a nice bouncy shine causes Aaron to lose his grip, then wipe his hand clean on his tights.

Richard: He's using an illegal substance! Call for the bell!

Nick: Having something in your hair isn't cheating, it's called style.

Richard: What do you know about style, you shop at Wal-Mart's clearance aisles.

Nick: Nice, we got in a plug for our major sponsor.

The two give each other daps, as Gil locks Andrews in a front face lock and snap him down to the mat with a tremendous snap suplex. Andrews arched his back up off the mat on impact. Gil sees that he is close to his partner, and decides to let him have some fun, as he tags him in. Nackedy simply slingshots over the top rope, and lands on top of Andrews with a body splash. The crowd cheers intensely at the display of aerial defiance. Tyler Chance simply stands in his corner, helpless to the entire situation.

Nick: Guess Ian has the Faith..

Richard: I hate to say it, but maybe they need to keep this gimmick for a while.

Nick: While I disagree with you there, when they are making moves like that, they have to be hard to beat. And they seem to be isolating Aaron from his partner.

Richard: Guess that’ll show him to rush headstrong into a fight.

Nackedy was able to get Aaron on his feet, then hit him with a snapmare. Andrews is sitting up in the center of the ring, as Ian runs toward the ropes, bounces off, and nails him square in the nose with a dropkick. Nackedy simply goes back to work, picking up his opponent and going for the irish whip. Aaron reverses, and Nackedy jumps onto the middle rope, twists his body, and jumps into the waiting hands of Andrews. However, Andrews can't prevent the sick DDT that he is being hit with as Nackedy throws all his weight downward. Nackedy hooks the leg for the pin.

Referee: One!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

TH-NO!

Andrews luckily got the shoulder up in time.

Richard: Why can't this match end already! I want to see The Gamble show Chet what he's really worth.

Nick: Nice play on words.

Richard: Of course it is, I'm a freaking comedic genius.

Nick: Yeah, and I'm gonna star in the remake of Grease as Kenickie.

Richard: I always knew you had it in you...

Nick: I was kidding. Sarcasm, look it up.

Richard: I wasn't.

Nackedy is pissed, having put all his effort into that sick DDT only to see nothing come out of it. He tries to lift up Andrews, but he receives an elbow to the midsection, forcing him back a few steps. Aaron rises slowly up, blasting Nackedy with a right hand. Nackedy loses his balance and falls to the mat. He rolls onto his hands and knees, trying to scurry over to his corner, but gets caught with a boot to the small of his back that lays him out flat on the mat.

Nick: Vicious boot there from Andrews!

Aaron quickly lifts Ian up and whips him across the ring. Aaron lowers his shoulder as Ian bounces back, and Nackedy still has the wits to catch Andrews with a kick to the gut, and follows it up with a chin check on his knee. Ian drops for the cover as Aaron is stunned.

Referee: One!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

TH-NO!

It might have been all, had it not been for the save by Tyler.

Richard: Awesome teamwork right there!

Nick: You never fail to surprise me.

Richard: This is the opening they needed to turn this match around!

Nick: Just remember, cheaters never win.

Richard: You're right, they pwn!

He simply turned around to go back to his corner, but Gil impeded his progress by storming into the ring, turning him around, and getting into a good old fashion punching match. Just when it seems Gil is going to get the advantage, the referee gets between the two, telling Gil to get back into his corner. With the ref focused on him, Risk and Reward see an opening and begin to double team Ian. Tyler lifted him up for a shoulder mounted suplex, as Andrews climbed the turnbuckle and jumped, grabbing him with a bulldog off the shoulder mount.

Nick: OH MY GOD! WHAT A DEVESTATING MOVE! THAT REF’S IGNORANCE MIGHT JUST LOSE SOUND AND FURY THIS MATCH!

Richard: AND I LOVE IT! YOU CAN ALMOST SMELL THE GOLD WAITING FOR THESE TWO!

The fans booed relentlessly as Tyler made his way arrogantly to the corner. Gil tried to get the referee to turn around and see what was going on, but it was to no avail. Simply put, it seemed like the odds were stacked against them. Ian starts to make his way to his feet in a wobbly manner. Andrews had taken for granted what was going on, and grabbed him for a snap suplex, but Ian simply grapevined. Aaron tried again, but was unable to get him over. Ian took over now, grabbing Andrews and bringing him up, then dropping him with a brainbuster.

Richard: NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT! YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE OUT FOR THE COUNT!

Ian didn’t stop either, as he mounts Aaron and begins to rain wild fists on him. The referee tries to break it up, but Nackedy pushes him out of the way and goes back to work.

Nick: Listen to these fans! They are loving this!

Happy after about seven shots, Ian lifts up Andrews and whips him across the ring. Ian closed in for a clothesline, but Aaron simply jumped off the middle rope, and caught him with a hurricanrana. The rana flips Ian across the ring, and Andrews once again seems to have the advantage.

Richard: You are now free to move about the country...

The bad news? The rana put Ian mere inches away from his partner. Before Aaron can react, the tag was made, and Gil was in the ring charging toward his much smaller opponent.

Richard: Oh crap.

Nick: Tag made! Business is about to pick up!

He blasts him with a clothesline, sending him crashing to the mat. Gil then rushes over toward Tyler and blasts him with a close quarters elbow smash, causing him to topple off the apron. Andrews got up as soon as he could, and as Gil turned around, Aaron jumped up and went for a hurricanrana. Bad move, as Gil simply powerbombs him into the canvas, holding on for the pin.

Referee: One!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

TH-NO!

At the absolute last second, Aaron kicked his legs together and broke up the pin.

Nick: Resourceful move there by Andrews, but he was still inches away from losing.

Richard: This is a game of inches, no coulda woulda shouldas. The better man wins.

Gil grabs at his head, and Aaron once again thought he had an opening. However, his body wasn’t as limber thanks to the beating he had been taking, and Gil grabs him and lifts him over with a belly to belly suplex, basically flinging him across the ring. The crowd had hit another octave as he got up.

Richard: COME ON! DON’T LET HIM DO THAT TO YOU!

Nick: I don’t think he has much of a choice.

Richard: NONSENSE!

Out of necessity, Aaron tags Tyler into the match. Tyler cautiously enters the ring, as Gil motions for him to bring it. Chance isn’t one to disappoint, as he charges forward. The two battle with rights and lefts, before Gil gains the advantage and blasts Tyler with an elbow smash. Gil quickly lifts Chance and whips him across the ring, then catches him with a spinebuster on the rebound.

Nick: SPINEBUSTER!

Richard: HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!?

Tyler ducked out, rolling out of the ring to gather himself. However, he wouldn’t get long as Ian tackles him off the apron causing both men to crash into the protective padding on the floor. Ian grabs him and once again throws wild punches, as Gil just stands there enjoying the view.

Richard: Come on...this is getting to be unfair!

Andrews took the chance, and hit a springboard dropkick across the back of Gil’s head. This caused him to tumble into the ropes. Aaron went in to continue the assault as Ian rolled Tyler back into the ring, so the ref forced him back into his corner. Andrews is pissed, as he points toward Ian as if to tell him that he’d get him back. Ian just shrugs his shoulders, as Gil shakes the cobwebs out. Being that he is less worn than Chance, he lifts him up and brings him down with an impact DDT. He floats over for the pin.

Referee: One!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

TH-NO!

Absolute last second.

Nick: Long two count there.

Richard: Man, get your facts straight.

Nick: He was mere inch...

Richard: Yes...I know...we addressed this earlier...

Aaron goes crazy in the corner, making sure to rip into the referee. Gil watches as the ref keeps Andrews out of the ring and when he turns back to Tyler, Chance whips him into the ropes, inadvertently knocking Aaron to the floor. Nackedy had taken a mental note earlier, and decided now was as good as any to collect. With reckless abandon, he took off into the ring, and looked over. Aaron Andrews was just getting up, but before he knew it, Nackedy leaps off the top rope and nails Aaron with a springboard plancha.

Nick: JESUS CHRIST! WHERE THE HELL DO YOU LEARN THAT? WHAT A MOVE!

The referee went off, looking to try and break up the brawl. Chance looked over, then just continued to blast away at Gil. At this point, Aaron was now standing up with Nackedy on the outside, and the two just continue to slug away at each other as well.

Richard: Man, those guys are ripping into each other out there.

Chance quickly grabs an advantage, but Gil manages to catch him with a chop to the chest. Chance back pedals, and Gil wastes no time in grabbing Tyler and lifting him up with a sidewalk slam that he hooks for the pin.

Referee: One!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

THREE!

Nick: THEY DID IT! SOUND AND FURY PULLED OUT THE WIN!

Richard: NO! HOW COULD THEY... THIS SUCKS!

Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble are standing around the catering area, with Gamble CHOMPING down on some of that good fried chicken. Shakur just nods in approval while standing around and watching the evening pass them by. The first match was about to come up, and at this point it was just academic. Youngblood had the wrestling on lockdown as far as the tag match was concerned, and Gamble wasn’t booked on the card.

Devin Shakur: Hey dude, check it out. I found this in the toy store…

Tony Gamble: Why are you going in a toy store?

Devin Shakur: …I meant the sex shop.

Tony Gamble: …Why are you going into a sex shop, and why is that in there?

Devin Shakur: Yeah, I meant the PRIME gift shop.

Tony Gamble: Oh, ok.

Shakur brings the Tony Gamble pull string doll up to the camera.

Devin Shakur: Only 9.99 at your local toy…sex…PRIME Gift Shops. It has such catchphrases as this.

Devin pulls the string

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME…I HAD A STUNTED GROWTH!"

Tony Gamble: Oh, that’s so not funny.

Devin pulls the string again

"…>=J"

Then all of a sudden, the doors to the feeding room swing open and the Team Ferguson bodyguards step in on either side. After shooting a look to Shakur and Gamble, who pretty much ignore them, they tap on the door and Danny Ferguson pushes through. He takes a few steps toward the food and eyes the two men. Shakur continues to play with the doll, showing Gamble all the features without noticing the Ferg.

Danny Ferguson: Oh, hey Bernie.

Shakur's head cocks sideways as he looks back at the (fallen) Superstar. Danny had a habit of baiting people to get under their skin. He also had a habit of being ignorant. Devin wasn't sure which column this could be filed under. Despite thinking better of it, he pursued the issue.

Devin Shakur: You getting me confused with one of your boy Tsonda's limp-dick interns, Danny? Or do you just have trouble keeping track of all the PRIME guys lining up for the title shot your emo ass won't take?

Yeah, Devin Shakur just called someone emo. That's pretty fucking bad. Talk about black kettles.

Looking up from his plate momentarily, Danny eyes Shakur with relative disinterest, taking the time to notice the '"SICK BURN" tee shirt Gamble is wearing as he stands there eating a piece of fried chicken. He shakes it off, then he turns back to the food before continuing.

Danny Ferguson: No offense, guy, but there's no way you or your D-von wannabe brother will be getting a title shot.

Devin Shakur: (pausing to make a face that says 'what the fuck is he talking about?') What the fuck are you talking about?

Ferguson, halfway out of the room at this point, turns back and gives Shakur some legit face time for a change.

Danny Ferguson: Bernie McCoy, right? Of the Fife Posse? One of the lackeys who spends their nose glued to Sonny Silver's ass for half the night? That's not you?

And now, by the time Shakur realized that he'd been baited into an insult by Fergwad's faux-ignorance, it was too late. He was too deep to back out of it now. Rendered momentarily speechless as the furor sets in, he doesn't have time to reply before Danny continues, suddenly feigning as if a lightbulb just went off.

Danny Ferguson: Ooohhhh riiiiiiight. Goth black, not Africa black. I always confuse you losers with those losers. My bad, dawg.

Devin Shakur: We'll see how good your memory is after the match tonight.

Danny Ferguson: Yeah, with you and Youngblood, right? Hey, maybe you can convince him to join your little "I Got Beat By Danny Ferguson" club while you're at it.

Tony looks up from his fried chicken, an oil stained "Whatcha Talkin' Bout Willis" shirt covering his chest as he continues to chew.

Devin Shakur: I know that your chosen profession - you know, the other one that you're failing at - is all about talking yourself up to score the big picture deals, but have your Asian manservant run the numbers. Last I checked, you haven't beaten me.

Danny Ferguson: Don't worry, kid, your membership packet is in the mail. The night is still young, and you're still that guy who took eight months to beat Lavelle, Dusk and Winters.

Devin Shakur: This coming from a guy who couldn't win or hang onto a midcard title by himself.

Ferguson laughs, taking a few slow steps toward Shakur with his arms up.

Danny Ferguson: I'm sorry, what you meant to say was "this coming from a guy who made a midcard title reign watchable." If they played Family Feud with Intense champions, do you think your name would even make the board? Hell, you're not even the first name that comes up for 'guys who tried to bang that Asian chick.'

Tony Gamble: Damn, that's messed up.

Danny turns to see Gamble standing next to Shakur with an "I'm with Pwned" tee shirt, the arrow pointed in Shakur's direction.

Devin Shakur: We're so getting that T-Shirt mainstream marketed...How was my no selling job there, chief?

Tony Gamble: Did that chicken look a little pink to you?

In the famous words of Shaquille O'Neal when Derek Fisher made that: 04 second shot, One good no sell deserves another.

Devin Shakur: He could use some sun, but then his skin might end up matching his hair. Speaking of matching, does this black attire really make me look slim? I mean I've seen the pictures and I need to eat something it appears.

Danny Ferguson: Alright, so we’re done talking I guess. Nice comeback. Glad to see that you’re not fighting the fact that you’re a joke around here anymore.

Tony Gamble: Oh, hey Danny, when did you get here?

Danny ignores Gamble and continues to stare at Shakur.

Danny Ferguson: You know what? I'll be seeing you in the ring. Bring your hobbit if you'd like.

He pushes out of the room with his plate in hand. Shakur stares a hole in the back of his head as he goes (not literally, duh) and Gamble keeps chowing down, trying not to get any chicken grease on his Ron Simmons ripoff "DANG" t-shirt.

"Not having a great night so far, I hear."

Lindsay Troy looks up from the bag she's standing over to cast the voice in the doorway a pointed look. Not having bothered to knock, Lisa Tyler occupies the space between locker room and hallway, arms folded over her chest and security guards behind her mimicking the look. A walkie-talkie crackles on her hip.

Troy: Night's still young, Lise.

She stops what she's doing, leaving her hunched-over pose behind and returning her body to its full height. Annoyed, her hands find her hips.

Troy: To what do I owe the obvious pleasure?

Tyler: Where's your boyfriend, Troy?

The Queen's annoyance grows with the raising of her eyebrows and the pursing of her lips.

Troy: Which "boyfriend" are we talking about here? I get a lot of requests, despite being very single; sometimes it's hard to keep track. Y'know, since September I've heard that I'm dating Wade, Nova, Danny Ferguson, Vin Diesel...despite talking to him one time at the Post-DDT shindig, James Spader...for some unknown reason...and that's not counting the numerous requests I get from fans on a daily basis. You're going to have to be more specific.

Tyler: I'm talking about Tyler Rayne. And don't get smart with me. I'm not in the mood.

Troy: Right, because the suspended Gigantic Heat-Sucking Vacuum of DOOM~! is supposed to be showing up here tonight. I can see where that'd put a bee in your bonnet.

Lisa stews at the backhand jab, about to lay into the Universal Champ, but Troy doesn't give her the chance.

Troy: Tyler Rayne's not my boyfriend, first of all. Second of all, I told Pierce last week that I don't know where he is. He said he wanted to get drinks and he never called. I haven't heard from him. Third of all, even if he was my boyfriend it wouldn't be yours, Blaine's, or anyone else's business. I try very hard not to make my personal life topics of dinner-time discussion. So if you're looking to bark up my tree about it, you'd be better off sniffing elsewhere.

Tyler: Ah ha.

Lisa subconsciously feels her weight shifting to a more combative pose.

Tyler: So going for drinks doesn't constitute a relationship status in your world?

Troy: Why do you all of a sudden care, Lisa? Do you even know how many times I've had drinks with people over the course of my life? Wade's already filled up both hands and a foot.

Tyler (smirking): Until tonight, that is.

Lindsay glares, and Lisa continues.

Tyler: I care because he's in violation of his contract, not to mention all the other things that seem to happen whenever he ventures outside of a controlled environment. He didn't show up last week, Shakur got a cheap win and we got heat for his vanishing act. I don't like getting undue heat from Tyler Nelson, the board, the network, et cetera. He's fired for all I care. I'm just looking to get the message to him.

Troy: You're going to can him for not showing up one time? How many other people you've kept on in this company for more? Chainz, obviously, for one. Fuckhead, for two.

Tyler: PRIME business practices aren't your concern, Troy. Your concern should be doing your job and staying on my somewhat-thinly-stretched good side. Blaine thinks the world of you. I'm trying to not let your holier-than-thou attitude bother me.

Troy: I don't know why it would. You have the same one.

A scowl from the Second-in-Command.

Tyler: If you hear from Rayne, deliver the message. That's all.

Lisa spins on her heel and clickity-clacks off, security following close behind, leaving Troy with an even worse taste in her mouth.

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS A TRIPLE THREAT MATCH SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL!

"Feel it in the Air" by Beanie Seagal.

The second the song hits the PA, the entire crowd currently seated in the Hartford Civic Center Coliseum go up in arms for the xenophobic foreigner. The Polish Punisher starts to flex his muscles a little bit and looks PRIME (pun intended) and ready to fight somebody. Smirking like he’s already got the match in the back, the near 400-pounder easily steps over the ropes and comes to a halt in one corner of the ring.

Vince: FIRST OFF… CURRENTLY IN THE RING… FROM GDANSK, POLAND WEIGHING IN AT 395 POUNDS… HE IS "THE POLISH PUNISHER" TOM WALCZAK!"

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of ReVolution thus far. While we’ve got some big matches coming up later in the program, this match we’ve got going on will literally BE the biggest as three of PRIME’s heavy hitting giants do battle!

Richard: Not only that, but we get to see the return of CHAINZ~! I’m personally hoping he finishes Titan St. James by like, eating his head or something! Give him the old Ozzy Osbourne Treatment!

Nick: …You’re a sick man.

Richard: Oh, please. How many times in wrestling do you see a good old-fashioned cannibalistic head-eating? NONE!

Walczak does a few pre-match stretches in the corner, readying himself for the battle to come.

"Shadow" by 12 Stones.

All the negative energy that flowed through the building moments ago is quickly replaced with large amounts of applause for the tallest man in the match. The curtains part and give way to the man dubbed in his infantry days as The Shadow Mountain. Once he stops to gaze out at the crowd in full support of the Israeli Giant, Titan calmly walks to the ring. Like his Polish predecessor, Titan steps over the ropes with the same amount of ease and doesn’t take a single eye of one of his opponents.

Vince: AND HIS OPPONENT… FROM JERUSALEM, ISRAEL, WEIGHING IN AT 395 POUNDS… HE IS TITAN ST. JAMES!

He pumps a fist in the air to a respectable pop.

Nick: This man is truly a sight to behold. You hear the phrase being thrown out a lot in some low-budget federations out there, but television does NOT do the seven-footer justice. In the past several months, Titan has taken down some big names. Two Hall of Famers in Tchu and Hoyt Williams.

Richard: BLASPHEMY! IT’S OBVIOUS THIS GUY IS SOME BIG SUPER-SOLDIER FULL OF ROIDS AND SUPER-SERUM!

Nick: With a dominating performance in the Roulette as well, nobody knows what it’s gonna take to truly stop the Shadow Mountain.

Richard: An even bigger Pakistani?

While Nick sighs and contemplates a nice change of scenery as far as his career is concerned, the music fades out and gives way to…

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"For You" by Korn.

The lights flicker on and off to a strobe of red and gray lights as the curtains part once more to reveal the form of Michael Sloan. For the first time since Revolution 135, the monster known across the vast PRIME landscape as Chainz is dressed to compete.

Vince: AND THEIR OPPONENT… BEING ACCOMPANIED TO THE RING BY TRACY STANTON… FROM HELL’S KITCHEN, NEW YORK, WEIGHING IN AT 295 POUNDS… CHAINZ!

With a kiss for good luck from Tracy, Chainz approaches the ring with a combination cocksure/menacing swagger that baffles the fans considering he’s the smallest man in this match giving up 100 pounds to both competitors.

Nick: A very rare situation indeed. Chainz gives up a considerable weight and height advantage to his opp… WAIT! WHAT’S GOING ON?!

Right as Chainz approaches the ringside area, a very familiar form races out from the back, chair in hand and WHACKS PRIME’s Public Enemy #1 across the back!

Richard: WHAT THE HELL! IT’S SNOW!

Sure enough, the fans EXPLODE to life as the PTC Unified and PRIME 5-Star Champion strikes the first blow on the giant since Colossus. Tracy jumps away from the crazed champion, fearing for her own safety. With the feeling of being hung several months ago still burning in his mind, the doubled-over Chainz is the recipient of another VILE shot with the chair to the back of the skull, bringing the beast down to one knee.

Snow: GET UP! GET UP NOW!

Nick: Snow said it last week! He told Lisa Tyler point-blank he wasn’t having any more of Chainz’s sick actions against him!

Richard: But we’re about to have a match!

Tom and Titan remain in the ring, watching the saga unfold. Before Jason has a chance to deliver another shot of retribution right into his skull, several pairs of arms grab both he and the weapon.

Richard: DO YOUR JOB, SECURITY! GET HIS ASS OUT OF THE DAMN BUILDING!

Nick: Normally, I wouldn’t find myself condoning this behavior, but if anybody has it coming, it’s Chainz!

As the fans jeer in mass amounts at the sight of Snow being dragged off by security, the camera gets in a close-up of Chainz coming around to stare at the object of his hatred.

Nick: That maniac… he’s SMILING!

Richard: That’s because he knows he’s in Snow’s head now!

While still down to one knee with Tracy checking on him, Chainz doesn’t take his eye off the sight of Snow being hauled off. Meanwhile in the ring as referee Thomas Giles starts to restore some order and Titan looks on at the scene, Tom Walczak decides that any opening he can get would do and he CLUBS Titan in the back of the skull! Not sure what to do in the face of danger, Thomas starts the match.

Nick: Looks like we’ve got ourselves a match even in the wake of Jason Snow’s assault. Fans, stay tuned as we try to get this situation resolved! Stay tuned!

*insert commercial break here. Buy shit, people! YOU KNOW WHAT COMMERCIALS LOOK LIKE!*

The camera returns from its commercial break with a beaten Titan St. James in the corner eating a trifecta of big knees to the sternum from Tom Walczak. The Polish Punisher continues his assault with several right hands drilling into the soldier’s head before whipping him across the ring. Walczak runs towards him, but a big boot catches him HARD across the face!

Nick: And folks, welcome back! During the break, Tom Walczak snuck attacked Titan St. James and for the past minute, he’d been working over his adversary while Chainz has been on the outside, recovering from a surprise attack from Jason Snow!

Richard: He’s only picking his spots!

Chainz lurks on the outside as Titan now throws STIFF headbutts into the skull of Tom Walczak, shaking the Punisher. He bounces off the ropes and flies back, flooring him with a big Clothesline!

Titan shakes his hand to shake off the force thrown into the Clothesline, but walks right into a staggering right hand from the smaller Chainz. Sloan shows absolutely no fear of the big man and pummels him with several more before Tom Walczak finally joins in the fray.

Nick: These guys are doing the smart thing. They’re working together to take down the biggest man in the match!

Both Tom and Chainz continue to throw anything they can muster at Titan. Boots, forearm shots, punches, knees, everything. Eventually, the Shadow Mountain finds himself backed into the corner where Tom takes the fight to him with a series of hard Shoulder Thrusts. Each blow comes harder than the last, robbing Titan of precious air.

Chainz motions for Walczak to move and when the Polish Punisher does, PRIME’s Badder MotherSHUTYOURMOUTH! runs full-speed and blasts the big man with a hard running back elbow to the face!

Not wanting to be outdone by the smaller man, Walczak shoves Chainz aside in an attempt to show the alleged murderer how it’s done. He goes cross-corner and makes a run at St. James this time…

Richard: GORE! GORE! GORE! Uh… I mean SPEAR! SPEAR! SPEAR!

Chainz picks a spot very well and rams all 300 pounds of muscle he can muster to bring Walczak to the canvas. Grinning like he’s just eaten somebody’s soul, Chainz makes the first cover of the match on the fallen Polish Punisher.

Nick: It was only a matter of time before somebody turned on somebody in this match! Chainz with the cover now!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Walczak gets the shoulder up, but this doesn’t dissuade Chainz’s resolve. He sits atop the giant’s chest and drives several right hands into his head. Thomas Giles starts to make the mandatory five-count, but ceases when Chainz threatens to do many things we can’t air on FX… wait, it’s FX. He threatens to kill his family, then fuck his daughter while he watches, tied up to a tree heading into the path of a speeding buzzsaw.

Chainz stands up, but is put right back down when the charging Big Boot of Titan knocks him down! He doesn’t waste a single motion as he picks the psycho back up and whips him into the ropes before catching him with a big Side Slam! He hooks a leg for good measure.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Chainz gets the shoulder up at the last second. Titan slowly picks him back up and with amazing strength, HURLS Chainz into the nearest corner.

Nick: WOW! This Titan St. James is quite the specimen to behold. I’ve never seen Chainz in this position before in my PRIME career!

Titan takes the fight to him with several alternating chops to the chest.

WHOO!

WHOO!

WHOO!

The crowd go nuts for the man that defeated Tchu at Colossus IV as he powers Chainz to the top rope.

Richard: Oh, crap! The Jew’s gonna make him fly!

Nick: This could spell disaster for Chainz!

Titan climbs to the second rope and hooks the psycho up for a Superplex, but Chainz blocks it with several elbows to stun Shadow Mountain. A few more blows and he’s off and staggering about the ring. Chainz, standing in incredibly unfamiliar territory, does nothing else but fly off the top rope and knock down Titan with a hard-hitting Flying Shoulder Block!

Richard: Not only can this guy shiv your ass six ways from Sunday, but he can fly, too! He’s become an all-purpose maniac!

Nick: ...Where’s your conscience?

Richard: Lost it in Vegas to some fat guy playing Poker.

The fans – love him or hate him – show some awe for Chainz successfully landing one of his maneuvers. He recovers from the blow, only to walk into a HUGE Samoan Drop from Tom Walczak!

Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Sitting back up, Tom jawjacks to Chainz after driving him damn near through the ring. Rather than waste his time any longer with Sloan, Tom waves a hand out and waits for Titan to find his vertical base. As he continues to talk trash, he throws several hard elbows into the head of the kneeling Titan and before Titan knows it, finds himself locked in the confines of a Full Nelson submission.

Nick: And now, Walczak’s on the warpath again and Titan’s got nowhere to go in that submission hold!

Richard: He’s gonna snap that guy’s neck in half!

Showing a certain roidhead over in the Wuh-We how a Full Nelson is done, The Polish Punisher keeps the pressure applied as Titan finds himself struggling with the pressure being applied on his thick neck. Chainz is still down and out following the Samoan Drop in the corner, so it’s all up to Titan to find a way to free himself.

Slowly, Hartford’s faithful begin to rally behind Titan as his faces turns two shades of red to try and free himself from the hold.

Nick: Look! He may very well break out of that Full Nelson submission!

Richard: No way! That Super Soldier Jew Formula is no match for the ways of the Polish… fighter guy. Yeah!

Amazed by his opponent’s tenacity, Tom decides to switch it up as he looks to try and power Titan up and off the mat with a big Full Nelson Slam, but Shadow Mountain puts a leg up to block. With no other recourse, St. James backs himself and Walczak into the corner, making the big man jump from the impact. Once the Full Nelson is broken, Titan turns around and SLUGS him with a stiff uppercut to the jaw.

Nick: What a fist right there! I think I just saw a tooth fly out of Walczak’s mouth!

Spit, to be precise, but who’s counting? Titan tries to whip The Polish Punisher across the ring, but Tom reverses and whips him back, following him in with a nasty Body Avalanche! With Titan stunned in one corner, he attacks Chainz with a big Clubbing Forearm and DRILLS him into the mat with a ferocious Belly-to-Belly Suplex!

ONE!

TWO!

SAVE BY TITAN!

Titan’s boot collides with Tom’s face, knocking him out of the pinfall attempt. St. James pulls the bald angry Pole by his bald angry head and clubs him with several hard elbows to the small of his back before taking him by the throat…

Nick: THE IMI! THAT’S AMAZING STRENGTH FROM TITAN TO CHOKESLAM A NEAR 400-POUND MAN SO LATE INTO THIS GRUELING MATCH-UP!

After the ring-shaking Chokeslam falls the other giant in the match, Titan kneels down and puts all his body weight into the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

PUNT KICK BY CHAINZ!

Richard: Damn! I think Titan’s head just got kicked into the nose bleeds!

Recovering in the nick of time to save the match for himself, Mike Sloan punts Titan St. James in the head, rattling the big man’s skull. Seeing a much-needed moment of breath, the former AWC superstar leans back against the ropes.

Nick: What a physical contest between three of PRIME’s most dominant personalities!

Richard: Nights like these are what I work for! Watching these bruisers throw bomb after bomb after bomb at one another!

Chainz doesn’t waste any time trying to scoop Titan back to his feet, but Titan cuts him off at the pass with a right that knocks him back against the ropes. He teeters forward into the waiting arms of Titan who scoops Sloan onto his shoulders and looks for a powerslam of some sort. Chainz slips free from his grasp and as St. James turns…

Richard: NO WAY!

Nick: DAMN RIGHT, NO WAY!

The announce team, the referee, and even the fans have to applaud the show of strength from Chainz, being able to muster the power necessary to hoist Titan up and spike him down to the mat with a modified Front Spinebuster Slam! He takes a leg and rolls directly into the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

Shocked to see the biggest move in this match couldn’t be pulled off, Chainz rolls off his fallen form and just goes batshit crazy, putting boots to the heads of both seven-footers. Right elbow for Titan.

Boot for Tom.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Seeing the opening he needs, Chainz waits as Titan pulls himself to his feet. He buries a foot in his gut and applies a standing headscissors…

Nick: I know he’s crazy, but he can’t be thinking what I think he’s thinking.

Chainz tries for a Piledriver or the Chain Reaction. We may never know what he was attempting because Titan finds the strength to power out and Back Body Drop Chainz! The other angry bald man in this match takes a tumble. Titan gets back to his feet, but…

Richard: POLISH HAMMER!

The hard Running Clothesline from Walczak puts St. James on his back one more time. He sneers to the jeering crowd following the heinous assault, but pays them no more attention.

Nick: Tom could finish this right here!

He takes hold of Titan and starts to apply a standing headscissors of his own. He tries once, but the hefty body weight of Titan makes it a dangerous task. Once more, but his efforts are wasted. Finally, a third time nearly garners the result he seeks, but Titan snaps free and buries a shoulder in his gut. Titan tries to repeat it, but Tom cuts him off with a Clothesline… DUCKED!

Nick: SHADOW MOUNTAIN BOMB!

Richard: NO! NO, NO, NO!

Amazingly, Titan manages to DRILL him into oblivion with the Shadow Mountain Bomb, but before he has the chance to capitalize, Chainz is right there…

Richard: YES!

Nick: Damn it! What a Superkick out of nowhere! The Chain Link!

The Superkick has enough force in it to send the staggering Titan out of the ring. With a sick sneer, he throws all his body weight onto the falling shoulders of Tom Walczak and hooks a leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"For You" by Korn.

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER… CHAINZ!

Chainz rolls out of the ring and heads for higher ground. Traci gives the winner of the match a victory kiss and raises his hand as he beats a hand on his chest.

On the outside of the ring, Titan recovers just in time and wipes swat off his head, pissed that the match was stolen from him at the last second.

Nick: Well, folks, a hotly contested match, but in the end Chainz found the opening he needs. And one’s gotta wonder with that Superkick… was he using that move to send a message to Snow?

Richard: He was! Snow’s gonna get hurt and he’s gonna take that 5-Star Title when he gets the first chance.

Chainz and Traci walk up the ramp, leaving the scene of his crime of stealing a match from under Titan St. James’ nose.

Richard: Well Hoyt Williams has promised a major announcement and he’s ready to deliver!

Nick: I hope he’s leaving again.

Richard: That would cast another dark cloud over this federation I love.

Nick: What’s this???

Standing in the center of the ring is the Jewish Elvis…Neil Diamond. He waves to the crowd as the lights dim to dark, with only a single spot light remaining on the aged performer.

Diamond: " Far
We've been travelling far
Without a home
But not without a star"

The PRIME screen lights up with immigrants on a boat rowing and pointing up at a star which the camera zooms in on to the heavens to reveal its Hoyt Williams wearing a sparkling white jumpsuit while having a pastrami on rye with Christ .

Diamond: "Free
Only want to be free
We huddle close
Hang on to a dream"

The screen shows a handful of Mexicans crawling in the just passing the US boarder. A silver dollar coated Cadillac pulls up next them revealing Hoyt Williams passing out Lemonade and giving them a ride. They all smile as they get in and down the cool treat.

Diamond: "Everywhere around the world
They're coming to America
Every time that flag's unfurled
They're coming to America"

A flag the size of Rhode Island drops from the rafters above the ring just missing the fine jet black hairdo of the living legend. The crowd cheers a bit. A sea of Mexican, black, Asian, eurotrash, and handicapped children flood the ring side area from the back singing the "today" part.

Diamond: "They're coming to America
They're coming to America
They're coming to America
They're coming to America"

Children: "Today, today, today, today, today"

From the back enters Hoyt Williams dressed like George Washington crossing the Delaware with a white wig and all. His manager Big Al Larcher waddles behind him in an American flag suit passing out tiny flags to the crowd.

Diamond: "My country 'tis of thee
(Today)
Sweet land of liberty
(today)
Of thee I sing
(today)
Of thee I sing
(today)"

Hoyt enters the ring shaking hands with Mr. Diamond as he leaves the ring waving out to the crowd. The kids remain around the ring as Hoyt looks out at the jeering crowd.

Hoyt Williams: PRIME-MATES, Hoyt’s Witnesses, and other humanoids it’s great to be alive and in…..

Big Al: Hartford.

Hoyt Williams: Hartford this evening.

Nick: What is he up to?

Richard: His bio says around 320 but he’s looking a little lean if you ask me.

Hoyt Williams: Thank you and God bless America. Our nation has turn into a country of walking talking vigina’s. Like a point of view porn focused on the kitty. We killed John Wayne and George Peppard and have replaced them with Ray Romano and Brandon Youngblood. The times have certainly been a changing. The tall deep voiced journalist has been replaced by a one-sided moaning jew liberal pansy on a mock news show on a network of poor comedy. The cowboy has been replaced by nerds on skateboards. The conservative has been replaced by a Texas dunce who has spent more on entitlement then the sex crazed monster before him.

The crowd starts a chant of asshole.

Hoyt Williams: You said it people, they are all little brown pot holes destroying the flowing ambers of grain on the picturesque symbolism of our great nation! Folks when I look at the field of candidates running for the office of President of the United States I’m embarrassed. You have a half ass actor, the walking dead, an Italian, a moron….

Big Al walks over and whispers something in Hoyt’s ear.

Hoyt Williams: I mean Mormon. You have a lady who couldn’t control her husband and manager her home thinking she could run our nation? HA! You have Barack Hussein Obama, is he even an American? I mean what the hell is going on??? This isn’t my nation this is a nation of sinners!! Ladies and Gentlemen today I come forth to announce my intention to win the Republican nomination for President of the Untied States in the styling of Reagan, Nixon, Lincoln, and Goldwater!

The crowd does not seem to be made up of supporters but then again it’s a liberal state that are probably all gay anyhow.

Hoyt Williams: My kind of Republican is much different then what you’re used to. When I’m president we will go back to the way things were. Fist fights in bars with out the fear of law suits! Women staying home and raising their children. Women looking sexy on TV with out talking and minority’s doing service jobs. Stoicism, mixed with Conservatism, and a healthy dose of Libertarianism. This election will not be about my relationship with God as I believe in the separation of church and state. When I become president I will get rid of sales tax, property tax, and all other ways the government steals from you. Let people take personal responsibility for themselves as we eliminate welfare.

The crowd boos.

Hoyt Williams: Hey here’s an idea…get a job!! Work for a living and for your own self pride. You people need to get real. I will move forth with the gentrification of America and if you can’t afford it then move to Canada. We are going to rehab, rebuild, and reconstruct our nation moving it forward.

Nick: Is he serious.

Richard: As Aids.

Hoyt Williams: If you don’t want to work, if you don’t want to fight, then we don’t want you. Thank you, you’re all fine Americans!!

Hoyt waves at the fans as he exits the ring.

Nick: Wow that was a huge announcement. If you’re into things nobody cares about.

Richard: THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!! WILLIAMS FOR PRESIDENT!!!!!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Several fists collide in rapid-fire sequence with a punching bag.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The strain of the man striking the bag back and forth is communicated through primal grunts.

CRACK! CRACK!

…

The knocking stops his train of thought.

Sonny Silver, taking a reprieve from his strenuous exercise, is about to open the door when a brown envelope catches his eye. He opens the door and peers around, but whoever was the supplier of said envelope is long gone.

Shrugging to nobody in particular, his curiosity is piqued as he rips open the envelope.

His eyes dart to its contents…

Pictures.

Not just any pictures.

1) His wife, Eme, having lunch at a restaurant with another man.
2) His daughter, Gabrielle – now two years of age – at a playground with other children
3) A picture of a man with Eme and Gabrielle.

But what catches his attention after those is a note written on a scrap of pink paper, clipped to the back.

You’ve lost a lot more than anything the Universal Title could give you.

Silver: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The envelope – pictures and all – is hurled across the room and forcefully falls to the floor. Face boiling with rage at what he’s seen in those photographs of his wife and daughter with another man by their side, Sonny slams a fist into the wall and grinds his teeth.

He may have not wrestled for the title just yet, but a portion of that note was right.

Tonight, he was going to lose it.

Devin Shakur is stretching his limbs in preparation for the upcoming tag team match against Chandler Tsonda and Danny Ferguson. This is, to most, an electric tag team match that has all the makings of a classic. Tsonda has upset Shakur before, and Youngblood was defeated by Ferguson, but Shakur and Youngblood are intense don’t test them!!11

Tony Gamble kicks the door in and walks up to his limbering partner who just stares at him.

Tony Gamble: HOWCOULDYOUDOTHISTOME?

Devin Shakur: …

Tony Gamble: After all we have been through…

Devin Shakur: I still don’t know what you are talking about.

Tony Gamble: All those times I stood by your bed and made sure you were asleep before leaving your house-

Devin Shakur: WHOA! What? How did you get into my house?

Tony Gamble: Figure of speech.

Devin Shakur: Are you sure, you don’t weigh over 200 pounds, I’m sure you can fit through some cracks in windows.

Gamble lets out a nervous chuckle and puts his hand on Shakur’s shoulder.

Tony Gamble: …Ok I could be lying. I have seen Sun Tzu naked.

Devin Shakur: DUDE!

Tony Gamble: Only kidding…OR AM I?

Tony gives a >=J at Shakur

Tony Gamble: No, no, really I’m kidding…OR AM I?

Another >=J

Tony Gamble: Ok, ok, I’m ribbing you…MAYBE NOT!

Devin Shakur slams his head into his hand and shakes it vehemently.

Devin Shakur: The next thing you are going to tell me is that you got us fake IDs and we’re supposed to crash a high school party in hopes of getting your fat ass laid.

Tony Gamble: What? That was three shows ago. We’re not quoting Superbad anymore.

Devin gives a cheesy look to the camera.

Devin Shakur: I still am McLovin

Tony Gamble: Ratings…Down 2.4 points in the last second, nice job.

Devin Shakur: Ok, so wait, you came in here angry. Why were you?

Tony Gamble: I came in here angry?

Devin whips out a DVR remote, hits the Live Pause button, pausing PRIME television as we know it. He then rewinds the segment back to where Gamble roid rages his way into the locker room and screams his head off at Shakur. Commie Emo then fast forwards the segment back to the present point.

Tony Gamble: Oh, yes, can I have a second to get back into character?

Devin Shakur: Yeah, sure.

Gamble pulls a cap out of his back pocket and puts it on his head. He then turns it around and talks out of the side of his mouth.

Deep breath…In and outtt>=J

Gamble: When I turn my cap around, it's like flipping a switch, you know. I'm in the zone.

Devin Shakur: I think that was implied, dumbass.

Tony Gamble: …YOUARETEAMINGWITHBRANDONYOUNGBLOOD!

Devin Shakur: Why does this bother you?

Tony Gamble: Dude, I didn’t want to show you this until later…

Devin is shocked and expresses it like this >=O

Devin Shakur: Oh God, Tony…Wait, you’ve seen Sun Tzu naked. You know I’m not leaving her for you.

Tony Gamble: …NO! Ugh, what were you thinking?

Devin Shakur: YOU INSTIGATED IT!

Tony Gamble: Wow, we’ve got to stop giving off that vibe you know? Rumors might start floating…

Devin Shakur: Ok, what didn’t you want to show me?

Gamble reaches into his pocket and in a box that looks suspiciously like two engagement pieces of jewelry. He busts out…

Tony Gamble: What do you think?

Devin Shakur: …

BFF Bracelets

Devin Shakur: Um…Yeah, we need to discuss this later. I have to go Tag Team back again, check into wreckin, let’s begin, WHOOMP THERE I…Sorry, yeah I have to go. I promise we’ll talk about this.

Shakur turns and goes to exit the room but finds a rather dorky looking man standing in the way.

Devin Shakur: OMGURLARRYKING’SSON!

Tony Gamble: CANIHAVEYOURAUTOGRAPH?!

Blaine Blair: Where's the other one?

Tony and Devin stare at each other for a moment, then glance behind them before shrugging their shoulders.

Blaine Blair: Don't play dumb with me, where's Silver?

Tony Gamble: I just saw him on the monitor, so he should be around here somewhere. Why would you look in here?

Blaine Blair: That little stunt the three of you pulled at 140. I'm not going through another Fuck You right now, so this ends now.

Devin Shakur: I have to admit that our actions were completely innocent.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, we didn't even know Silver would be there.

Blaine furrows his brow.

Blaine Blair: He was in the match.

Tony and Devin look at each other, then they look back at Blaire.

Tony Gamble: Was he?

Blaine Blair: You guys are beating around the bush.

Devin and Tony look at each other and snicker.

Devin Shakur: Dude…We SO never do that, right?

Double high five.

Blaine Blair: Stop playing dumb with me!

Tony Gamble: No, this would be playing dumb with you.

Gamble disappears out of camera range for a second and reappears in a Lindsay Troy mask.

Blaine Blair: This is not some joke. PRIME is not going through another tumultuous time like that again.

Devin Shakur: No wait, dude, let me go get mine.

Shakur disappears from camera range, while Gamble scres with Blair’s suspenders and smacks his glasses down. Shakur reappears in a Ferg mask.

Blaine Blair: I’ve had it with you guys. If you guys do what I think you will do, there will be severe repercussions…Bank on it.

Devin (Ferguson) Shakur: I totally respect Lindsay Troy…HAHAHA! I CAN’T SAY THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE!

Tony (Troy) Gamble: Wow, I already feel taller in this mask.

Blair walks off in disgust…And we fade out.

Nick: Coming up now we have the SUPERELECTRICSTEAMINGHOTSTOVE TAG MATCH!

Richard: RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Nick: Gimmick infringement!

Richard throws a quarter over his right shoulder.

Nick: The A-List of Danny Ferguson and Brandon Youngblood are going to square off against unlikely tag team partners, Devin Shakur and Brandon Youngblood.

Richard: I would hate to be the recipient of a beatdown from either of those men.

Nick: Two of the hardest hitters in the company against two of the most arrogant, should be exciting.

I said 'kiss me, you're beautiful'
These are truly the last days'"

The weathered voice from the beginning of Godspeed You Black Emperor's "Dead Flag Blues" fades into the short acoustic section that begins Coheed & Cambria's "Welcome Home." After twelve seconds, the bitchin' guitars start to kick ass, as green and silver pyro goes off in perfect timing with the power riffs.

As the WalTron displays the words "Model Citizen" in white over a black background…

The curtain flies open to Youngblood and Shakur pummeling the A-List. Shakur delivers a right hand on Ferguson, who returns fire, Youngblood gets a shot on Ferg, and then follows it up with Tsonda. Shakur delivers a throat thrust to Tsonda, stunning him, while Youngblood chops Ferguson once, twice, and three times. Shakur breaks away to get at Ferg, pummeling him in the head with a right, before all four hit the ring.

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: THIS ISN’T FAIR! THIS ISN’T RIGHT!

Richard: No…THIS ISN’T SPARTA!

Brandon Youngblood starts the match off by backing Chandler Tsonda up into the corner and pushing his face back as far as possible. The referee attempts to get a break, but Youngblood backs up and slugs Tsonda in the face with a forearm, two, three, and then a fourth one before rearing his arm back and attempting a knife edge chop. Tsonda rolls out of the way, shoots off the ropes, and receives a hair pull from Devin Shakur. Tsonda absolutely flips out and wails on Shakur with crazy karate chops. Shakur looks to be out on his feet, and probably would be dead foh reez if Youngblood didn’t violently throw Tsonda back with a German suplex.

Nick: I think I’ll speak for Tsonda…NOBODY MESSES WITH THE DO!

Tsonda gets up to his feet, holding onto the back of the neck, while Youngblood profanely asks for Ferguson to be tagged in. Tsonda retorts with some language of his own, causing Youngblood to rush headstrong into the corner, and get his head run into Ferguson’s boot. Tsonda kicks Youngblood in the ribs, once in the leg, back to the midsection, and delivers a spinning back kick to the midsection. Youngblood, apparently gridlocked in the zone, no sells the moves and takes a hold of Tsonda, hoists him up, and gives him an Exploder suplex into the corner, tagging in Danny Ferguson indirectly.

Nick: Jesus Christ! Tsonda might be dead from that!

Richard: Here we go! The biggest chin in the history of our sport against THE FERG!

Youngblood surprisingly backs up and allows Ferguson to step inside of the ring, beckoning him forward with the hands. Youngblood charges at Ferguson, who slugs him with a right hand, second, and third, before whipping Youngblood into the ropes. He doesn’t see Shakur make the blind tag, and goes for a big clothesline on Youngblood, who ducks underneath it. Ferguson turns around and receives a violent kick in his back, turns around, and gets pelted from behind with a clothesline from Youngblood.

Nick: We saw a bit of this earlier, Shakur and Ferguson about to collide here.

Shakur brings Ferguson up, shoves him back into the corner, and unleashes a knife edge chop on Ferguson that can be heard throughout the arena. Youngblood, not even out of the ring yet, stops dead and turns around, slapping his partner in the back of the head. Shakur gives the "What" sign with his shoulders, and Youngblood decides to enlighten.

Brandon Youngblood: That’s not how you do it! Here, let me show you.

Youngblood delivers a NASTY knife edge chop across Ferguson’s chest, causing his chest to open up. Ferguson’s eyes almost roll back into his head.

Devin Shakur: So, wait, like this

Shakur connects on a big time chop of his own, Ferguson almost falling flat on his face. Youngblood holds him up and locks the arms underneath the ropes.

Brandon Youngblood: Close, close, put some more of the back into it, like this.

Youngblood with ANOTHER chop! Tsonda is trying to get into the ring and break this handicap chop lecture up, but the referee is preventing him from getting in there.

Devin Shakur: Ok, I think I got it, here we go.

Shakur winds up…KABOOM! Ferguson almost gets taken off his feet. Youngblood gives a nod and Shakur exits the ring, due to the earlier smack. Youngblood hooks Ferguson around the waist and delivers a belly to belly overhead suplex before rushing over and pounding him with hammer fists to the head, causing the referee to get in there and break it up before a five count.

Richard: Ferguson is going to feel like he got breast enhancement surgery after that beatdown. Wow, those were some hard chops.

Youngblood backs Ferguson up into the ropes, allowing Shakur to tag in. Shakur gets into the ring and the two grapplers start to unload with leg strikes all over the body of Ferguson, sending him down into the corner. Both wrestlers take a side of Ferg’s face and put their boot up against it, humiliating the Hard Money cult legend, before bouncing off the ropes perpendicular to one another, charging back, and applying a double Facewash.

Nick: Ferguson and Tsonda haven’t gotten the chance to get their feet wet in the offensive side of the pool yet.

Shakur picks up Ferguson, forearms him in the head, delivers a knee strike to the head, and elbows him in the back of the neck. A tag to Youngblood is made, who jumps into the ring, and takes a hold of Ferguson’s right arm. Shakur takes a hold of the right and both twist around before yank down hard on Ferg. Still having a hold of both arms, the wrestlers drop down and apply a double armbar on Ferguson, who has no real means of escape. The referee attempts to be his savior, but neither wrestler concedes on the hold. Tsonda finally can’t take anymore of it and rushes into the ring, going absolutely insane with the kicks to both competitors, and along with the referee threatening disqualification, the wrestlers break the hold. Tsonda drags Ferguson back to the corner and makes the tag.

Richard: Now what kind of shit is that?

Nick: I thought you loved the A-List.

Richard: It is heel vs heel, I’m obligated to support both teams.

Tsonda rushes into the ring, takes a hold of Youngblood, puts the feet into the midsection, and monkey flips him into the corner. Surprisingly, Youngblood is tied up in the Tree of Woe. Tsonda gives a sly grin before delivering body kicks to Youngblood, bouncing off the ropes, and connecting with a stinging head kick that undoes Youngblood from his predicament. Tsonda delivers an uppercut, knee to the midsection, and plants Youngblood with the DDT. Out of no where, Shakur blasts Tsonda with a Yakuza kick before rolling out of the ring, and taunting Ferguson on the floor.

Nick: Now how does Shakur get away with something like that?

Richard: He’s emo and will threaten to kill himself, thus losing PRIME money if he doesn’t?

Nick: What a farce.

With the sides evened up in this quick pace match, the referee starts applying his count on both competitors. After reaching 8, both competitors get up, Tsonda attempting to take Youngblood’s head off with a head kick, but Youngblood blocks it, and gives Tsonda a dragon screw. Youngblood quickly gets up, tags Shakur in, bends Tsonda’s leg at a 90 degree angle, grabs the other one, and drops down in a figure four leg lock. Once again, our objective referee attempts to get in there and break Youngblood from the ring, but finds himself with a second crisis on his hands. Shakur has gone around to the other side of Tsonda, locked an arm and the head, and applied a reverse triangle choke.

Richard: He’s getting strung like a damn noodle! Ferguson gets in there and stops it, word!

Nick: How do you not get beaten into oblivion backstage when we are walking around and talking to some of the wrestlers?

Richard: Best ass kisser in the business baby!

Ferguson now has to be the one to break Tsonda out of the predicament that The Model Citizen finds himself in. Ferguson stomps down on the head of Shakur, and then does the same to Youngblood, who takes it upon himself to lock onto the leg afterward, and go for an ankle lock while pummeling on whatever part of Ferguson he can get a hold of.

Nick: Now this has turned into a melee!

Shakur and Tsonda are in the corner slugging it out, with Shakur getting the better end of the deal. Shakur kicks Tsonda in the ribs, whips him into the ropes, and delivers a spinning heel kick to the head. Shakur rolls up to a vertical position, takes Tsonda up, hooks the arm, spins around for the full arm drag, kicks Tsonda in the midsection, spins around, hoists him in a reverse DVD, flips him horizontally out, knees him in the jaw, shoots hard off the ropes, and connects with a shining wizard that puts The Model Citizen down. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Tsonda with the kickout!

Richard: I have to say that I’m impressed with the first time team of Youngblood and Shakur.

Nick: I think they are both looking to make statements in this tag team match. Ferguson has beaten Youngblood twice, and Tsonda got that win over Shakur immediately after Shakur won the Intense Championship.

Youngblood brings Ferguson up to a standing position, delivers a boot to the midsection, club to the back, knee to the head, and a roaring elbow that stuns Ferguson into the corner. Not giving a chance to breath, Youngblood brings Ferguson out, military presses him up into the air, and drops him stomach first across the knee in a gutbuster. Youngblood clubs Ferguson in the head, hooks the leg and head, and falls backwards in a Russian leg sweep. COVE…No, Youngblood on top of Ferguson and choking him out.

Richard: This is just nasty, someone should stop this…Someone get that referee out here that stopped Shakur/Elliott from the Pay-Per-View.

Nick: I don’t think he’s going to be coming back after the assbeating Shakur put on him. Word is he is going to sue PRIME hard.

Shakur drops an elbow down on the head of Tsonda, who is doing his best to absorb the punishment at this point. Youngblood comes over to assist his partner, getting through the protection of Tsonda’s arms, and now the two are just unloading on Tsonda, not giving him any avenue of solitude. Both wrestlers bring Tsonda out to the middle of the ring, lift him up into the air, and hold him there. Shakur moves around to the neck, while Youngblood stays near the back. The most intense one time tag team in PRIME drops down to their knees causing Tsonda to noticeably wince in pain. However, the assault is not done, both wrestlers lifting him back up, and then launching him into the air, leaving Tsonda to save himself once his body collides with the canvas.

Nick: Wow, I have never seen a tag team dominate like this in a while.

Ferguson tries to get himself back into the match, but receives a double savant kick for his troubles, Shakur gets behind Ferguson, reverse snap mares him, and almost gets his ear drum busted from the sheer violence of the Youngblood snap kick. Shakur rises up, and the duo delivers a double kick, one to the back and one to the sternum simultaneously. Ferguson gets brought back up by Youngblood, who cradles him in one arm, while Shakur does the same with the other side. Both wrestlers lift Ferguson up into the air, walk around in a circle, and drop him down on his neck.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: Now that was sick.

Ferguson is limp in the ring, almost dead to the world. Tsonda decides to stumble back into the action and receives Good Times, Painful Memories right upside his head. He would have slumped down like a sack of fake tits if Youngblood didn’t lift him into the air, spin him around, and plant him into the ground with a spinebuster. Youngblood cover, Shakur with the foot on Youngblood’s back.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The winners of the match…DEVIN SHAKUR AND BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD!

Richard: Wow, what an annihilation of the A-List.

Nick: You aren’t kidding. Ferguson and Tsonda never really recovered from that surprise attack.

Richard: Well when you have people as talented as Shakur and Youngblood, not much chance is going to be had to recover in general.

Youngblood exits the ring and starts to walk back up the ramp, content with what he has done tonight. He proved that he could get it done when it counted, and got some much needed redemption over Danny Ferguson. Speaking of Ferg, he tries to get up in the ring, and stumbles over toward Tsonda. He tries to give his A-List partner some encouragement in getting up, but unfortunately does not see the freight train that is behind him.

"OOF"

He certainly feels it in his package when that freight train low blows him, sending him down to his knees.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Nick: SHAKUR NEVER LEFT THE RING!

Richard: BEATDOWN TIME!

Shakur stands there in a Deville like condescending pose, staring down at his victim before delivering a snap kick to the chest, one to each arm, and then another one to the sternum, sending Ferguson slumping over to the side. Shakur starts to lay down the boots on the Hollywood superstar with complete disregard for his well being. The referee attempts to intervene and pull Shakur away, but he promptly gets shoved on his ass for the trouble.

Nick: Oh come on, Shakur! You won the damn match, let Ferguson go!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Shakur pulls Ferguson up to his feet, delivers a knee strike to the chin, and flings Ferguson overhead. Shakur puts a direct stomp down on the forehead before mounting his rival and pounding him with hard rights and lefts that are going completely unprotected. A few more officials charge down from the back in an attempt to salvage a huge PRIME meal ticket, but Shakur rolls off and kicks at the ropes, keeping them at bay.

"SHAKUR SUCKS! SHAKUR SUCKS! SHAKUR SUCKS!"

Richard: Well I guess this is an indication that you always take Commie Emo seriously.

Nick: Hypocrisy brought to you by Richard Parker.

Richard: YAYAY!

Shakur brings Ferguson up to a standing position, punches him once in the head, sending him reeling back into the ropes. Shakur bounces off the ropes, jumps into the air, and delivers a roaring elbow which backs Ferg into the ropes. Once his momentum carries him back into the ring, the lights are officially turned out with a Good Times, Painful Memories, dropping Ferg down and out like Tsonda just moments ago. Shakur demands a microphone from the ringside area, and gets one.

Devin Shakur: Ferguson, you want to think of me as a joke? Kid, I’m not around here to fucking crack Yo Mama and Knock, Knock bullshit. What I’m here to do is fight, and you have unfortunately seen that first hand. The next time I’m not going to be so generous to you. See you when you wake up, prick.

Shakur slams the microphone down on Ferguson before exiting the ring and relishing in the heat that the crowd is giving him.

Nick: That was absolutely heinous!

Richard: Well some would argue that Ferguson has had that coming for a long time now.

Nick: Who?

Richard: …Me

Nick: YOU LOVED HIM TEN SECONDS AGO!

Richard: …That’s a long time man.

Nick: …

Nick: Well ladies and gentlemen, we have had a great night thus far and coming up in a matter of moments is a rematch from a PTC Unified title match with The Unified Champion and 5-Star Champion Jason Snow taking on The Illustrious Face Eater. Not to mention the main event showing Former PRIME Figurehead Chet Worth returning to the ring against "The Grin" Ton...

Richard: Enough about that... look at the Wal*Tron!

Richard points and the crowd falls into a chorus of boos. A few fans ringside begin a familiar chant, not heard since ReVolution 136.

Yeah you heard it right.

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"

The timing was perfect. The crowd was getting worked up more and more with each passing moment of the evening and this will certainly throw them into a wild tangent. The footsteps were quickening with pace on the Wal*Tron, The High Class Ass approaching the curtain backstage.

"Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch.

The stars and planets seem to align as pyro explodes from the entrance way. The crowd drops into a massive chorus of jeers, with the few exceptions seeming to be the dozen or so fans sitting ringside.

"PRIME THAT SHIT!"

The Ego of New England comes through the curtain, walking with a purpose yet with the confidence of a man with an army by his side... and he had just that.

Eight men crowded around Nitz Donnelly as he descended the ramp. He flips off the fans heckling him beside the ramp and is sure to echo it to everyone in attendance by raising the fingers right into the air.

The Wal*Tron switches from the entrance video to the backstage area again as Lisa Tyler is seen grouping her security team. The crowd gives her a mixed reaction.

Lisa Tyler: How the hell did he get in the building without being seen?

PRIME security can’t give her an answer, making her wonder if the job can get done now. She shoos them off in front of her most certainly towards the ring and she follows closely, cursing under her breath.

Meanwhile, the boos from the crowd fade in as the music fades out. The idiots in the front row are still chanting.

Richard: THE DONNELLY~! is in the ring, microphone in hand and a ton of shit to spit I’m sure.

Nick: WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!

Richard: Screw being professional right now. I’m just happy he’s back!

Donnelly smiles at the capacity crowd and turns his head to the announce table, raising the mic to his mouth as he does.

Nitz Donnelly: I heard that Richard you crazy prick! Heheh and you’re right as rain sunshine, I do have a ton of shit to spit. You all know me by now and you know I talk straight from the heart, so listen up and fuckin’ shut them pie holes so I can educate your asses!

The crowd gets louder in their belittlement, but seem to quiet down when he looks to speak again. His guards are keeping close watch of the curtain.

Nitz Donnelly: It was a few weeks ago now, ReVolution 136 to be exact that "Ms. Skank Boss" decided to let her cosmetically altered jizz trap litter the your television screens at home. I apologize if you damaged your TV sets from throwing something big and heavy at them to rid you of the nightmare mug from hell, but she made it quite clear that I was not welcomed around these parts for the foreseeable future. Now, mind you I wasn’t too concerned at first because the less I had to look at her in person, the less I wanted to take a rusty nail to my eyes and gouge the fuckers out. I was doing ok until I received a phone call from Global Championship Wrestling, asking for an interview.

The crowd boos heavily at the mention of the competition.

Nitz Donnelly: So I won’t bore you with all the details as I was apparently too explicit for their website. Yeah, you heard me... TOO EXPLICIT! Well fuck Caldera and the horse he sucked off on, cause I’ll be explicit as I want you asstart. THAT’s why everyone wants to pay the money to get a piece of the Donnelly, cause I’ll spit it, fuck up your children and screw your daughters, wives and sometimes mothers!

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"

Donnelly points to the psycho fans in the front row. The crowd gives a new mixed reaction as PRIME Security finally shows up on the stage and begins their trek to the ring to take out the trash. Donnelly’s own guards leave the ring and block access.

Lisa Tyler: Security, remove that man from my building immediately!

She appears on the stage as she speaks, Donnelly being forced to mock cover his eyes and moan in pain to the amusement of his posse in the front row. But the humor is short lived.

Nitz Donnelly: I suggest your security team stops right there you windy blow cunt. My guards are here to enforce a temporary restraining order against you and you’re security. Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right darling. You’re apes lay one finger on me and I’ll practically own you bitch. I’m sure I could pimp out that greasy ass to someone wanting to die of a brutal crotch disease. There are some sick fucks in the world.

Lisa Tyler: You can’t do th...

Nitz Donnelly: I can and I damn well did! So seal both lips and let me say my fuckin’ piece you useless ten cent tramp!

Now the fans don’t like Lisa Tyler a lot and some are enjoying the way she is being talked to. Good thing mothers have enough common sense to leave the youngins at home so their tits can be shown on live TV... wait, what?

Nitz Donnelly: Don’t scrunch up your nose at me doll, cause I ain’t taking any of your shit today! I know you almost creamed your slacks in anticipation of throwing me out of the building, but as you can see, it’s not happenin’. Now I’m almost wetting myself in anticipation of showing you this!

He reaches for his zipper and begins to pull...

Nitz Donnelly: Yeah, like I’d give you the fuckin’ pleasure...

He whips his hands back to his pocket and pulls out a folded set of papers. He holds them in the air.

Lisa Tyler: Tell me what you’re getting at Donnelly. You’re trying my patience right now. I know you talked to GCW and if Steven Caldera had an ounce of smarts, he would avoid you like the plague.

Nitz Donnelly: You mean like the men and you’re sweaty meat curtains?

"PRIME THAT SHIT!"

Nick: Is this even gonna air on TV?

Richard: Uncensored, that’s what the contract with FX says. Anything short of sex and nudity is allowed. Although THE DONNELLY~! would probably break those barriers too.

Nitz Donnelly: Well then I guess Caldera is brainless and dickless. The poor sack of shit, cause I have in my hand a signed and delivered contract offer from GCW!

The crowd looks to Tyler and sees the confidence draining from her features as she lowers the microphone to her side almost in defeat.

Nitz Donnelly: Yeah, I see the intensity slipping away you sorry witch. I’m money to this organization, like it or not! This contract is ready to go. No stupid performance based shit either. This is a guaranteed offer to yours truly stating that Nitz Donnelly is a member of the GCW roster.

Lisa Tyler runs her hand through her hair, sighing, wondering just what she had done. Sure, Donnelly was a problem to her and she wanted nothing more than to see him gone. But the board would think differently as The Ego of New England had brought in plenty of revenue from autograph signing parties to merchandise sales. Some of the crowd was starting to warm up to him too, but rest assured no one was sitting in the building when he came around.

Nitz Donnelly: But wait... there’s something missing.

He opens the contract so show the camera zooming in to the GCW Seal of Approval and the signature of Steven Caldera, but one line was ominously blank.

Nick: Donnelly hasn’t signed that contract!

Richard: *clapping his hands* You figure that one out all by yourself Nicky?

Nitz Donnelly: You got it, I haven’t signed the contract... yet. So I am not a member of GCW... yet. You see, I decided to give it a little time, to think about it and to give PRIME and it’s butt pirate Board of Directors time to counter this offer. You dug yourself in a hole you wasted hag, but I’m throwing you a shovel. So remove it from your cunt and dig your way out, and bring me a contract to counter this one. You have one fuckin’ week to come back to me with something. At ReVolution 142, give me a shiny new contract... or kiss my white Boston ass goodbye!

He turns and pulls his pants over his behind, showing his lily white ass with what looks to be Lisa Tyler painted on a cheek, puckering up. He slaps the crudely painted likening of Tyler and the crew in the front row go nuts!

"KISS HIS ASS!!! KISS HIS ASS!!!"

Rawkfist starts up in the arena again as Lisa looks on in disbelief. Some more of the crowd gives Donnelly a warm reception, his straight laced attitude perhaps winning over a few naysayers. But the rest do not boo. Instead they sit in silence. This round, and perhaps the battle had just been won by The Ego of New England.

Nick: ReVolution 142 has just gotten interesting! Nitz Donnelly will either get a contract offer from PRIME, or he will walk to GCW!

Richard: If PRIME has any mind whatsoever, they will get him under contract.

Nick: I have to agree... I may not like him, but he certainly brings a whole new atmosphere to the table.

Donnelly is outside the ring, leaning back first against the barrier, the dozen Donnelly fans patting him on the back in support as he casts a grin right at Lisa Tyler.

Nick: Well, we…

# LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #
# GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #

Once again, Sound and Fury’s music hits and the two appear at beneath the Wal*Tron to a modest reaction. Ian and Gil are each wearing typically gay outfits: Ian in pink shiny pants and a sequined shirt, and Gil with pleather pants, no shirt, and a pink boa. The two raise their hands, then jog towards the ring.

Richard: Weren’t these two nut jobs already out here tonight?

Nick: Yeah, for their match. Maybe they felt they had something else to say.

Nick is right, as Ian calls for a microphone.

Ian: Hello, 80’s music fans!

There’s a small cheer as Gildenstern sets up two steel chairs in the middle of the ring, then grabs a microphone as well. Ian looks back at his partner and nods, then once again looks out to the audience.

Ian: So I know we just wrestled in an opener, and we beat the pants off of that team with all the R’s in their name. But this is what it’s all about. Because we appreciate the support and fan mail you’ve sent to us since we joined here…

Gil: All except for Joe from Arizona, to whom we ask: please stop sending your movies. We don’t like them.

Ian: But because we appreciate you all, we’re giving you a little treat. Bernie, hit the music.

Suddenly, "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley hits.

Richard: RICK ROLL!

Nick: I’m not sure…

Richard: I hate these guys, BUT THIS IS THE BEST SONG EVER.

Ian begins swaying back and forth as he lifts the microphone to his lips.

# We’ve lost matches a lot #
# But now we’re back and we’re going far#
# Starting now we’ll take down all PRIME’s got #
# Like Dusk even if he TRIES TOO HARD #

# And I #
# Just wanna let Sonny Silver know #
# That he can have the losing gimmick back #

#Never gonna lose again #
# Never gonna get us pinned #
# Never gonna make us tap in submission #
# Never gonna get knocked down #
# Never gonna LET YOU DOWN #
# Just ask Risk and Reward – we’re bitchin’ #

The instrumental kicks in as the fans cheer heartily.

Nick: Well, this is…

Richard: I want to hate it, but…THAT SONG!

Ian gets ready to sing again when he hears a loud clang noise.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Turning around, he sees Tyler Chance and Aaron Andrews in the ring, Andrews holding a chair. He also sees his tag partner on the ground thanks to a vicious chair shot. Before Ian can react, Andrews lays Ian out with the chair as well.

Nick: This isn’t right! Risk and Reward are just mad that they lost earlier!

Richard: Well, I’m pretty sure half the audience would have done the same thing. Ian isn’t really a crooner. Not like that Jason Snow.

Nick: Uh…

Tyler Chance and Aaron Andrews start to talk trash at the fallen 80s pop stars. Andrews spits on Gildenstern, and the two leave the ring to a heavy chorus of boos.

Nick: Well, I don’t think Ian and Gil are going to be happy about this once they wake up!

Lisa Tyler gives a brief knock on the half-open door to Blaine Blair’s office, before pushing it open, not bothering to wait for the obligatory ‘come in’. What she finds upon entering the room, is a bit of an odd sight. Blair sits on the edge of his desk, holding up several different shades of lipstick in his hands, studying them closely.

Tyler: What are you doing, Blaine?

Blair: Trying to decide which one you'd look best in.

Tyler: Beg pardon?

Blair: You wanted to sign that obnoxious brat, Donnelly, so you’re the one that gets to kiss his butt goodbye and tell him best of luck in GCW. I'm not giving him a dime till he impresses me… not a few drunk frat boys in row four.

Tyler: Blaine, I…

PRIME’s CEO caps the lipstick and drops them on his desk (don’t ask why he had then handy in the first place) and crosses his arms, interrupting his GM.

Blair: I’m tired of this, Lisa. His mouth is going to get us in trouble with the FCC. We don’t have the green light to say and do whatever we want just because we’re on later in the evening and bring in great ratings for FX. High ratings give you some wiggle room, not a free-run to trash every ethical standard known to mankind. He’s like an Andrew Dice Clay that somersaults and jumps around like a monkey.

Tyler: No kidding. He grates my last nerve.

Blair: Ya know, come to think of it, I’m not going to make you go out there next week and deal with Nitz.

Tyler: You’re not? Thank God. If I had to look at his face again, I’d probably haul off and punch him in his mouth.

Blair: I’ll take care of it next week. I’ll deal with him myself. I’ve got a few issues I’d like to address with him, and if he doesn’t like it, I’ll have him thrown out.

Tyler: What about that restraining order against PRIME security?

Blair: I have other means. One of the perks that comes with this position.

A sly, confident smile spreads across the face of Blair as he unfolds his arms and steps around behind his desk, taking a seat in his leather chair.

Blair: I’m gonna make a couple calls. Make sure the rest of the show goes down smoothly.

Lisa Tyler nods her head and exits the office, already feeling lighter in her step, and thankful of the load that’s been lifted from her shoulders.

Hoyt is backstage talking to Neil Diamond about life, liberty, and the pursuit of Hoytness.

Hoyt Williams: I think you should really try to do some country music.

Diamond: I think what I’m doing is working just fine.

Hoyt Williams: Hey listen pal, I’m just trying to help. Sweet Caroline was a long time again.

Diamond: Yea I think it came out about the same time you last won a match.

Before Hoyt could respond Big Al Larcher enters the room in a panic.

Big Al: As your new campaign manager I got you an amazing photo op!

Hoyt Williams: Operation?

Big Al: Opportunity. That little kid in the wheelchair wants your autograph and a picture with you.

Hoyt Williams: Ewww is he contagious?

Big Al: No he’s handicapped, he was dropped when he was a baby. He’s a crip not sick.

Hoyt Williams: Should I really be taken pictures with active gang members? I mean the crips are fairly hardcore.

Neil diamond just rolls his eyes as he exits the room looking for the catering table. Al stands and tries to explain it more to Hoyt.

Big Al: NOT THE GANG, HE’S CRIPPLED.

Hoyt Williams: Oh you mean like paralyzed and drooling, like the crowd stuck watching a Lindsay Troy. I get it. Bring the little cripple in here.

Hoyt puts on a surgical mask just in case the kid is contagious. In wheels the little kid who is happy to meet Hoyt Williams. Along with him enter some members of the press.

Kid: Hi Hoyt I’m a big fan.

Hoyt Williams: Well I mean that goes with out saying. The world is my fan. Everybody in this locker room is jealous of me. I understand you being jealous I mean I have legs that not only are perfectly constructed but they work. BOTH OF THEM!! But the kids around here HATE me simply because I’m the son of God. Simply because I have achieved everything they want to.

Kid: Ummmm

Hoyt Williams: When I become President, people like you are going to pushed into…

Big Al: HEY HEY HEY!!

Al pulls Hoyt to the side as the reporters wait eagerly with the pens in hand. He lectures Hoyt for a second in his ear before returning to the kid.

Hoyt Williams: When I become President, people like you are going to pushed into a glorious nation of acceptance?


Big Al nods.

Hoyt Williams: ACCEPTANCE! It’s going to be amazing I mean if they could accept Olsig into the Hall of Fame we can accept even leg less lads. That is what the Hoyt Williams nation will be about. We will accept anybody who wants to work. Now lets get that photo.

The Hoyt bends over and gives the big thumbs up behind the kid in the wheelchair. As soon as the photo snaps Hoyt exits the room.

It'd been more than six months since Chet Worth had entered a PRIME ring. Six months since he'd been dismantled by Nova, systematically. Six months since those Fuck You assholes had ruled the world, and turned the CEO of PRIME into a quivering mess.

A lot can happen in six months. Chet Worth had gained confidence, looking to right the wrongs of what he'd done to the greatest wrestling company in the world. Nova was (thankfully) retired, sitting in Amsterdam, smoking hash pipes and drinking beer. Fuck You had been gone for months, thanks to internal strife. Lindsay Troy was champion. And Blaine Blair was the man now, dawg.

He stretches his back on the ground as a pristinely polished man's shoe steps inches from his face. Without looking up, Chet Worth speaks.

Chet Worth: Bruno Magli? Really?

Blaine Blair: What can I say? I like them. They're comfy.

Worth looks up with a smile, extending a hand to Blaine Blair.

Chet Worth: Good to see you, Blaine.

Without so much of a look, Blaine, waves Chet's hand off.

Blaine Blair: I'd like you to know that I was against this. I didn't want you back in this company, but, Tyler Nelson felt that you deserved a second chance.

Chet Worth: Well, I'm sorry to--

Blaine Blair: I wasn't finished. Just because we have history together, Chet, don't expect any special treatment. I was your second in command, and I thank you for showing me the wrong way to do things, so that I could do things the right way. But, that's where the gratefulness ends.

Chet Worth: That's fine. I--

Blaine Blair: I. Wasn't. Finished. This week, you wrestle Tony Gamble. And I like that. You pushed him to the moon, and since then, he's been less than stellar. Maybe he did it to spite you. Maybe the two of you had an agreement. I don't know. I know he probably wants some of you for pushing him so hard. And I like that, too. Next week, you're going to wrestle, too. And the week after that. And the week after that. You're going to wrestle this entire company, and I hope you lose every single match. And then, once this quest to "right your wrongs" is over, I'm going to fire you, and I'll smile when I do so. Understood?

Chet Worth: Well, at least my run will be finite. I can appreciate that.

Blaine Blair: Good.

After a few moments of silence, Blair looks down at Chet.

Blaine Blair: How's your dad?

Chet Worth: He has his days. Some good, some bad. Thanks for asking.

Blaine Blair: Sure.

Awkward silence.

Chet Worth: Soo...

Blaine Blair: See you in the ring, Chet. Good luck. I think you're going to need it.

Chet Worth: Yeah. Me too.

Nick Stuart: The first of our two main events tonight...

Richard Parker: Pits the King against the Pauper!

Nick: That's one way to put it I guess. I'll take it that Facey is the Pauper?

Richard: You'd guess right. Facey is going up against the King of Kings.

Nick: I think the IFE would go against you on that one.

Richard: I don't think I care.

Nick: I think you're going to get some odd objects in your suitcase tonight.

Richard: That's nothing new, trust me.

Nick: Oh, I believe it.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall and is a non-title defense!

Nick: Snow was able to get the pinfall in last week's match and thus doesn't have to defend his title until Great American Nightmare.

Richard: Where we might just see Chainz rip his head off of his body regardless if they're in a match or not.

Nick: With Chainz, that's always a possibility.

Vince Howard: Introducing first...

Then, "Touch the Sky" by Kanye West rips through the arena as out comes the Illustrious Face-Eater to, well, a cacophony of cheers and some jeers from the fans that he's pissed off, or pissed on, take your pick. He walks out with an aire of confidence in his step at his rematch against Jason Snow after losing the prior match against him for the PTC Unification Title. Tonight, he's determined to have a different result.

Vince Howard: Hailing from... well, we'll say Mars for tonight because we're still not quite sure. Weighing in at, well, he needs to put on some weight as well. And standing at, well, he needs phone books to see over the steering wheel, but he's still the ILLUSTRIOUS! FACE! EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!

Facey just looks at Vince Howard before sliding into the ring and twirls around as he waits for his opponent to come out.

Nick: I'm going to say that Vince Howard took some of whatever IFE took earlier tonight.

Richard: With IFE, that's a complete possibility.

Nick: For the Face-Eater, he's going to be looking for revenge tonight.

Richard: He's going to still be looking after tonight, that's for sure.

Vince Howard: His opponent...

"Touch the Sky" by Kanye fades out and then "Right Next Door to Hell" roars through the arena as the fans remain on their feet and cheer and boo Jason Snow as he walks out with the PRIME 5*Star title around his left shoulder. He looks down the ramp at Facey with a smile on his face.

Vince Howards: Hailing from the Great White North, standing at six feet and one inch, and weighing in at 232 pounds, he is the PTC UNIFICATION CHAMPION AND THE PRIME 5*STAR CHAMPION! THE ORIGINAL VILLAIN HIMSELF! JAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOON! SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

As Howards finishes up, Snow slides into the ring and hands his title to the referee for this non-title match. Snow looks over at Facey and looks ready for his upcoming match as he stretches out his arms and then shakes them up as he starts walking towards the Face-Eater.

Richard: And there is the GREATEST! wrestler known to mankind!

Nick: If you say so.

Richard: I do, Nick. I damn well do!

Nick: Okay, calm down. It'll be okay. These two are surely destined to tear the roof off of the arena tonight!

The bell then rings.

Snow and Facey immediately lock up in the middle of the ring with Jason getting the upper hand over the smaller but agile IFE. Snow has him in a headlock as Facey grabs Snow's wrist and twists it to put him into an arm bar. Snow winces from the pain, but turns towards Facey before kicking him in the midsection. He then grabs IFE's wrist and puts him in an arm bar, but the Face-Eater flips out of it before knocking Snow onto his back with a leg sweep. IFE then bounces off the ropes, but Snow is quick to his feet and drops him to the mat with a dropkick that the fans approve of. Snow continues the assault as he stomps away at the Face-Eater who is desperately trying to get to his feet only to have Jason harass him on his way up. Snow lands a few shots to the face before pushing the Face-Eater into the nearby corner. He then whips him across the ring and runs after him. IFE however hops onto the second rope and kicks Snow in the face as he gets close to him. IFE then turns around and leaps off the middle turnbuckle and nails a jumping neck breaker on Jason Snow before going for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

And Snow is quick to kick out, as IFE knows that this match is a long way from being over.

Richard: What the hell was that? Did IFE really think he was going to win the match this early? Damn fool, I tell you, damn fool!

Nick: You have to keep the pressure on somebody like Jason Snow who is seemingly unbeatable as of late.

Richard: Damn straight, he refuses to be stopped.

Nick: He can be stopped though.

Richard: Prove it.

Nick: What?

Richard: I said, prove it!

Nick: Um... no?

Richard: Okay.

Facey never relents though as he slams his boot into the kidneys of Jason Snow who fights through the pain to get to his feet. He goes for a forearm smash on the Face-Eater, but he sees it coming and ducks it. As he does so, he reaches behind him and grabs Snow's neck and drops him with another neck breaker that leaves Snow crumpled on the mat. The Face-Eater then bounces off the ropes and nails an elbow across Snow's throat as the momentum is firmly behind him. He then grabs Snow by his blonde hair and pulls him off the mat before slamming his knee into his midsection. Facey then bounces off the ropes again and connects with a bulldog! He rolls Snow over and goes for another cover, eager to end this as soon as possible.

ONE!

TWO!

And once again, Snow is able to kick out immediately after the two count. Facey doesn't let it phase him though as he just gets back up and rushes over to the nearby corner. He quickly climbs it before he turns around and let’s loose with a moonsault that connects!

Nick: And the Face Eater continues to keep the momentum on his side as he's throwing everything that he's got at Jason Snow! He intends to make up for that lost for the PTC Unification Title a few weeks back.

Richard: And he shall fail miserably, I tell ya, miserably!

Nick: IFE is an amazing wrestler and can very well pick up the victory tonight.

Richard: IFE would lose to a small child if it meant getting some new exotic drugs.

Nick: True.

Snow pulls himself up to his feet ever so slowly as Face-Eater just watches and waits. As Snow turns towards Facey, IFE nails him with a drop kick that sends Snow through the ropes and to the outside. IFE wastes no time as he bounces off the ropes, hops onto the top rope, and nails 480 plancha onto the fallen champion. The fans show their approval as they cheer on Facey who is on his knees and slams his fists into Snow's elegant face. IFE then gets up on his feet and walks over to the steel steps before dislodging them. He drags one over close to where Snow is and just leaves it there as he hops onto the ring apron and looks at Snow who is slow to his feet once again. Yet, Snow continues to fight through the pain and gets up as he doesn't realize the steel steps behind him. He looks at IFE who quickly jumps through the air. Yet, Snow is able to react this time and ducks the flying IFE. Yet, Facey is agile enough to land on top of the stairs and uses his speed as he follows through with a roundhouse kick to the back of Snow's head!

Richard: Okay, that hurt.

Nick: That's some astute commentary there, Richard.

Richard: That was a pretty astute kick there, Nick!

Nick: Face-Eater hasn't slowed down at all in this match as he's brought everything he's got.

Richard: Facey has always come off as a fantastic wrestler who could never win in the big matches. This will be no different, trust me.

Nick: Okay, Richard, you keep saying that.

Facey then drags the prone champion over to the other half of the steel steps and puts his head on top of it before he walks back to the other set of steel steps. He picks it up and walks over to Snow before gently placing the other half of the steps on Snow's head who isn't moving after the roundhouse kick. Facey then walks backwards before getting onto the ring apron and climbing the nearby turnbuckle. He looks down at Snow who isn't moving at all and just shakes his head.

Richard: Go ahead and be a spot monkey, Facey.

Nick: IFE just stands there on top of the turnbuckle and you know that this is where he excels, where he can be one of the bests.

Richard: Yeah, we know Nick. He's a glorified spot monkey.

Nick: Didn't you just say that he was a fantastic wrestler?

Richard: He comes off as one. Big difference.

IFE does exactly what they're thinking of and flies off the top rope for a splash.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Yet, he doesn't quite make it as Snow uses his strength to launch the steel steps into Facey's ribs and midsection!

Richard: Now that's what I'm talking about!

Nick: Where in the hell did that come from?!

Richard: He's a King, Nick, Kings can do that.

Nick: You're off your rocker.

Richard: I'm pretty certain IFE spiked my brownies.

Nick: You ate brownies that IFE gave you?

Richard: Yeah, that might not have been the smartest thing for me to do.

Face-Eater continues to squirm around on the floor as he feels like his ribs have just transformed into dust. Snow grabs at the ring apron and slowly starts to bring himself to his feet as the fans cheer him on. He shakes his head slightly as he tries to clear the cobwebs in his head. He then looks over at Facey and drags him towards the nearby ring barrier. Snow then climbs over the ring barrier as the fans slap him on the back and then he launches himself into a front flip and drops his leg across IFE's throat, which just worsens his pain. Snow doesn't slow down though as he gets onto his knees and slams his fists into his face a few times before pulling him off the ground. Face-Eater takes a chance and throws a fist at Snow, who just ducks it, and grabs an off balanced Face-Eater and nails him with a release German Suplex!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: And Face-Eater just went flying!

Richard: Such strength from Jason Snow! This is why no one can stop him! No one!

Nick: I'm certain a rather large giant has other ideas.

Richard: And he'll fall at his feet too.

Nick: This is Chainz we're talking about. I don't think Chainz is falling at anybody's feet.

Richard: There's a first time for everything, Nick.

Back on his feet, Snow grabs Face-Eater and rolls him back in the ring as the fans cheer Snow on. Jason pulls himself up onto the ring apron and Face-Eater starts to walk over to him only to be met with a shoulder to the midsection from Snow. IFE stumbles backwards from the blow as Jason runs up the nearby turnbuckles and connects with a Whisper in the Wind on IFE! Snow rolls through it and gets right back on his feet as he bounces off the ropes and nails Facey with an elbow to the sternum. Jason then gets back up and drags IFE with him before nailing him hard with a European Uppercut that sends IFE into the ropes. The momentum sends Facey right back at Snow who is ready for him and slams him to the ground with a spinebuster! He immediately covers the Face-Eater!

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: So close! Count again ref!

Nick: A close call for IFE who has found the tables turned on him.

Richard: Snow is in complete control now. This match will be over in just a short time.

Nick: I wouldn't be so sure of that, Richard.

Snow sits there on the mat and looks at IFE, knowing that the Face-Eater is not going to just go down in this match without a fight. He pulls himself back up as Facey starts to do the same. Snow helps him up and pushes him into the ropes before whipping him into them. As Facey bounces back, Snow goes for a clothesline, but IFE is able to duck it in just the nick of time. Snow turns around goes for another clothesline, but Facey ducks again only to grab onto Snow's arm and uses his athleticism to nail a headscissors on the 5*Star Champ! The fans cheer on Facey as he and Jason get right back up only for both men to go down as Facey nails a drop kick! Both men get up quick and this time Facey feels the mat face first as Snow nails a lariat on IFE that flips him inside out!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: And Facey is eating the mat as he's probably not even sure which way up is right about now.

Richard: Like I said, Snow is in complete control of the match.

Nick: Yet, he hasn't won the match.

Richard: Give him time, Nick, give him time.

The crowd continues to support both men in the match as Facey gets back up and nails a fist to Snow's face. Yet, Snow doesn't seem fazed by it as he whips Facey into the nearby corner and nails him with a clothesline! IFE stands there dazed for a moment as Jason backs up and tries to go for another one only to be met with an elbow to the face from IFE. Facey then hops up onto the second turnbuckle and nails a flying clothesline on Snow! Once again, both men get back to their feet quick and Facey uses his speed to run to the nearby ropes and goes for a springboard moonsault on the standing Snow! Yet, Snow is able to use his strength to catch Facey mid-air and slams him to the mat with a shoulderbreaker that puts Face-Eater in a considerable amount of pain. He squirms around as Snow begins to climb the ropes and just waits for the Face-Eater to get back up. He does so slowly and turns towards Snow clutching his left shoulder that's in a considerable amount of pain. Snow flies through the air and goes for a crossbody, but Facey is ready for him as he drop kicks Snow in the ribs and drops him out of the sky hard!

He then goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: And IFE nearly picks up a victory!

Richard: Come on, Snow, don't let him take you down like that!

Nick: Facey with a well placed drop kick to the ribs and I'm pretty certain by the end of this match, all of their ribs will be broken.

Richard: As long as Snow wins, I won't care.

Facey slams his fists into the ground as he thought he had the match won. He slowly gets back up as he grabs at his shoulder that he's pretty sure is dislocated. Instead of giving Jason time to breathe, he rushes up to him and kicks him in the head a few times before dragging him over to the nearby corner and sits him up in the corner so that Snow's head is just a few inches above the bottom turnbuckle. Facey then runs to the opposite corner and then runs full speed at Snow and leaps into the air before nailing a devastating kick to the back of Snow's head! The eyes in Snow's head rolls to the back of it as he slumps to the ground. Facey once again goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: And another near fall for the Face-Eater! He's determined!

Richard: Trust me, Snow is just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Just you watch.

Nick: Are you certain? Snow has been on a grueling schedule as of late and then on top of that, he’s being stalked by Chainz!

Richard: Stalked by Chainz? Is that a reason to be scared?

Nick: Being looked at by Chainz is a reason to be scared, fool.

Back in the ring, Facey starts to pull Snow up off the mat and goes to punch him in the face. Yet, Snow is able to duck him and as Facey turns around, he’s dropped onto the mat. With the Snake Eyes.

Richard: What’d I tell ya?! HUH?! What’d I tell ya?!

Nick: And Facey looks to be knocked out after that superkick out of nowhere!

Snow then climbs the nearby turnbuckle and looks down at Facey before deciding to end this once and for all.

Richard: X-RATED! MATCH IS OVER BABY!

Nick: And Snow goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

…

THREE!

Vince Howard: Your winner… JASON! SNOW!

Richard: And another victory for the great and magnificent, Jason Snow.

Nick: Wait a minute! What’s that!?

Richard: Here we go again!

Nick: That’s Chainz coming down here!

Indeed, the evil man-beast jogs to the ring, his eyes focused intently on the fresh meat waiting for him. Inside, Jason Snow has noted his enemy’s presence and is preparing himself for the inevitable fight.

Richard: I’m telling you, Nick, this doesn’t end until one of these two men is dead! This isn’t about wrestling anymore. This is about sick and twisted bloodlust from Chainz, and this is about revenge for Snow!

Nick: I think they’re both about to get exactly what they’re after!

In the center of the ring they collide. Snow, still recovering from the match, swings wildly with a haymaker right, but the monster gets underneath of it and takes Snow down. They exchange punches for a time after that, with Snow taking the worst of the beating until he manages to reverse his circumstances and roll himself on top. The crowd is wild with excitement all around them.

In time, Chainz bucks Snow off and the pair find themselves on their feet again, circling each other, their eyes fixed in deathlocks on each other. The hatred that burns within each man is tangible. This has been coming a long time.

"HOLD IT! HOLD IT! HOLD IT!"

Snow and Chainz both freeze long enough to direct their attention to the Wal-Tron where Blaine Blair is making a brisk pace toward the ring, followed by several of the arena’s security guards. Within moments, they’ve flooded the ringside area, physically interjecting themselves between Jason Snow and Michael Sloan.

Nick: Blair looks pissed.

Blaine Blair takes a moment to fire his displeasure at each of them in turn before saying anything else.

Blair: Gentlemen, and I do use that term loosely, I realize that there’s a lot of bad blood between you, but how many times must I say it? I can’t have you derailing PRIME shows just to get your fix of each other.

He pauses for a moment while the crowd boils around him.

Blair: I’ve had it up to here with the both of you!

He turns to Chainz with an accusing finger.

Blair: First of all, I think it was a bad idea to sign you to a contract in the first place, let alone reinstate you last week.

And then he turns to Snow...

Blair: And you... you’re the idiot that talked me into bringing this psycho back to PRIME, just so you could selfishly get your revenge!

Snow gives Blaine a deadly smirk, and then turns his eyes back on Chainz at the opposite end of the ring. The two begin a yelling match over the shoulders of security that Blaine silences within seconds.

Blair: Enough! If you two want each other so badly, fine! I have no problem with that. What I do have a problem with is you tearing each other apart before we ever get to a sanctioned wrestling match. So since you won’t keep away from each other, how about I make it so you can’t get away from each other!

A satisfied smile creeps over Blair’s face as the audience grows restless with anticipation. He’s won the attention of both his wrestlers now, and they’re waiting curiously for him to finish.

Blair: How about this...? How about, come the Great American Nightmare, I feed you to each other like the animals you are? How about at the Great American Nightmare, we see Jason Snow... we see Chainz... locked together inside a steel cage!?

The audience explodes around them, giving Blair cause to beam. Obviously, both Snow and Chainz approve as well.

Blair: Two men enter, and one man leaves. To be honest, I don’t give a damn if you two get in there and kill each other! But the rest of this stuff - interfering in matches, attacks in the hallway - this ends now! Now!

He gives one final stern glare to both men.

Blair: I’m putting a no-contact order in place on both of you, so long as you’re inside a PRIME arena. That means no fights in your locker rooms, no pushing in the hallway... if one of you so much as sneezes on the other, this match at the Great American Nightmare is off, and you’ll have to find some other way to settle the score. I’m not about to have one of you trip over your wrestling boots and wind up on the shelf for a year while we’ve got your names on PRIME tickets. In fact, I’ll do you one better - I’ll place this no contact order under pain of suspension. I trust you know what that feels like, Chainz?

Blair turns to give the beast a threatening look, but both wrestlers seem to be swallowing this stipulation hard.

Blair: So, ladies and gentlemen...

He addresses the crowd once more.

Blair: So long as these two gentlemen can behave themselves, you’ll get exactly the match you’ve been waiting for. Jason Snow... Chainz... inside a steel cage! Think of the carnage... think of the buyrate!

After taking a moment for another smug smile and a look over either shoulder to his wrestlers, Blaine Blair drops the microphone and walks out of the ring, leaving security behind to ensure that Chainz and Snow keep their peace. For their parts, the combatants lock themselves in a cold stare down, eager to finally finish this at the Great American Nightmare, in a steel cage, with no escape from the other.

2-0.

Sorry, Facey, but some nights just don't belong to you.

He slowly comes to just as Snow hops out of the ring, the faint glint of his gold titles under the lights making the sting that much more painful. For the second time, the Face-Eater has fallen to Jason Snow in singles encounters.

"Right Next Door to Hell" echoes loudly through the arena, merely pounding the loss in his head.

Should be my music, he thinks as he pushes to his knees.

Richard: Meh, he gave it a good run.

Nick: Something tells me that the little man is not going to be happy about his second consecutive loss to Jason Snow.

Just as Vince Jacobs is about to climb out of the ring, the Face-Eater quickly sneaks behind him and snatches the microphone from under his arm. He flips the switch on the bottom and jogs back to the center of the ring, his vocal chords prepared to unleash hell.

Face-Eater: CUT THAT SHIT OFF.

The confused fans, commentators and ring announcer all hush their fuss, eager to hear what the defeated Adam Dick has to say.

Face-Eater: Can you believe this fucking shit? Mike and I beat the silly shit out of those two hick losers, and the next show, THEY are the ones getting the opportunity for Tag-Gold? Along with some jerk-off pair of rookies? WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT?! Meanwhile, I get thrown into ANOTHER unfair match with Jason Snow? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? HUH?! WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT TAKE TO GET RESPECT AROUND HERE?

Richard: Yes! Another patented rant from the Illustrious Face-Eater.

Nick: God, break out the NoDoze.

Face-Eater: What more do I need to do? Get K-Wolf and Sirrajin back here to take a fat shit all over their chests? Shove a whiffle ball bat up Tyler Nelson's asshole? Shove my foot so far in Ignatius Lisieux' gut that it gives Johnny Noble colon cancer? No, those guys are all ancient history. Maybe I should give Sonny Silver another humiliating defeat? Try to artificially inseminate Lindsay Troy in her sleep?

Facey stomps back and forth across the ring, his footsteps being heard clearway up in the nose-bleeds.

Face-Eater: Nah, I don't need to do any of that. I don't need to try and prove ANYTHING to you fucks--my track record screams out for itself. In PRIME, I am ONE TITLE SHY of joining the Grand Slam Club. Wade and I slaughtered everyone on our path to dominance in AWC, holding every championship the fed could offer between us at the same time. I won that Philadelphia Blogger's Wrestler of the Year award. AND, and this is a big AND, I won the Chris Williams Memorial Cup. YES. THAT WAS YOURS TRULY, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER.


Richard: Can't deny a man's ability to keep things trill around here.

Nick: Trill?

Richard: Well if the Face-Eater doesn't, who will!? Diego Delgado!?

Face-Eater: Don't you get what all this means? IT MEANS I AM A SURE THING. IT MEANS I AM AN INCREASE IN BUY RATES, MERCHANDISING SALES AND BOX-OFFICE NUMBERS. IT MEANS THAT IT SHOULD BE THE UNFUCKABLES GETTING TAG-TEAM TITLE SHOTS, NOT SOME ROOKIE TEAM AND THE ASSHOLES WE BEAT AT THE LAST PAY-PER-VIEW. It means that I should be getting a Universal Title shot, not some fucking clinically depressed sociopath who lost TO MY ZOMBIE ROBOT. Will someone tell me what the fuck is wrong with this planet? What's a guy gotta do to get him shown a little love here? Cuss like I have Tourette's Syndrome? SORRY, NITZ DONNELY, BUT FUCKING YOUR FUCKING GIMMICK FUCKING IS FUCKING TAKEN, YOU ASSFACED BAG OF SHIT.

Nick: ...I can sense a little hostility in his voice tonight.

Richard: A little?

Face-Eater: I went back to the A-List because you people need awesomeness in your lives, and I'm not going to deprive you. But this isn't only my battle, America! THIS IS OUR BATTLE. I can't sit here and keep yelling in Lisa Tyler's ear if she doesn't want to listen. If she wants to keep me down, she can keep trying. But the uproar won't stop, will it? I will keep dominating FOR EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.

His blood-thirsty stare lends to his deranged appearance, unnerving a few fans in the front rows that he points at. But Facey can't be stopped now. He's on a roll. Only a freight train could level him, now...

Face-Eater: It doesn't matter who it is, and we all know it! You can send every single one of those FUSE degenerates I've already slain. Hunter Jones, "Fag Shit" Bobino, Jason O'Neil or even John Covel; NONE OF THOSE FUCKS CAN HANG. The PRIME Killa? DIGITAL MORTALITY MIGHT HAVE THE REST OF THE ROSTER'S NUMBER, BUT WHEN IT COMES TO A REAL MAN, HE CAN'T FACE THE FACE. That's right, PRIME fans, look to YOURS TRULY for dependability. Look to yours truly for epic talent that cannot be contained in my tiny frame. I reek of awesomeness and peons attempt to benefit from my overflow.

Nick: Sure, he has an impressive track record, but he's inconsistent.

Richard: Inconsistent?! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!

Nick: So blowing up in a ring, pretending to be a ghost and then a zombie, and framing your stablemate is the definition of reliability?

Richard: Touché.

Nick: Thank you.

Richard: I'm sorry, I meant to say 'douche.'

Nick: Oh, real original...

Face-Eater: THERE ISN'T A SINGLE PERSON IN THIS BUILDING THAT CAN STEP TO ME, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU KNOWS IT. You already witnessed the fall of the mighty Jason Snow, how many others will it take? Dusk? Wade Elliot? Jacob McKail? I ALREADY HAVE THE CHRIS WILLIAMS TROPHY, THOSE FUCKS PROVED TO THEMSELVES THAT THEY CAN'T REACH MY LEVEL. Foster Nackedy, again? HE'S IN A HOSPITAL BED WITH BIRD FLU! Seriously, who the fuck gets Bird Flu? Faggots, that's who. I think I've made my point, ladies and gents. This is ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-EIGHT-POUNDS of FURY. NO ONE WANTS A PIECE OF THIS. Not anyone from PRIME, not anyone from FUSE, and DEFINITELY not anyone from GCW.

Nick: I'm sorry, did I not just see Jason Snow beat him less than five minutes ago?

Richard: FLUKE, Nicky. They're all flukes.

Though most PRIME fans show loyalty towards the flagship show, the other former PTC heavyweights still garner some respect. Some sections offer boos while the others cheer wildly as Facey degrades the opposing talent.

Face-Eater: Whether it's their joke of a "world's greatest tag-team" or their even bigger joke of a World Champion, I will set up and knock down each and every one of them. Even their Chosen Champion, the Mighty Yakuza, the Fat-As-Fuck Wonder from Yonder, KIMBUSA, cannot step to this! I treat his belly like a trampoline and leap my way through to victory.

Nick: What's that commotion...?

Face-Eater: Am I rambling? Am I boring you? Apparently I've lost some of your attention. Well, don't let me ruin everyone's fun! Let's play a little game! Come on, it's trivia-time, lads and gents. Tell me; how many more times will Kimbusa return from his crawl-space in a dark alley for some half-assed chance to "return to glory?" Come on, it's a logical question that must be asked, considering his less than stellar track-record in his so called "domination of professional wrestling." I'll tell you how many times---NONE. He won't come back to GCW and he definitely won't come to PRIME because he knows he can't show his face. HE KNOWS that his bitch ass would just get laughed at for the freakshow he is, and rightly so. For being a quiet dude, he's got a loud moth to back him and I put Caldera in his place. I showed him that the Mighty Yakuza is just a lackluster fartknocker. I proved to everyone that Kimbusa is far from legendary.

Nick: It looks like there's something going on in the crowd over there.

Facey doesn't notice the commentators craning their necks to get a better look at what the fuss is about. He's in mid-rant—there's no stopping now. Well, y'know...

Freight Train.

Face-Eater: But this isn't about everyone else and how much they suck when compared to me... EVERYONE knows this. This is about the recognition from the higher-ups. And until those assholes in the PRIME offices start offering me the accolades I so rightly deserve, I will continue to build my legend. Soon, there won't be a glass ceiling thick enough to keep me contained. And once I climb to that oh-so-glorious peak, there won't be anyone left to stop me. Not Sonny Silver, not Legs-spread Troy, and definitely not the Mighty Kimbu-

The Face-Eater doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. An unfamiliar guitar riff fills the air and Facey turns about in confusion. Finally an all-too familiar face appears on stage. The PRIME crowd erupts in shock and anger as, clad in a sharp black suit and a beaming smile, GCW President Steven Caldera stands starting down the way at the Face-Eater. Facey’s face contorts with anger at the interruption, but Caldera doesn’t give him a chance to speak. He produces a microphone and slowly makes his way down toward the ring, ignoring the ferocious jeers from the crowd.

Caldera: So, this is where the enemy sleeps. I have to admit it brings me no pleasure to be here among the lowest-class of wrestling fan on the map, but I couldn’t just stand by and listen to this foolishness any longer. For a little guy you sure do talk loud, Facey, and I could hear you all the way from my home in GCW.

The crowd boos harder at the mention of the rival company. Caldera grins with pride.

Caldera: I know you people don’t like me, and I’ve heard some less than complementary things shouted at me in the ten seconds I’ve been out here, and a lot of those things are true. But one thing I never fail to do is give credit where credit is due, and Facey, you deserve some credit. You beat Kimbusa, something only a small handful of the most elite wrestlers in the world can lay claim to. So for that, I say congratulations.

Caldera: But that long and meaningless little diatribe of yours just now only serves to prove just how stupid you really are! You beat Kimbusa with the help of two other men, and in a match where a 500 pound man can’t be reasonably expected to take a 150 pound pipsqueak seriously. But you made a pretty big error, Facey, in not only daring to beat the man, but daring to continue to insult him after the fact. Had you been smart you would have pocketed what will surely turn out to be the only big win of your life and retired to save yourself any further pain and suffering.

Nick: Hey, wait a minute! Look out from behind!

As Caldera nears the ring a roar goes up in the crowd. A massive figure appears in the crowd, nimbly leaping the barricade and entering the ring area. The 500 pound Kimbusa stealthily climbs into the ring behind Facey, whose full attention is still locked on Caldera. Kimbusa comes to a halt immediately behind Facey, dwarfing him in the spotlight.

Richard: …This could get ugly here…

Caldera: I promised you hadn’t heard the last of Kimbusa, Facey, I told you that he’d be close behind you. Well, now he’s closer than ever, and you’re going to find out what it means to cross GCW!

The Face-Eater finally senses the hulking form behind him and slowly turns. He stares straight up at the six-foot-six monster before him before being cut down by a massive overhand chop. Caldera calmly climbs into the PRIME ring while Kimbusa begins stomping at Facey, who flails about in a vain attempt to escape.

Nick: Steven Caldera and Kimbusa have invaded PRIME, and they’re wearing out the Illustrious Face Eater here! He never saw this coming!

The Face-Eater finally fights his way back to his feet, but Kimbusa grabs him with a single powerful hand around the neck and slings him through the air and into the turnbuckle. Kimbusa immediately follows him in with a running splash, crushing Facey against the corner. The crowd oohs as Facey slumps to the mat.

Caldera: You see, you really never had a chance, kid. This is the most powerful man in professional wrestling, a man who eats your body weight as an average meal! You never should have run your mouth, because now you’re going to face the consequences.

Caldera nods to Kimbusa. Kimbusa pulls the Face-Eater into position under the turnbuckle and begins to climb. He begins bouncing on the second rope, getting big momentum before flying down with a huge banzai drop on the Face-Eater’s chest. The move elicits a huge "BOOM!" from the sickened and angered crowd, and Kimbusa remains in a calm seated position on the motionless Face-Eater’s chest.

Caldera: Now that that’s taken care of, we can take care of a little house cleaning. I suppose all you people have heard by now that in about a month’s time, GCW and PRIME will be co-hosting a Pay-Per-View event of epic proportions, and it’s all thanks to MY vision and business sense. You see, the small-minded management here at PRIME never had the balls to concoct something like this, nor to challenge GCW. But there’s no turning back now. On November 4th, at DEVIL’S NIGHT, GCW is going to show PRIME what REAL wrestling is, it’s going to show all you idiotic fans why you’re missing out on the best wrestling product on television, and it’s going to show pathetic no-talent hacks like the "Illustrious" Face Eater why the best talent in the world wrestles for Global Championship Wrestling!

Nick: …Kimbusa is still sitting on the Face-Eater down there…

Richard: I don’t think he can breathe…

Caldera: So I’m here tonight with a message for every PRIME wrestler, from Lindsay Troy down to this little weasel here—

Caldera points down at the Face-Eater, whose legs alone protrude from under Kimbusa’s ample posterior as a sign that he hasn’t been crushed flat.

Caldera: --that GCW is prepared to go to war. For too long we’ve sat back and let this pathetic company rest on its laurels. For too long we’ve tolerated you people letting this roster skate by on hype and rhetortic alone without ever having to prove itself against real world-class talent. That ends on November 4th. GCW is going to host the greater show of the evening to give you PRIME fans one last chance to cross the picket line. And we’re going to give each and every PRIME star a chance to see the best wrestlers in the world up close and personal. And if anyone in the back doesn’t believe me and still isn’t convinced by that sight there—

Caldera again points to Kimbusa, still seated in cold passionless silence on top of the Face-Eater.

Caldera --you’re welcome to step up to the plate and step into the ring with the talent of Global Championship Wrestling. We’re not backing down from any challenges. We’re here to prove a point. And I hope tonight demonstrates to each and every one of you why I am the premier wrestling promoter in the industry and why my company is the premier product. I can come here any time I wish and demolish anyone I choose; my slightest whim can mean the end of this travesty you call a wrestling promotion. But I won’t do it now; tonight was just a demonstration of what the Illustrious Face Eater has in store for him at the hands of the Mighty Yakuza. But Facey’s fate will be the same as every other wrestler in this locker room come November 4th. You are all going to be destroyed and there is NOTHING you can do about it.

Caldera’s guitar riff cues up once again as Caldera sneers with disdain at the crowd. The PRIME fans extend him the same hatred as he turns back to Kimbusa and taps him on the shoulder. Kimbusa finally rises, revealing a withered body beneath him. The two go to leave, but Kimbusa has second thoughts. He returns to the turnbuckle and scales it again, this time gaining an even higher bounce than before. With huge elevation he brings his full weight down on the Face-Eater’s sternum once again, driving the last remaining breath from his lungs.

Nick: Oh my God! Caldera and Kimbusa have just annihilated the Face-Eater here in a PRIME ring!

Richard: Hey, he wants a war, he’s gonna get a war!

Finally Kimbusa leaves and slips out of the ring. Caldera buttons his jacket and steps out behind him. Together they walk back toward the stage, basking in the furious screams of the PRIME crowd as they exit, leaving the Face-Eater flattened and motionless in the ring.

“The Enemy” by Godsmack.

Nick: AND HERE WE GO!

Richard: What’s all this? Lindsay Troy’s not scheduled to be out here!

A collection of roaring takes over the ears and the entire Hartford Civic Center Coliseum go batshit for the sounds of Sully Erna’s voice reverberating throughout the building. Smoke rises from either side of the entryway and a vibrant display of pulsating colors envelops the arena.

Nick: One would think Lindsay Troy’s got a few words to say about that absolutely vile assault on Wade Elliott last week, but given their spat earlier tonight, I'm not so sure.

Richard: Regardless, Sonny sent a message to Lindsay Troy, loud and clear, with beating the hell out of that stupid sheep-lover. He can’t touch her, so he’s gonna go to every other avenue to get in her head.

As the lyrics continue, the cavalcade of cheers becomes a horrid hovel of hollering.

Devin Shakur.

Tony “The Grin” Gamble.

Sonny Silver.

Nick: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?

Richard: HA! These fans are more gullible than Paris Hilton being told “I’ll only put it in for a second!”

Nick: You thought it was Lindsay Troy, too!

Richard: Nah, I knew it was them the whole time. I was just screwing with your head… dumbass!

While Nick sighs to himself quietly, the triumvirate of talented individuals. All three men saunter into the ring and look to the hateful crowd. Devin brushes them all off and snatches a mic from the timekeeper before smiling.

Shakur: Turn that shit off, now!

“The Enemy” fades out while Sonny chortles at their offensive act. Sonny and The Grin each lean against an opposite corner of the ring nonchalantly while Devin prepares to speak. Before he opens his mouth, many chants of “SHAKUR SUCKS!” ring loud throughout the arena. He merely chuckles and furrows his brow.

Shakur: I help orchestrate a beautiful plan to injure a stupid redneck, I beat down a referee with some bullshit NBA mentality, I piss on all of your heroes weekly and plow an insanely hot Chinese communist and the best you people can come up with is “Shakur sucks?” Where the hell did most of you people go to school? In Connecticut? Oh, wait…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He shrugs and comically turns to his cohorts as if to say “Hey! What’d I say?” Sonny and Tony shrug while Devin continues.

Shakur: Now, the talk around the locker room for the past seven days has been “Hey! Who the hell are those sexy bastards and did they form a group? ARGH, TOO MANY STABLES! ARGH!” Well, Fuck You and Team PRIME are deader than wrestling fans brain cells. Half of those people are gone and the A-List only formed because they were bored one day and have done nothing but collect dust in a skybox this go-around. So rather than sit here and be forced to watch The Illustrious Face-Eater and Mike Wade rant about nothing in Faganese, Chandler Tsonda eating dogs and Danny Ferguson playing “OH, WHAT WILL I DO ABOUT MY CAREER?” The three of us -- the most vicious bastards you’ve ever come across – have come together at long last.

He passes the mic off to The Grin who gets a slightly stronger blast of hatred. The permagrin stays intact, but its wickedness is backed by the actual sick smile plastered on his face.

Gamble: We’ve here because quite frankly, we’re tired of the norm here. Things are boring. Lindsay Troy comes in with her title belt, collects a paycheck, says “Fergdor” sixty-thousand times, makes a pop culture reference or twelve and goes home. Danny Ferguson makes a movie reference, whines about not getting title shots and Emmys because More Than Hardcore made a lot of money and he isn’t getting one cent and goes home. Brandon Youngblood makes a wrestling reference, he acts so vanilla that I was thinking about throwing some sprinkles on him just so he’d be remotely interesting, then he goes home. Dusk tries too hard and... Oh yeah, he's already at home. But you get the idea. It’s clockwork. And to be honest, this place is in need of a good wake-up call. That’s where we come in! Take it away, Captain.

Finally, the hatred goes fever-pitch as Sonny revels in every last scream. He takes the mic from Gamble and laughs.

Silver: HARTFORD! THANK YOU FOR THAT LOVELY RECEPTION!

Some fans jeer, but the majority pop at the mention of their hometown. PRIME’s Loose Cannon sneers at their predictability and chortles.

Silver: THIS is what I mean! Every week (whiny voice) OH, MY GOD! HE SAID THE NAME OF OUR TOWN! I LOVE YOU! I HATE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I HATE YOU! I WAshut your fucking mouths, you stupid twats! Call us whatever you want. Stable, alliance, faction, regime, fac-gime! Just know that the three of us are here to stay and here to take what rightfully belongs to us!

They jeer once more, but he presses on.

Silver: It’s fucking frustrating. Somebody like Lindsay Troy can come in here and win a belt when the REAL athletes that have sweat, bled buckets, and worked their fucking ASS off get nothing. By some grace of GOD, she’s managed to deny me my right to hold the Universal Title. She chalks it up to her being better than me, but if you look back at those matches, it was ME slapping her around for twenty minutes and ripping her leg apart. It was ME putting her on her back and it was ME smashing a microphone into her hideous face and it was FERGUSON that saved her ass from losing the title and nothing more. She thought she was cute trying to play tricks on me… mock me weekly… flaunt that title belt in my face… but last week she did something. All those traps I’ve set for her, all those times I set her up to take a fall… she’s vulnerable.

Pacing around, he laughs.

Sonny: I make a habit to watch every last one of these shows in my spare time. For months, I saw her ass make little wisecracks here and there about my abilities and about my personality, but every last thing she told Wade Elliott was true.

I can out-fight ANYBODY on this roster.

I can out-wrestle ANYBODY on this roster.

I’m just a little South of 40.

And yet… Lindsay, I keep getting better with age, just like you know the rest of this cliché. You know what awaits you at the Great American Nightmare and you’ve got my shadow lurking over you. My last title shot? Fine. But don’t you DARE fucking tell me I haven’t earned this shot, bitch. I damn near fucking DIED for it on so many occasions, The Grim Reaper’s practically my nigga at this point and I’ll be DAMNED if some sawed-off Amazon tells me otherwise. As for Wade Elliott, it’s unfortunate. He’s got a little bit of that old soul that I like in people, but I USED him to send a message to you. Come Great American Nightmare, you won’t have any friends to keep me from crossing into a cage. You won’t have the ability to get a fucking fluke move on me out of nowhere. You’ll have to KEEP me down for more than a little three-count and actually do away with me; something neither you nor anybody else can do in this organization. You…

“Hit It” by Toby Keith.

RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Richard: Oh, come ON!

Nick: You know what that means! That's the sound of our INTENSE CHAMPION!

Sure enough, out stalks The Blue Collar Brawler, Wade Elliott, Intense Title gripped tight in his right hand, a microphone in the left. Silver and the gang stare up at him with frustration, and Wade returns with a face resembling something of a thunder-cloud. The music fades, leaving only the roaring of the arena.

Silver: Wade! Glad you could make the party! I…

Wade Elliott: Shut yer fuckin' yap.

Ruaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Silver's face boils over while the crowd shows their support for the 'Bama Bruiser. Wade waits a moment before returning the mic to his lips.

Wade Elliott: Well lookit here! Got a regular ol' shindig goin' on!

A slight pause, as he smacks his teeth with his tongue.

Wade Elliott: Lucky ole me to find ya'll sittin' together like a bunch of fuckin' ducks.

Another pause from the Drifter.

Wade Elliott: Ya'll know what ya bring along when ya go huntin' fer ducks?

Wade locks eyes at the three bastards in the ring.

Wade Elliott: You bring the Big Dog.

Ruaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Sonny’s about to say a few words when Shakur snatches the mic from his hand unexpectedly. He climbs on the first rope and leans over, not taking his eyes off the Southern Sparkplug.

Shakur: You know what, corn pone? You want to fight so bad, we aren’t going anywhere. So bring your narrow ass and my Intense Title to this ring and we won’t have to wait until next week!

Wade spits on the ramp before replying.

Wade Elliott: You can shut yer fuckin' mouth too you fuckin' pussy.

Pop.

Wade Elliott: As far as MY fuckin' Intense belt goes, you sure as shit ain't gettin' it tonight, 'less I smash it into yer forehead. But I do have intentions on givin' you that re-match. And yer damn right it'll be in a cage, and yer sure's shootin' it'll be no knockout, no count out, no DQ, all that horse shit, cuz I have EVERY fuckin' intention of knockin' you out to within inches of your god damn life, and maybe then you'll get the fuckin' point that you don't fuck with the Big Dog!

RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

Wade Elliott: So at ReVolution 142, yer gonna see a cage match with Wade Elliott. BIG DOG. INTENSE. CHAMPION. Against Devin Shakur. SHIT STAIN. NUTLESS. CUNT.

RUAAAAAAAAAH!!

Silver: HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY! The crazy, senseless cussing is MY schtick, asshole! But seriously, you Confederate fuck, if you’re looking for a repeat performance of last week, then come on down!

Wade Elliott: Calm yerself fuck-face, I ain't finished.

Silver's eyes nearly pop out of his head and he nearly bites through his teeth.

Wade Elliott (pointing to Gamble): I'm seein' a mutilated piece of shit sittin' there in the back...

He dangles a finger in Gamble's direction, causing The Grin to complete his malicious little grin as he places his hand against his chest.

Wade Elliott: ...and remember somethin' from last week real fuckin' clearly, and I ain't 'bout to forget it.

Gamble’s turn to speak again. Sonny hands him the mic as last year’s Jewel in the Crown winner speaks up again.

Gamble: I seem to remember what my fellow compadres remember: you talking a bunch, you challenging Sonny, then you flat on your back. That was… how do the kids say… pwnage?

Wade's lips curl, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a grin of his own.

Wade Elliott: Yeah, yeah, I'm rememberin' that, but now I'm seein' somethin' in my head...

Wade puts a finger to his temple in thought.

Wade Elliott: ...it's in a few weeks from now, yeah, I'm seein' it clear. It's my big fuckin' boot shovin' itself straight down yer fuckin' throat! At the Great American Nightmare! In a god-damn Dog Collar Match!!

RUAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Nick: WHOA! The Big Dog has challenged The Grin to GAN!

Richard: This redneck really is an idiot.

Silver: You know what I see? I don’t see a Big Dog. In fact, I must be watching the Sopranos right now, because all I see is a Big Pussy!

Wade Elliott: Well take another fuckin' look, cuz all yer 'bout to see is the back of yer fuckin' eyelids.

Wade drops the microphone, sending a "thud" through the PA system, and charges down the ramp, his drifter's hat flying off before he clambers into the ring. The fans go crazy, but all the screaming doesn’t equate to the success of the Intense Champion’s assault. All three members of this newfound alliance pick at Wade like buzzards and start throwing boots into whatever part of his anatomy they see fit.

Nick: These bastards! Wade Elliott’s a tough SOB, but he can’t really be thinking with a clear head after that attack seven days ago!

Shakur holds up the Intense Champion and pins both arms together while Sonny and Gamble take turns delivering boots to the gut of the ‘Bama Bruiser. Sonny bounces off the ropes and FLOORS Wade with a stiff boot to the stomach.

Richard: Way to take him down a peg!

Gamble does the same and bounces off the ropes...

WADE DUCKS!

The Flying Forearm from Tony Gamble misses, but nails Shakur in the head, knocking down the Commie Emo for the moment.

Nick: Holy crap! The Grin just hit the wrong man! Wade’s fighting back now!

Before Gamble has the chance to realize his mistake, Wade goes full-bore and RAMS his entire body weight into The Grin’s body via a Spear! He sees Sonny coming out of the corner of his eye and cuts off the #1 Contender to the Universal Championship with a STIFF Uppercut to the jaw that sends him rocking against the ring ropes.

RUAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Nick: I don’t know whether or not these three men have a name for this quasi-alliance of theirs, but they’re gonna be called DEAD when Wade Elliott gets his hands on all three!

The Blue-Collar Brawler stomps like a madman on the canvas and lets out a roar of feral life that’s reciprocated from the tens of thousands of fans. He grabs The Grin in his grip now and scoops him up over the shoulder…

Nick: Here it comes, the Rebel Yell!

He runs forward...

Richard: HAHA! GOOD TIMES, PAINFUL MEMORIES!

The annoying color commentator calls it. Just as Wade’s about to finish off his potential opponent for the Great American Nightmare, the fast feet of Devin Shakur find their mark across the top of his cranium. The new Intense Champion crumbles to the mat from the sheer impact and finds himself back down once more. For the second week in a row, Good Times, Painful Memories becomes the anthem of Wade Elliott.

Nick: Damn it, the numbers game caught up to Wade Elliott!

His opponent for next week’s cage match stands over the battered champion now as Sonny motions for both Gamble and Shakur to pull him up. They do so, but only to his knees. Captain Ahab starts pummeling him with right hand after right hand, each blow finding its mark on a select area of the Big Dog’s face. Once he’s had his fun, Sonny snatches up his body and THROWS him into the corner violently. He backs up several feet, then...

Nick: DAMN IT! The Facewash from Sonny Silver and that damn kick to the skull may have scrambled Wade’s brains.

Richard: His brains must’ve already BEEN scrambled to do such a stupid move like take on all three of these guys.

The camera closes up on Wade’s face and for the second week in a row, a bloody gash has been opened up. This time, his forehead becomes the victim. Wade struggles to stand on his own two feet following the succession of brutal maneuvers from two of his hated enemies, but a third one in the form of a submission attempt happens…

Nick: DAMN IT! Gamble’s got him locked in the middle of that ring in the Smile for Me!

While Sonny throws some extra boots into various parts of Wade’s body to brutalize him in the submission hold, Shakur takes the Intense Title in his grip and waves it in the face of the current champion while he’s forced to look up in the confines of Gamble’s submission.

Richard: LOOK AT THAT PRETTY SIGHT, NICK! YOU’RE LOOKING AT OUR NEW INTENSE CHAMPION COME NEXT WEEK!

Realizing the trio have done enough to prove their point, Gamble finally releases the hold and Shakur lets the title drape across the now prone body of Wade Elliott. For good measure, Sonny PUNTS Wade in the ribcage, sending him skittering across the canvas.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: That Punt Kick of Sonny’s he’s been utilizing in the last few months just found its mark in his ribcage.

While Wade is out in the corner, staring at all three of his hated rivals through baited breathes and a crimson mask, “Stomp Yo Head” by Doomsday Productions hits the PA while they make a hasty retreat.

Richard: Point made! Wade knew what he was getting himself into, but now he’s gonna get it next week!

Nick: I hesitate to agree with you most occasions, but you could be right. For the second week in succession, Wade Elliott on the receiving end of a beating from these three men, but while EMTs attend to the Intense Champion, we’ve got to take a break! Stay tuned!

The camera’s last visage before fading to black is that of Wade crawling around, trying to make it back to his feet under his own willpower. Gritting his teeth, his gaze doesn’t leave the curtain as we cut to commercial.

Small children gather around Hoyt Williams in a city park.

Voice Over: Hoyt Williams understands that the children are our future.

Hoyt gives a small black kid a high five as they both laugh.

Voice Over: Hoyt Williams understands that women make poor champions and even worse presidents.

A perverted guy peeks over at a small girl while sitting on a park bench. Hoyt Williams walks over and boots him in the face.

Voice Over: Hoyt Williams hates child molesters!!!! He will bring back public hangings in town square of people who do bad to children or have the last name of Youngblood.

A kid tosses Hoyt a football which he catches and laughs about.

Voice Over: Hoyt thinks blacks can play quarterback but is against black quarterbacks who murder dogs.

Hoyt pets a puppy dog then him and the dog laugh.

Voice Over: Hoyt Williams hates the flu and Danny Ferguson and will work to end them.

Hoyt Williams: I’m Hoyt Williams and I approve this message.

HOYT WILLIAMS for PRESIDENT
Less of a Heel then Nixon……

Richard: It’s main event time on t3h 141!

Nick: Indeed it is, Richard. Tony Gamble-

Richard: THE GAMBLE~=~!

Nick: Will be taking on the returning Chet Worth. In what was a shocking turn of events, Worth returned on 140 and said he wanted back in the PRIME ring.

Richard: And Gamble is the ideal person to make a return against? Yeah, right

Nick: Well Chet is a former Dual Halo winner so he has to know something about the squared circle.

Richard: Dude, you don’t get it. Gamble is PWN 1337 O…M…G…WOW

Nick: …Yeah, we’re going up to the ring now, that good?

Richard: Sounds good B.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall is and is the Main Event! Introducing first, weighing in at Fat, and standing Lindsay Troy…MAKING HIS RETURN…CHET WORTH!

The crowd explodes

Goes back to July 31st

Applies for entrance to be used

Forgets about it for 2 months

Gets AIM name right and IMs music director of PRIME

He remembers me

We work out a chance to get the music in sometime soon

Starts coordinating other entrances up until then and reads the occasional show

January 15th, a shitload of months later

Processing entrance...accepted...debuted...

HERE COMES CHET WORTH BITCHES

HI, PETE, WELCOME BACK! YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THIS!

Oh, Chet hit the ring sometime during that. He got a huge pop. You shoulda been there. It was sick.

Vince Howard: And introducing his opponent, weighing in at a burrito plus a calzone, and standing half of a hot pocket…TONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GAMBULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!

"IF YA SMELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL"

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"WHAT THE GAMBLE....IS COOKING!"

The Gamble bolts down the ramp from the back, and he's ready to electrify this crowd at the venue who Mattchu hadn't put up as of Saturday night. He rolls into the ring...AND CHET WORTH WITH THE ROLL UP!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

Winner: Chet Worth

Richard: WHAT?

Nick: CHET WORTH HAS DONE IT IN HIS RETURN MATCH

Richard: FUCK

Credits...

First seg- Mike and Dave

Record skip

Wait, so nobody remembers that time Rock beat Bossman at 98 Survivor Series in like 3 seconds?

John flipped out probably

Ok real entrance coming up

"IF YA SMELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL"

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"WHAT THE GAMBLE...IS COOKING!"

The Gamble rushes out…And gets in the ring. Yeah, we don’t have a health plan and our page got hacked by GCW. We’re not doing two entrances for someone.

DING! DING! DING!



Nick: Main Event time foh reez!

Tony Gamble and Chet Worth, a match that well not many thought would go down in late 2007, start circling one another with vulture like intensity. Gamble is looking to get back on top after going out second in the Roulette, and Chet Worth is looking to avenge his last match, a seemingly inevitable loss, at least at the time, to Nova. Gamble casually ends the circular stroll and goes up to Worth, who promptly slaps the taste out of his mouth.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Gamble slowly turns his head back to the front and gives him the most banging new look in wrestling today, the >=J.

Worth promptly gives him the old school hotness…A middle finger, and then slaps him again. Gamble goes for a right hand. Worth blocks and starts to unleash a fury of rights and lefts on The Grin, backing him up into the corner. Worth busts out a flurry of rights and lefts on Gamble, surprising the Jewel in the Crown winner. Gamble cannot cover up from the awesomeness that is Worth, so he has to get in between the ropes so that the referee can call for the break. Worth surprisingly gives him the break without a debate, and pays for it with a thumb to the eye from Gamble. A boot to the midsection follows and Gamble proceeds to Irish whip the big man into the ropes. Gamble goes to the right side and delivers a drop toe hold on Worth before scurrying up behind him and smacking him in the back of the head about seven times, Worth gets up, enraged, while Gamble backs up to the corner and grins mischievously.

Nick: Gamble trying to get in the head of Chet here early and get him off the game plan.

Richard: Come on Nick, the man chows down on probably ten pounds of pastry per day and beats off eight of it afterward. Do you really think he has a game plan?

Nick: He probably can still fire you if he tried hard enough.

Richard: GAH!

Worth and Gamble go for another lockup, Gamble prevents the lock up and smacks the taste out of Worth’s mouth. When the former PRIME owner rushes in, Gamble gives him a nasty dropkick to the mug. Only problem is, Worth doesn’t stop from it and rushes in, delivering some brutal head kicks to Gamble. In an attempt to once again create distance, Gamble tries to roll away, which only makes it worse when Worth full mounts Gamble and starts to drop hammer fists on the top of his head.

Nick: This one could be over right now!

Richard: I will lose all respect for Gamble if he loses to this disgrace.

Worth continues to pound on Gamble, who once again has to get a body part in the ropes to get Worth away from him. Yet again, Worth gives Gamble the clean break…Well, that is, until he headbutts Gamble in the balls, causing him to flail around like a fish before rolling out to the floor and curling up in pain.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: Chet Worth looking magnificent in his return match. Gamble had to underestimate him.

Richard: There hasn’t been any real wrestling going on yet. Once it goes down, Gamble will be back.

Ignoring the referees count, Gamble rolls back into the ring at the six count. He looks at his much larger opponent and starts to circle him. The two superstars lock up. Gamble spins the arm around and locks on a hammerlock. Worth attempts to shin kick his way out of it, but Gamble puts a boot into his hamstring, bringing Worth down to his knees. Quickly, Gamble straddles the arm and brings his weight down, before mule kicking Worth in the face and moving the hold down on the ground to an armbar. Gamble gets behind Worth and now applies a hammerlock while driving elbows into the back of the neck. Worth tries to squirm his way out of it, but Gamble keeps applying the pressure, eventually switching over to knees into the neck, making Worth grimace even more.

Richard: Get in there Gamble!

Nick: If Gamble can keep this on the ground, he’s got Chet pretty much dominated.

Gamble switches back around and starts driving knees into the forearm. Worth rolls over and tries to get to a standing position, but Gamble takes a hold of the arm and puts in a chokehold around Worth’s own neck, preventing him from getting that much needed breath. Gamble maneuvers his legs around Worth’s body and applies a body scissors at the same time, shifting Worth’s weight over to the right so that both holds can be applied simultaneously. The referee is all up in there, asking Worth if he wants to submit. Of course, the answer is a no and the crowd marks out like the fan boys and girls that they are.

Richard: Our commentary is really dry since we can’t do any of that ribbing stuff anymore right?

Nick: We’ve really gotta start attending those damn production meetings.

After some thinking, Worth manages to roll Gamble over, but at the same time gives up his back. The Grin only applies more pressure, and attempts to throw some freelance strikes of his own to the back of the head. The referee demands that Gamble stop the senseless mayhem, but only gets an evil glare from Angelo Deville’s Illegitimate Cousin. Worth does another roll and this time makes it to the ropes, achieving the break. Gamble gets up, but proceeds to drive his boot into the package of Worth, causing the crowd to riot and Worth to roll down to the floor.

Nick: Now what purpose did that serve?

Richard: Oh dick Nick, you loved it when Worth did it to Gamble.

Worth holds his package down on the floor, the crowd offering him support and encouragement to get back in the ring. Unfortunately, none of the women are offering to blow him, so that’s a bit of a downer. Gamble grasps a hold of the top rope, launches himself over, and latches his legs onto Worth’s head. A hurricanrana flips Worth into the stairs. Gamble takes a hold of Worth and rolls him back into the ring. The Grin climbs up the ropes, measures Worth, and hits him with a big legdrop. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THR-

Worth with a kickout! Gamble brings the big man up to his feet and starts to deliver the boxing jabs in. After six or so, Gamble shoots himself off the ropes and attempts to connect on a cross body block. As was predicted when the words cross body were used, Worth catches Gamble in mid-air, walks around with him, gets near the ropes, and flips Gamble overhead. Adrenaline rushes through his body. Worth gets up, and dusts his hands off, now staring down at his dazed opposition. Gamble charges forward once again, trying to get the better of Worth, only to fall into his arms and get slung with a belly to belly suplex.

Richard: Deugh!

Gamble gets up one more time, rushing headstrong into Worth, only to get a clubbing blow to the top of the head, followed by a Sonny Silver style saito suplex that puts Gamble on his neck in the opposing corner. Worth rushes up to his feet and bulrushes Gamble, using his bulk to slam into the 187 pound midget. Gamble takes a few steps out before falling flat on his face. Worth flips Gamble over and goes for the cover!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

KICKOUT!

Gamble gets out before the three. Worth doesn’t waste any time, going immediately to Crossface shots across the face of the former Five Star Champion. Gamble once again is rendered helpless due to the surprising power that Worth contains within these shots.

Richard: It’s because he’s fat.

Oh, well it’s still effective nonetheless. Worth brings Gamble up to a standing position, slips behind him, and proceeds to give Gamble the old purple nurple. The crowd squeals with laughter, while Gamble squeals in an attempt to get out of it. Worth lifts up under the armpits and starts to bring Gamble back into the knee, repeatedly. Gamble decides that the only way to get out of this is by using cost effective measures…

"OOF"

Or by kicking Chet in the package, whichever comes first. The Gamble turns around and belts Chet with a right hand, a second one, third one, and soon has Chet on the ropes in the corner. A fourth, and fifth right hand follows before Gamble holds his hand up high, magically receives a doughnut from the crowd, puts it three inches from Chet’s face, and takes a huge bite out of it, the jelly blinding the 2006 Dual Halo winner, and delivers his long awaited final right hand.

Richard: YEAH! THERE YOU GO! F**K YOU WORTH!

Nick: What was that?

Richard: …DAMNTHOSESOMEBIGT**S! F**K! S**T! WHY CAN’T I F**KING SWEAR ANY GO**AMN MORE! F**K YOU GUYS! I’M JOINING FUSE!

Richard storms off, leaving Nick to commentate the match by himself. Hopefully, he’ll come back.

Gamble brings a stunned Worth out to the middle of the ring, grabs the arm, swings through the legs, avoids the power fart of Worth, runs around, and hits the Through DDT. Gamble kips up and straddles Chet, looking out into the crowd.

Richard: THIS COULD BE THE MOST ELECTRIFYING MOVE IN PRIME TODAY!

Nick: I thought you left.

Richard: MOST ELECTRIFYING MOVE IN PRIME TODAY!

Gamble removes his elbow pad and throws it into the crowd, a catastrophe ensuing to get that piece of history. Gamble does the hand gesture thing, runs off the ropes, hops Worth, runs back, hops Worth again, stands, does the dust off the shoulders, and drops down…For an eyepoke! Worth oversells it like he’s been shot. COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Gamble looks up at the referee in shock, wondering how in the hell someone could kick out of a move that devastating. The referee only holds up two fingers, and Gamble is forced to swear under his breath. The Grin brings his opponent up to a standing position, gets under the right arm, and goes for The >=J Bottom. Worth delivers three elbows to get out of the match ending maneuver…

Richard: Uh-oh

KICKWHAMSTUNNER RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OMG…Alright, that didn’t happen. Worth catches Gamble around the throat with his right hand, and lifts up in what could be called a chokeslam, but instead according to the biography is a Choke Shove. Gamble looks to be dead out.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Nick: THIS CROWD HAS COME UNGLUED HERE!

Richard: You dumbass, if they were glued, how could they move around like they do?

Nick: …

Worth waits for Gamble to get back up to his feet, kicks him in the midsection, and goes for the Redemption, his match ender. Gamble fights it like there is no tomorrow, and eventually pokes Worth in the eye one more time, breaking up the hold. Gamble shoots off the ropes, ducks a vicious clothesline, spins Worth around, and hits the Stop Laughing At Me!

Nick: STOP LAUGHING AT ME! THIS COULD BE THE END RIGHT HERE!

Gamble hooks Worth up in the Texas Cloverleaf, steps over, makes sure that the legs are locked, bends down, and puts the fish hooks into the mouth. Worth is just hanging there, doing his best to fight out of the submission hold. Yet, as everybody knows, once this hold is locked in, there is no way out. The referee gets up in his business, asking Worth if he wants to tap. Gamble pulls back on the hold for his entire worth, which is about 5.99 cents if we do the height conversion currency thing. Gamble locks the hold in further, and Worth has no choice but to submit.

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of the match…TONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GAMBULL!

Richard: GEAH!

Nick: Well, Chet Worth decided to come back, and he got to go up against one of the best in PRIME, Tony Gamble.

Richard: I’m surprised we didn’t see an interference from any of the FU versions in this match.

Nick: That was surprising. Chet Worth is back in PRIME, but Tony Gamble is back to his A game it would seem. That is not good considering who is backing him up.

Richard: For PRIME, I’m Richard and that is Nick. Good night everybody.

Nick: That’s my line you motherf**ker.

Richard: HA! YOU GOT IT TOO!

Nick: F**K