The Bell Centre goes absolutely nuts as the camera pan around to open up the 144th edition of PRIME’s ReVolution broadcast! As "The Revolution Is Coming" by OTEP continues to blast over the house speakers, the cameras pan around to catch various signs.

"THIS MUST BE HARLEM BECAUSE LINDSAY TROY GOT ROBBED!"
"TSONDA 4 JITC WINNER!"
"GAMBLE’S SHORT, BUT HE’S THE S**T!"
"GO, SNOW, GO!"

…And so forth.

In the center of the ring, the decorum is a little different than most openings that greet the fans watching around the world. The ring is decorated with lavish red carpet both in the ring and leading up to it on the walkway. The turnbuckles are covered in all kinds of gold wrapping and sparkles. Basically, it looks like something Donatella Versace puked up.

Nick: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE’VE GOT A GREAT SHOW FOR YOU TONIGHT AND THANK YOU FOR INVITING US INTO YOUR HOMES ON TONIGHT’S REVOLUTION BROADCAST! WE’VE GOT A HISTORIC NIGHT IN THE WORKS AS WE GET TO SEE THE KICK-OFF TO PRIME’S MOST CELEBRATED EVENT – THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN TOURNAMENT!

Richard: I CAN BARELY HEAR MYSELF TALK OVER THESE CRAZY CANUCKS! BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! EVERY MAJOR TITLE PRIME HAD WAS UP FOR GRABS AND EVERY ONE OF THEM CHANGED INCLUDING THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP WHICH FINALLY RESTS ON THE SHOULDERS OF SONNY SILVER!

Nick: AND I’M BEING TOLD WE’RE BEING JOINED BY SONNY SILVER MOMENTARILY. WE FIGURED HE’D CELEBRATE IF HE EVER WON THAT THING, BUT I HAD NO IDEA HE’D GO THIS FAR!

At ringside, several men in trumpets start playing the music to "We Are The Champions" by Queen. As the crowd finally dies down to get this show underway, we find ourselves greeted with the presence of a trio that many thought we’d never see again on PRIME television…

One wielded a beret and a megaphone.

One wielded a microphone and a snazzy suit.

One wielded a camera and a testicle-killing lariat.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's the return of three men that not only nobody thought they'd see again, but three men that NOBODY wanted to see again.

Mega Job.

Beef had a massive grin on his face, as Janito held a microphone to Beef's lips.

Beef: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN IN... uh...

Beef whispers to Janito, even though everybody could hear him.

Beef: Where are we, Janito?

El Janito: Beats me. Where are we, Steve?

Steve: MONTREAL.

Beef: That's where that guy got screwjobbed, right?

Steve: INDEED.

Beef: Alright. (to the crowd) ...MONTREAL!

Nick: (sarcastically) Oh, yeah, we're off to a great start.

Richard: SILENCE!

Beef: WELCOME... TO THE GREATEST CELEBRATION THIS PLACE SHALL EVER WITNESS! WELCOME... oh, wait, the crowd died down so I don't need to scream any more... okay... welcome... to the celebration of the NEW Universal Champion! I give you, the one... the only... ... ... ... (whispering to Janito) Who am I introducing again?

Janito: (groaning) Sonny Silver.

Beef: ...SONNY SILVER!

Rather than be greeted with entrance music of any kind, the music of the trumpeters continue to play "We Are the Champions" as the curtains part and the fans continue to BOO their collective asses off.

Tony Gamble, complete with newly-won Intense Title.

Devin Shakur, complete with smug grin knowing he just knocked off Danny Ferguson in a singles match for the first time in 2007.

And finally…

SONNY SILVER.

Complete with Universal Title over his shoulder and all three men clad in fancy suits/clothes for the occasion, the trio of dickheads coined by many as The Fucklets make their way down to ringside and walk up the steel steps one by one. Gamble looks at the members of Mega Job filming and motions to Sonny as "is this REALLY necessary?" Sonny mouths "Yes!" before the three enter the ring.

For once in his life, Gamble looks down at somebody (El Janito, in this case) and scoffs in his direction before raising his title in the air. In a grand tribute to all things ceremonious, Silver waves his hands around in incredibly eccentric, yet charismatic fashion and holds his arm out to the sky in order to receive…

Nick: Oh, Christ…

Richard: THE OLD SKOOL MIC~!11!1 HAS RETURNED!

Sonny nods in approval, however this new version of the heralded microphone is now dabbed with an incredibly gold shine. Cupping the weapon in hand, Sonny looks out to the crowd and motions for the trumpeters to cease the playing.

Silver: MONTREAL…

The fans have no choice but to pop for the mention of their town.

Silver: …I’M WITH MR.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Laughing at his horrible Montreal joke, Sonny presses on.

Silver: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, FOR THE INTRODUCTION, THANK MEGA JOB FOR THE GREATEST ANNOUNCEMENT EVER AND FOR BEING THE ONLY FILM CREW I KNOW THAT WOULD GLADLY WORK FOR FREE… AND UNDER THREAT OF TORTURE!

Beef: (whimpers) He threatened to smash my Pikachu statue unless I agreed to do this...

Gamble: (whispering) And then he smashed it anyway.

Silver: But this isn’t just my celebration! We three men in this ring… the ones that have spent the majority of their lives on the outside looking in… WE are now the fucking inside! The yardsticks for which all future up-and-comers, contenders, and idiots crawling out of the woodwork will measure up to. And before I press on, I’ll let my cohorts say a few words.

Silver hands the microphone over to Shakur. Commie Emo isn’t wearing a Championship belt, but he doesn’t need to as he pulled off a monumental feat at the Great American Nightmare. Shakur is feeling compassionate this evening and wants to get in touch with the audience, so he decides to bring out a little pocket sized book…The title of said book, The Book of Heelsmanship. It’s about how to be a heel. Shakur opens up to a particular page and stares down. PRIME’s cameras have bangin zoom features so it catches the quote Shakur is reading:

Heelsmanship 21:49- If you want to get in touch with your audience use their own vernacular against them. The hatred will flow like a waterfall, trust me.

Devin Shakur: Alright ya hosers, listen up because I’m aboot to drop the pwn, eh?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"YOU SUCK EMO!"
"GO BACK TO THE STATES YA YANKEE PRICK!"

Devin Shakur: Someone gets me a moose to ride out of here with…Ok, what you are looking at right now is a bunch of winners. I accomplished something that nobody this year has been able to do, and that was defeat roid boy. Not only defeat him, but I knocked that little prick unconscious, cold, out, kaput, Ice Cube and Chris Tucker style DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!

"FERGUSON! FERGUSON! FERGUSON! FERGUSON!"

Devin Shakur: He doesn’t have any excuses and neither do you. I didn’t cheat to win. I didn’t bribe the referee. I didn’t threaten to blackmail him because he had sex in a parked car with Faith Rodriguez and a shemale…err Lindsay Troy…

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Devin Shakur: What, those pants of hers start out like a dime around her waist and then are mountain size by the time they get down to the legs, tell me something isn’t up with that. I did the one thing that I needed to do in order to cement my name in PRIME and that was come up clutch at a Pay-Per-View. My kick to Fergy was so lethal that I’ve heard that they want me as a coach on the next season of the Ultimate Fighter. Well, at least that would get better ratings than Dusk After Dark.

"DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK-BLAH! BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!"

Shakur combats the belligerent audience on the microphone.

Devin Shakur: WHAT HAS HE EVER DONE TO DESERVE YOU CHANTING HIS NAME? Does he have some Men In Black style memory eraser in those red eyes of his to make you forget he blows?

"FUCK YOU SHAKUR! FUCK YOU SHAKUR! FUCK YOU SHAKUR!"

Devin Shakur: I love you guys too, we should go get a drink after the show and you can the whole Canadian bacon thing to me. Alright, we good? You guys suck and I’m 1337? Bangin, here Gambs, take the stick.

You'd think Adam 'PacMan' Jones was in the audience, the way they were making it rain boos on the new PRIME Intense champion, as he is handed the microphone by Silver. He enjoys them far too much to ask them to stop.

Instead, he stands there with his left hand patting the face of the title like it was a new born pup.

Gamble: Wade Elliott is the next Tony Gamble.

The crowd seem to be a bit confused at Tony's comment, but they decide to cheer considering Tony mentioned one of their heroes' name.

Gamble: For weeks I had to listen to all of your crap about who's going to beat who, and who's going to do what.

He lifts the title off of his shoulder and thrusts it into the air above his head.

Gamble: This right here is all the proof you idiots need to see... proof that no second hand knock off will ever be as good as the original. Heck, ask Mattel if you don't want to believe me.

And the crowd gives Tony yet another standing ovation to show their displeasure in him, as he rests the title back on his shoulder and struts around the ring like a rooster on the prowl.

Gamble: I find it funny though, that the shortest man on the roster is the measuring stick that every new face with a hint of potential will have to measure up to. Of course, it could be worse... You could be compared to Dusk.

RRRUUUUAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

The crowd goes wild for one half of tonight's main event.

Gamble: You know, the little engine that always thinks he can... but never actually makes it over the top of the freaking mountain. You can be that guy that never really reaches his full potential, that guy that always comes up a tad bit short when it comes to actually sealing the deal.

Gamble rubs at his jaw, the same spot where he was kicked following his Intense title win at Great American Nightmare.

Gamble: Is that why you kicked me Dusk? Are you still jealous that Troy decided to pick up the red-headed, freckle-faced kid that no one else wanted on their team, then recruited the domesticated version of Garbage Bag Johnny before losing your number like you caught a case of herpes from Joey Melton.

A round of chuckles from the men in the ring, coinciding with the boos at the jab directed toward the former Universal champion from the crowd.

Gamble: You caught me unaware, hoping that your little joke of a kick would make me forget that you'll be lucky if you can get a contenders spot to the Alias title. So while you grabbed my attention for a brief moment, much like your career here in PRIME so far, I shrugged my shoulders and forgot about it. You're not worth my time, much less the energy I would need to spend to actually give a damn that you're back.

The Perma-scar Superstar makes his way over toward Shakur, his trademark smirk flashing brighter than a single star in the dark evening sky.

Gamble: Hit me up on my cell and leave me a message though... Two Eight One, Three Three Oh, Eight Zero Zero Foh.

Punctuating the statement with a hearty "HELL, YEAH!" Gamble passes the microphone back to the ringleader of The Group You Love To Hate. The jeers reach a fever pitch, but Sonny just presses on through the booing while hiking the Universal Championship over his shoulder. He’s about to speak when he stops and signals for a drink. From some inexplicable location, bottles of Hennessey and Courvoisier fly into the vicinity. Sonny and Shakur each catch one and start to pop off the top, throwing the drinks everywhere!

Nick: Oh, God, help us all…

Richard: SCREW A STEVEWEISER! These guys know how to make a frickin’ party!

Taking swigs from each, Sonny laughs boisterously while he, Gamble, and Shakur each clink their bottles together.

Silver: Ladies, gentlemen, bitches, witches, pricks, hicks, dicks, pitchers, strippers, rock bands, hair bands, preachers, teachers, my Canadian thugs up in the bleachers!

The camera pans to a small section of seemingly drunk Canadian fans bowing in honor of Sonny Silver’s greatest accomplishment.

Silver: THE BELT IS ON THE RIGHT PERSON AT LONG LAST! No longer are you going to be subjected to weeks at a time of "Oh! Does Joey Melton REALLY love me?" or "Hey! Let’s form a complex relationship with somebody out of my element so I seem like something more than a stupid dyke with misshapen breasts!" What you see in this ring is quite simply put… THE GREATEST UNIVERSAL CHAMPION EVER!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Come on! He’s had the damn title for a week and he’s already starting with the ego trip?

Richard: He is! It’s true! He defeated the Queen of the Ring herself!

Silver: Let me ask you doubting fuckers this: was Nova not the most fightingest champion ever? Okay. Did Lindsay Troy defeat him? She did. And did I not just kick her fucking ass? The proof is in the math! It’s the Championship Transitive Property! I kicked the ass of the bitch that beat Nova for this title who beat Tchu before him, blah, blah, blah, therefore, henceforth, and forthwith, you need to refer to me ONLY as the Greatest Universal Champion EVER!

Gamble and Shakur golf clap while Sonny takes a bow.

Silver: Ah-thank you. Lindsay Troy can probably get all up in arms about the Great American Nightmare, but I don’t sweat you, bitch. You haven’t been able to handle me since LindsayGate when you needed Danny to keep me outside a cage so you could avoid my wrath. NOBODY is exempt from my wrath, Lindsay, not even you.

There isn’t a SINGLE body in this place that can step up to me. I wouldn’t call Lindsay a "has-been" but after the beating she took from the King of the Ladder Match, I’d say her shot at the main event HAS-BEEN completed! I beat Ferguson – tag match, but I still pinned his Ginger Ass. Snow probably caught a look at me winning the title on the monitors and ran away like a bitch. The only people I would even THINK about giving a shot at this title are in the Jewel in the Crown tournament as a mere formality…

He gestures to Shakur and Gamble in the ring.

Silver: …So it looks like I get King of Kings off, then, eh?

Nick: THAT’S A LOAD OF CRAP!

Richard: YAY! Long reign for Sonny Silver!

Silver: Blaine, Lisa, if you can hear me, and I’m sure you both can… I look forward to taking this company in the RIGHT direction as the Universal Champion! I thank you. My cohorts thank you. The ghost of shitty champions past thank you. Good night!

The trumpeters play "We Are The Champions" again as Sonny, Shakur, and Gamble continue to drink the mighty booze of champions while Mega Job feel sorta left out.

Beef: Hey. Wait. We feel left out.

Gee, thanks Beef.

Nick: Well… I don’t know what to say! This ass is here one night and decides HE’S going to run things? I’m sure Lisa and Blaine Blair will have something to say about that!

Richard: Whatever! Happy days are here again!

Nick: Well, while we try to figure this entire situation out… MOMENTS AWAY! We have the 2007 Jewel in the Crown Tournament underway! STAY TUNED!

Nick: Well we’re already off to a raucous start here on ReVolution and we’ve not even had our first match yet.

Richard: Sounds about par for the course.

Nick: True. You just never really know what’s going to happen here in PRIME. Right now we’ve got two great opponents waiting in the ring for our opening bout, and the first match of this year's Jewel in the Crown tournament.

Yeah, so it turns out there are two guys in the ring, doing a few last minute stretches while the referee fiddles with the laces of his shoes.

Richard: Who are these guys again?

Nick: Well the one on the left is the Nashvillain, and the one on the right is…um…an unnamed Welsh luchadore.

Richard: O-kay.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

At the sound of the bell, the two men meet in the center of the ring to "lock horns" as the kids say, with a simple collar and elbow tie-up. They jockey for position, pushing each other back and forth around the ring. The unnamed Welsh luchadore takes the first advantage, positioning himself to cinch in a simple but effective side headlock. He wrenches the hold for only a second or two before the Nashvillain pushes him away, sending the Welsh luchadore into the ropes. The luchadore comes back at full speed, attempting to knock the Nashvillain over with a shoulder block. Unfortunately the little Welsh luchadore does not have the size nor power to achieve this goal, and only succeeds in stopping his own momentum and knocking himself back a few steps. The Nashvillain responds in kind, taking advantage of the luchadore’s momentary discombobulation (how’s that for word usage?) to lock in his own side headlock. This move, too, lasts all of about a second before the luchadore plants his feet and pushes the Nashvillain off toward the corner.

The Nashvillain slams chest first into the top turnbuckle, where he turns and falls to the canvas, slumped in the corner and holding his chest. The Welsh luchadore rushes to take advantage of the situation, stepping on the referee’s foot in his sprint to the corner. The Welsh luchadore begins to put the boots to his slumped opponent, all Steve Austin style, even turning to throw his arms in the air and play to the crowd after he’s done stomping.

Nick: The Welshman trying to get the crowd behind him here. Might be a little too early in the match to take his eyes of his opponent, I’d think.

And Nick thinks right. While the Welsh luchadore is busy trying to win the adulation of the fans, (and the referee is busy attempting to tie his shoe), the Nashvillain leaps to his feet and rushes forward, blasting the luchadore in the back of the head with a pretty stiff forearm shot. The Welsh luchadore stumbles forward from the force of the attack, and stumbles balls first into the referee’s head, who’s still bent over messing with his shoe laces.

Nick: This nameless Welsh wrestler has just racked himself on the referee’s head! In all my years of calling matches, I can’t say that I have ever seen that happen before!

The Welshman, shocked and in immense pain, stumbles backward, holding his own sack. The Nashvillain, who was running up for yet another back attack, cannot stop himself from colliding with the retreating Welshman, and the two wrestlers crack skulls in an unexpected series of circumstances. The Nashvillain falls flat on his back, out cold. The unnamed Welsh luchadore, completely dazed, spins on his heel before pulling a Flair and flopping face first to the mat, inadvertently headbutting the Nashvillain in the groin on the way down.

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t believe what I’ve just seen here. These two men have just cracked their heads together, and it looks like both of them are completely unconscious.

Richard: I’m sorry, I was reading a list of Corey Hart’s greatest singles. Um…what did I miss?

Nick points to the ring.

Richard: Wow. That’s…dude. So, what, this guy been taking wrestling classes from Faith Rodriguez? He’s got his face buried in that other guy’s balls like a little schoolgirl crying in her pillow.

Nick: What?

Richard: Not that I would know, of course. Not that I’ve ever seen a schoolgirl cry in her pillow. Or made her. Nope. Never happened. You can’t prove it, Nick.

Nick: Right.

Back in the ring, the referee has finished tying his shoe and looks about the ring to find his two competitors passed out in an less than auspicious position. He just shrugs and begins the count.

1!
…
2!
…
3!
…
4!
…
5!
…
6!
…
7!
…
8!
…
9!
…
10!

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Richard: What the eff?

Nick: Um…

Richard: Was that a double count out?

Nick: Yes.

Richard: With one dude buried to his nose in man-crotch?

Nick: Yes.

Richard: What the eff, man?

Nick: Um…how ‘bout we just move on, then?

Richard: Yeah. Let’s do that.

A red carpet unravels down the entrance ramp, a pair of stage hands doing so in a steady fashion. They have to be quick, because a few moments later the lights kick off. The Wal*Tron flickers a white grainy film for a moment, following up with a crackling sound of electricity. But it settles in, show us this:



Directly at the end of the clip, there's a quick flash. It sounds like a microphone is being dropped, rolling around on the ground and gathering loud feedback noise. The somberness is crashed like glass, however, as the feedback increases and the entire Wal*Tron and surrounding areas flashes a bright white.



Oh...like you didn't know. He's back, ladies and gentlemen. Back completely because now, the belt that defined him was back around his waist for a record breaking third time. No more talk of Ian English's record breaking streak with the belt. Two time champions like Hall of Famer Nova and the recently departed Jonathon Winters? They gave way to the man who had put it as the top secondary belt in the professional wrestling world, the man who had made it more important than most of the world's accomplished World Championships. When it came to 5-Star wrestling, there wasn't anyone who was in the league of the PRIME Pariah.

He saunters from the back, his body adorned with a pristine white dress suit and black Italian loafers, the top button of his dress shirt left undone. The 5-Star Championship is across his shoulder, the strap of which is colored a deep crimson. There isn't even a name tag on the belt, rather the center star has a white jeweled Y denotes who it belongs to. It was his, this title of all titles. Without it, he was naked, and without him the belt ceased having any tangible meaning.

The fans do their part, booing the former down and out Only Diamond In The Sport. But he had risen above, turned himself once again into a viable threat to an almost entirely new PRIME. Since returning from neck surgery, Youngblood had only lost a single match: Danny Ferguson. A flash pin was all that separated Brandon from being halfway up the ladder towards the longest winning streak PRIME had ever had. As it was, four wins, two of which won him the lifetime series against the viable Winters, was good enough for him.

He hadn't felt better, his stride having found him in the latter stages of a career where most believed he'd lost a step. And as he made his way down the red carpet, he stared from side to side, taking a self satisfied breath in. It hearkened back to the old days for those who had witnessed him at his apex, and it made them sick. No longer did he have to deal with the questioning of his place from those who had done half what he had. He had scoreboard. And that pissed EVERYONE off.

Climbing the ring steps, he went through the top and middle rope, microphone in hand. The music died down as he settled into the center of the ring with his chest puffed out and his posture rigid.

Brandon Youngblood: I come to you tonight...simply put...with a little bit of chest poundin' I got to do. For you see...the majority of the people within this company don't want me here...let alone in a position to have success.

He brings his free hand to his chin, rubbing it gently as his eyes narrow.

Brandon Youngblood: Which is why I had to wait this long to get a rematch for a title that I held. That I had. That I MADE! Not once. Oh hell no not just once. TWICE! I wasn't even knocked off one of them damn times because I had been FIRED! But the fact is, one three goddamn occasions, at three very different times in the history of PRIME, there's only one guy...only ONE! MAN! WHO HAD DEFINED THE FIVE STAR CHAMPIONSHIP MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE! That scrapped and CLAWED up the division rankings THREE GODDAMN TIMES! And once again...I'm alone on the mountain top.

The boos filter in, Brandon just shaking his head in disgust towards them. Bile was shooting up his esophagus at this moment of self righteousness that completely blinded him with a nasty tunnel vision.

Brandon Youngblood: Boo it all you want. But it don't change the fact that it's reality. Be it Jonathon Winters, or Jason Snow, or Ian English, or Nova, or Chandler Tsonda, or Giggles and bitch ass Grins, it's me. Always HAS been me. And goddammit...it ALWAYS! WILL! BE! ME! And you know why?

It's a rhetorical question, of course. One of which he will gladly answer. Himself.

Brandon Youngblood: I! AM! THE! FIVE! STAR! CHAMPIONSHIP!

He went there, of course. He took the belt off his shoulder, pumping it into the sky.

Brandon Youngblood: And as far as I'm concerned? Ain't nobody gonna take this off me. And for that matter...ain't nobody going to prevent me from taking my place amongst the top of this company AGAIN! I went out of this company a main eventer, so close to the Universal Championship.

He puts the title over his shoulder once again, bringing the free hand up to show the little space between his thumb and index finger that are somehow supposed to embody the proximity to the biggest title in professional wrestling.

Brandon Youngblood: THIS! CLOSE! And the only way I am gonna get back to that spot is to once again climb that damn ladder. Up each rung. Always working harder and better than everyone else in this damn company. And tonight, the road to becoming the Jewel in the Crown begins with the one and done ousting of the guy who...the guy who...triestohardAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Brandon Youngblood: Dusky. Craigles. The walking, talking fake ass phony bitch who played it like he was big for a minute but almost instantly fell. And he fades into obscurity. And ain't nobody give a shit. And here I am...a hard workin' American made man...

Brandon Youngblood: I SAID AMERICAN MAN!

Brandon Youngblood: Who made it so people like Dusk could get the chance to jerk a curtain. To get a date with destiny. Because without Brandon Youngblood, this entire company would have fallen back in oh five. Best believe that.

"Th-th-that don't kill me
Can only make me stronger"

The mere words send the PRIME fans into a frenzy as they get on their feet while "Stronger" by Kanye West plays throughout the entire arena. It doesn't take long for Dusk to walk out of the back with a smirk on his face as he's dressed for their match later on this evening. The look on Youngblood's face though is priceless as he can't believe that he's being interrupted during the highlight moment of his year, if not his life.

Dusk puts the microphone to his lips as he just glares at Youngblood with a smile on his face. Yet, he pauses as the fans begin to chant Dusk's name.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

He looks around the arena and can't help appreciate it. But, then, he focuses his attentions back on Youngblood who looks at Dusk incredously.

Dusk: Okay, first off, let's give congrats to where they're due! Brandon Youngblood, let me be the first, and probably the last one, to come out here and give you a huge round of applause, because, you know, what you've done is just SO great. Come on, guys, let's all join together, and give him a huge round of applause!

Yet, the fans decide to give their own variation of an applause.

ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

Dusk: Or, you know, they can call you an asshole. Same thing though, to be honest. Now, if you're done tooting your own horn, let's move on to some more important things. Yes, you're a decorated wrestler, and one hell of a wrestler at that. You have to be to have won the 5-Star Championship, not once, not twice, but three times. So, yes, pat yourself on the back on not being able to take it to the next level. That's one hell of an accomplishment there!

Dusk puts the microphone down and Youngblood looks like he's ready to explode into the microphone, but Dusk is able to interject before he can do so.

Dusk: Whoa, slow down there before you hurt yourself. Because, you know, you've gone for like two hours and the show is already almost done. How about you let some other people talk, okay? Okay, now as I was saying, you've climbed that ladder now three times, and you want to talk about how you're Mr. PRIME himself? I've got a question for you, when're you going to actually stop re-tracing your steps, and actually do something new? Hell, if I had been given a survey when you came back, I would've won a thousand dollars for accurately guessing that you would win the 5-Star Title again. Everyone saw it coming. Shit, Ms. Cleo saw that coming, and she couldn't see her life going from Psychic to used car salesman! So, please, let's stop acting like you're the greatest wrestler ever when PRIME fans could've just popped in a DVD from 2005 and watched you win the title for your first or second time.

He pauses for a second as he just loves seeing the hatred in Youngblood's eyes.

Dusk: It's time to move on up the ladder, Youngblood-- wait. It isn't because you're scared is it? Are you scared of moving on? Scared of taking it to that next level? Because, Youngblood, let me tell you, I've seen infants take bigger steps then you.

Dusk just lets that linger there for a moment as he just looks at Youngblood, who is waiting to tear into him, but Dusk just won't let him.

Dusk: So, let's talk about tonight's match. Let's talk about the Jewel in the Crown Tournament. Let's talk about your comments that you're going to beat me tonight. I'll be perfectly honest, it's possible that it could happen. You're no slouch, one of the best around, and one hell of a wrestler in the ring. I'll give you that, Youngblood, and you're coming off a huge victory. So, momentum is on your side, while mine isn't there. I'm just now coming back, was on a losing streak beforehand, and don't have a title to my name. Fair enough. You're the favorite to do it. There's one thing that seperates you and me though, Youngblood. I didn't come here to win.

I came here to put on a show.

Dusk then drops the microphone and gives the floor to Youngblood so he can speak.

Brandon Youngblood: What. The. Fuck. Seriously. SERIOUSLY! You came here to show. Came here to play around in the ring and maybe luck your ass into a victory. That's the shit that seperates people like me from people like you. Because...quite simply...for all them baby steps you talk about...for ALL that shit you say...it's still eight times more than you can even HOPE! TO! CLAIM!

At hearing this, Dusk just begins to laugh at Youngblood's words. It takes a few seconds for Dusk to gather himself and as he does, he almost loses it again when he looks at Youngblood.

Dusk: Luck my ass into a victory? I'm sorry, but when you talk about ass, and then I look at your chin, it's just too hard not to la--

And Dusk, just by speaking about it, starts laughing again. The fans join the laughter as they all remark about Youngblood's rather abnormally sized chin. After a few more seconds, with Youngblood being angered by this turn of events, Dusk looks back at Youngblood and composes himself.

Dusk: Look, Brandon, it took me mere months to capture the Intense Title. Meanwhile, while I was in the midst of all that, if you want to start throwing around accomplishments, I also won the PTC Extreme Title. While, you did great things for the 5-Star title, let's take a look at your placement and the placement of that title on the last couple of cards? Time and time again, the Intense Title has been given the higher ranking by PRIME management, and that's because the work that I and a few others did with that title over the year. For a while, the 5-Star Title might have been the greatest secondary title around, but things have changed around here. So, let's stop talking about certain shit seperates people around here, because frankly, you ain't done shit since you've been back. I've been in the main event of two PPV's and you couldn't even curtain jerk those shows, since you want to talk about people curtain jerking.

Dusk takes a breath to allow those words to simmer for a brief moment.

Dusk: Now, Brandon, while this tournament is everything to you because it can take you to that Universal Title, it's completely different for me. You see, sure, victories are nice, but as has been established as of late, I don't have the best track record. Yet, even with that, I keep getting title shots, like the one I got at DDT for the Universal Title. You know, that title that you so desperately want, but can't even get in the same ring with the title holder for a match? Why do I get these title shots? Because, even as I'm losing, the fans, the critics, and management have realized one thing.

I'm the fucking showstopper.

I'm the fucking Icon.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Before Dusk could finish his thoughts, the fans explode as Dusk just speaks the truth. He waits for it to die down and slowly it does as Youngblood looks around at the fans with hatred in his eyes.

Dusk: So, for me, that's what I'm going to continue to do. I'm going to continue to be the fucking Icon in that ring and put on the best damn show each and every night. So, if I go out there tonight, and put on the best fucking show that these fans have ever seen, do you think they'll really care about you? Not a fucking chance. You, Brandon, you're trying to win championships. I'm becoming a legend.

Dusk then breathes with a smile on his face as he looks down the ramp at Youngblood who is the complete opposite.

Brandon Youngblood: What is it with you motherfuckers like Vivica J. Valentine? All you care about is what fans think. Wins and losses don't even mean shit to you. Or is the fact that you triedtohardAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?! That you, even as you did your thing at the best of your ability...couldn't get over? Nah man. Nah. Tonight, I beat some sense into you. Seperate the pretenders from the REAL pacemakers in wrestling today!

Dusk just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

Dusk: Look, the whole, try to hard thing, getting old. You've been hanging around Shakur? Because, let me warn you, this dude's screenname is Assparade69, and it's not the type of ass you might be interested in, ya know? Wait, scratch that, the whole tranvestite thing? Yeah, you and he might get along just fine after all.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Dusk: Now, getting down to business. You want to talk about me not getting over? You want to say that again, this time to my face, as twenty-one thousand people chant my name?

He then pauses and on cue, the fans begin to chant his name.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Dusk just smirks as he looks up at Youngblood.

Dusk: Didn't think so. Your act is stale, Youngblood, and you might have those hard hitting blows, but I've got a never say die attitude. So, you continue standing on the sideline with the other pretenders, while I continue to change the face of wrestling. Forever.

He pauses for a brief second.

Dusk: And if you're not careful, it's gonna be... lights out... for you.

Dusk then drops the microphone and looks up at Youngblood as "Stronger" by Kanye West rips through the Bell Centre again.

Red, white, and blue confetti fires out cannon style from all four ring posts and rains down on the crowd.

Nick: What is going on?

Richard: Is it lost on anybody else that it’s raining American flag confetti in Canada?

Nick: It’s not lost on me.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic begins to play through the speakers to the listening fans.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on."

From the back dressed up like a center piece at a forth of July picnic table is Hoyt Williams. He marches to the ring dressed in a Nudie designed flight jump suit of blue with white stars and a red belt. Big Al wearing his black polo shirt and pants marches in sync behind Hoyt waving a giant American flag. The Canucks don’t respond like the good neighbors they are.

Nick: The crowd is not happy to see Hoyt Williams!

Richard: It has nothing to do with Hoyt it’s they hate Americans.

Nick: Will you stop?

A choir fills up near the entrance ways as they sing the chorus. Richard stands up and sings along to the chagrin of Nick.

"(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on."

Hoyt enters the ring saluting the crowd while two large black men set up a podium in the center of the ring. Hoyt makes his way to the podium as a giant banner falls from the rafters behind him that reads, "Mission Accomplished".

Nick: What mission?

Richard: Being the greatest member of our roster?

Nick: Please.


Hoyt Williams: My fellow Americans. Last week GCW made an attempt to terrorize the hearts and minds of the PRIMEATES. Thanks to me, that terror strike failed. Their invasion onto our land was thwarted when I destroyed Peter Vetra in one of the greatest matches in wrestling history. I don’t like to brag but God told me it was thee best, and he knows all and see’s all. I’m not sure if you commies here in Can-a-DUHHHH can vote but if you had the same liberties and freedoms as the ONE nation under GOD called the United States of America I would tell you to vote for me for President AND match of the year.

The crowd boo’s aggressively.

Hoyt Williams: I’m sorry I know you people don’t speak English and I did this bit last time I was in Can-a-DUHHHHHH so you expect me to have a translator. Ok so be it. Al translate please.

Big Al: Hoyt Williams, ah? Said he’s Sore-eee he didn’t use me before, ah?? Grab a Molsten and rela……

Hoyt Williams: Ok enough of that, if they’re too stupid to understand Standard English and the speed in which we talk, then screw’em they can’t vote for me anyway. As a matter of fact when I win the crown of President of the United State I will take over this godless hole of uncreative minds and sinful behavior.

The crowd gets very upset.

Hoyt Williams: Don’t worry I won’t slaughter you, I’ll need labor to build up this nation from backwoods hillbilly’s to enterprising capitalists with a Wal-Mart on every block and a church in every town. You godless venom maybe saved yet.

Richard: How right he is!

Nick: I apologize to the Canadian fans.

Hoyt Williams: But enough about your unprotected nation of maple brain bigots. How many blacks are in the crowd tonight???

Hoyt looks out to the booing fans.

Hoyt Williams: RACISTS!! Anyway, enough about your inability to engage in miscegenation; look it up dummies.

Hoyt pauses a moment clearly thinking about something brilliant.

Hoyt Williams: I being an American just came up with a brilliant idea that will help my plan for the gentrification of America. You lack black and brown people here in Canada, and we have an over abundance in the states who are looking for their 40 acres and a mule. After I take over this waste land I’m going to give it to the blacks and Mexicans to have their own nation, a division of America!! MexaBlada will thrive for the poor!!! Plus instead of a mule they will be given three Canadian slaves!!

A cup of coke hits Hoyt in the head but he ignores it as he smiles widely with American arrogance.

Hoyt Williams: But I’m not out here to explain how to make your country better, nor to declare war on you. This is a celebration of my greatness! If not for me we all would be stuck watching that snore fest that is GCW. Could you imagine if they took over we would be stuck with our castaways live Veta stinking up my ring. Pathetic! But thanks to ME that never happened. That is the kind of leader, warrior, and man of God that I am. Also a big congratulation goes out to Sonny Silver. You see, I prayed for him before the match which led to his victory. I’m not going to say the man owes me, but he couldn’t beat a lady wrestler the past few times he tried with out my prayer. Your welcome Mr. Silver!

The crowd jeers Hoyt for his speech regardless of its truth.

Hoyt Williams: It’s true ladies and Canadians that I have indeed returned! Hoyt Williams has rose out of his tomb of mediocrity and returned to his glorified spot of SAVIOR. (singing) Glory DAYS, GLORY DAYS, GLORRRRRRRY DAYS! (back to talking) A little Springsteen for your pop filled ears. So now that you know my return is real, I expect the RESPECT a REAL hall of framer, not a charity case like Olsig, deserves! I have come here to kick ass and pray and I’m all…..

The brilliant and often underrated Bachman-Turner Overdrive blasts "Takin Care Of Business" as a little old man struggles as he carries a giant golden trophy to the ring. Hoyt yells at Big Al wanting to know what the hell is going on, and why he is being interrupted.

Nick: Now who the hell is that?

Richard: I’ve seen him before but I’m not sure where.

Hoyt Williams: What in the name of broccoli is going on here?

The old man gets in the ring with the trophy that’s about seven feet high and solid gold with a wrestler holding up a belt on the top. The man grabs a microphone.

Man: Greetings to the fan of PRIME and greetings to you "God’s Champion" Hoyt Williams. My name is Leonard Goldwater and I’m the chief financial officer here in Pryme! We here have done some research and it is with great honor we award you, with the trophy for WRESTLER OF ALL TIME.

Hoyt Williams: Really?

Leonard Goldwater: Hoyt Williams before you came to PRIME they were a struggling federation with low viewership. You single handily created a level of success propelling it to the forefront of the wrestling world. You did it with class, diligence, and lack of an ego. You struggled through poor management but remained vigilant anyway, often taking the high road.

Nick: Oh please! This is a setup if I’ve ever seen one.

Richard: Don’t be a dunderhead. This is a historic moment in wrestling history Nick. Pay attention.

Leonard Goldwater: Last week you proved to the world by taking out one of the top names in the industry in Peter Vetra in a match that can only be described to as, "instant classic." Had Vetra prevailed GCW could be the talk of the idiots in the blog world right now. But Hoyt Williams fought off the entire entity that is GCW in his modest style that he always does it in. Ladies and Gentleman it is my proud honor on behalf of Pryme to present you Hoyt Williams the wrestler of ALL TIME and our endorsement for President of the Untied States!!

Hoyt Williams walks over and smiles as he picks up the trophy and holds it high above his head as the crowd doesn’t cheer him on.

Hoyt Williams: Thank you PRIME and thank you Leonard! It’s my honor to accept this trophy as the WRESTLER OF ALL TIME!!

Nick: That old guy doesn’t work for PRIME!

Richard: You head him he’s the CFO of Pryme! Greatest of ALL TIME!! I’m going to give him a standing ovation.

Nick: Will you sit down???

Hoyt carries the trophy away to the jeering crowd as the Battle Hymn of the Republic fires back up.

Nick: He’s gone, will you sit down now?

Richard: Ladies and gentleman another historic moment in PRIME history.

=w=

It’s not something he would have ever noticed before. The brightness of the lights in the arena halls. The illuminated wash of fluorescent beams off white walls. After a month of seclusion and darkness, of nothing more than dirt and filtered moonlight to wash away the pain and blood, it’s the brightness of the lights that surprises him the most.

He steps around a corner, (limps really), into the welcoming scope of the ever-present PRIME cameras, a murmur of excitement and surprise racing through the sold out crowd.

Tyler Rayne is back.

The halls are empty, a less than warm reception for the star that came. He perseveres, as always, but it’s plain to see that even the simple act of walking isn’t easy for him. Every movement is pain. Every movement is a reminder. Every movement is…

"WAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

It’s much more of a squeal than a scream. Really, it’s hard to express in words. You know what women sound like when they get excited. Kind of like a tea pot boiling equal parts of estrogen and Fran Drescher.

Angelica Brooks races down the hall, faster than she’s ever had reason to run before. Her heels clack against the floor like the unrelenting tick of a doomsday clock. Faster and faster. Louder and louder. It’s amazing she doesn’t snap a heel. Turn an ankle.

Two feet away she leaps into the air, legs grasping around his waist, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Her head falls into his shoulder and she embraces him with all the passion of a long lost lover.

He has been beaten. He has been tortured. After a month of nothing but pain and darkness, his senses are dulled. Reactions slower. Strength faded. He moves to wrap his arms around her. To support her weight and return the embrace. He can barely hold himself up. He has no hope of holding her too.

They crash to the floor, his back smacking painfully against the unforgiving floor. He winces, closes his eyes. Tries not to black out. She’s not a heavy girl, by any stretch or means of the imagination, but every extra ounce is more impact. More pain.

He opens his eyes, the not-entirely-unpleasant view of Angelica’s cleavage to greet him. He moves his eyes up to hers, noting the slightly embarrassed smile on her face. The way she doesn’t quite match his gaze.

So there they are, lying on the floor in the middle of the hallway, one on top of the other.

It could be worse.

A shadow passes over the two, thankfully blocking some of the harsh light. Angelica’s face falls to something less than a smile. Tyler cranes his neck to look upon the figure that has stumbled upon them. The woman looking directly down at him.

It just got worse.

Rayne: Troy.

Ladies and gentlemen, as if you hadn’t figured it out, please welcome Lindsay Troy. It’s an unfortunate set of circumstances that doesn’t have her wearing a skirt this evening.

Troy: Rayne.

Rayne: So, this…um…isn’t—

Troy: You still owe me that drink.

Her eyes leave his, moving up to Angelica’s. The former Universal Champion offers a polite, though obviously fake, smile before walking away. Angelica does not return the gesture. Tyler rolls his head, turning to watch as Lindsay Troy walks away, willing to risk the possible searing of corneas for such a wonderful…

SMACK!!

It’s throbbing, mind-numbing pain. It rattles his brain. Echoes in the dark spaces of his head. The impact’s so hard it turns his head again, back into the somewhat angered expression of Angelica Brooks. She’s trying to shake the sting from her hand.

Brooks: DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!! Do you realize how worried I’ve been? How worried we all have been? I’ve been going out of my—

In the brightness of those god damned lights, he can see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Her hand reaches down, much more gently than last time, fingers running across the nicks and cuts across his head. One large gash near the back. They’d shaved his head. Taken away the hair he loved so well. They hadn’t been kind about it either. Hadn’t been gentle. Razorblade kisses and poison wet dreams.

Brooks: What happened to…who…what did they do to you?

It would be easy to pass over the bruises. The faded swelling of what was once a black eye. The cuts and lacerations on his lips. One along the side of his nose. Hidden beneath this chin and fading around the line of his neck.

Here’s a man who made a name for himself off of taking beatings. A man who’s claim to fame was his ability to start a fight wherever, with whoever. A few bruises and scars were nothing new. Hell, it would have been much more alarming to catch him on a week when he didn’t have a new bruise or scar. But the observant, those who knew him well…this was more than just the usual. This was…

Rayne: Torture. Nothin’ you need to worry your pretty little head about.

She blinks, trying to push back the tears. Trying not to break down. So many emotions in so short a time. She was young and impetuous and it was all just a bit too much.

Rayne: So, you plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ while you’re there, or can we move along with our evening?

She laughs, slapping him playfully against the chest. He tries not to show how much it hurts. Angelica stands, straightening the creases in her outfit before turning her attention to help Rayne to his feet. It’s a struggle to stand.

Rayne: You mind giving me a hand? I need to find Tyler’s office. I’m sure ol’ Lise just can’t wait to see me.

Angelica slides in under his arm, putting her own around his back for support. So they walk.

The familiar click-clack of high heels is audible in the long hallway leading towards the catering area. A few of the lesser know wrestlers sit around, laughing and eating the food that has been provided them. Their eyes turn to see the glorious and beautiful figure of Tracy stroll through the double doors and step into the large hall. Before anyone can admire her Chainz appears right behind her, dwarfing her in the process.

He places his massive hand on her thin shoulder and gives his wife a friendly little rub, before leading her towards the refreshments. Everyone at the table quickly makes room, save one, who keeps his back turned.

Chainz: Yo buddy, mind moving?

The man turns around to reveal Dusk, not exactly a no-name wrestler.

Dusk: I do mind, Big Foot. Can’t you see I’m grabbing something? I know you've gotta feed that thing you call a face, but you're just going to have to wait. It's called self-control, which, by the look of it, you don't know a damn thing about.

Tracy’s smile slowly fades and she backs away fearing the worst.

Chainz: You. Are you still in PRIME? Why haven’t they fired you already? All you do is take up space.

Dusk: You don't need to be talking about people taking up space.

He smiles and turns his back to Chainz, rummaging through the basket of bagels looking for that special one that makes his mouth water.

Chainz: You shouldn’t turn your back on me boy.

Dusk: First off, I ain't a boy. Second, you getting turned on? Because, if so you can join Assparade69 and his friend TranvestiteLuverLOL!1!1

He now turns back to face the enraged monster, a bagel in his hand.

Dusk: You can huff and puff all day long, big bad wolf, but shit ain't gonna change. Seems like to me you've turned into a little bitch though, having the likes of Jason Snow push you around like you're his prison bride. You losing your edge all of a sudden?

Chainz: Nice, well, how about you tell me?

He winds up to throw a punch, but Tracy grabs his arm.

Tracy: Michael, don’t, please.

He looks down at his beautiful wife and her pleading eyes and the anger subsides in him.

Dusk: Smart move, Paris. And look here, Lochness, you remember the last time you decided to get started with me? Knocked your lights out? Am I still on your list, Santa Claus?

Chainz frowns.

Chainz: Trust me, I haven’t forgotten, nor have I forgiven. Your times coming.

Dusk: Listen, trust me, this is fun and all. No, really. But, I've got a match to prepare for, and I don't have time to listen to you talk about how you want to skull fuck me and all that shit. You, take care of yourself, and lay off the carbs.

He gives him a wink and a pat on the shoulder as he strolls by and exits the catering hall.

Michael’s eyes burn with rage for a minute and then subside.

Chainz: Come on Tracy, grab what you want and let’s go. Don’t worry about him, these things have a way of working themselves out.

We cut to a commercial as Tracy goes to grab a bagel for herself.

Nick: Welcome back to PRIME ReVolution 144, and the next match-up in
the Jewel in the Crown tournament!

Richard: My Booiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Nitz Donnelly's going head to head
with the newly returned former Five Star Champ, Easton Hall.

Nick: Helluva first round matchup.

"THROW UP YA RAWKFIIIST, IF YA FEELIN' IT WHEN I DROP THIS!"

"Booooooooooooooooooooooo" with the just barely audible
"raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The bumpin' lyrics of Thousand foot Crutch hit the speakers, cutting
through the boos to reveal the High Class Ass, Nitz Donnelly, in ring
gear with a smirk on his face. He saunters down the ramp, offering
high fives only to the small cult of fans he's collected.

Vince Howard: Our next match-up in the Jewel in the Crown tournament
is scheduled for one fall! First, hailing from Boston, Massachusetts,
standing six feet, one inch tall and weighing in at two-hundred and
twenty-four pounds...he is the High Class Ass...NITZ
DOOOONNNELLLLYYYYYY!!

Donnelly climbs into the ring, gracefully hopping over the ropes to
his corner, throwing two fingers in the air with the music's chorus.

Nick: Cocky little bastard, Rich.

Richard: And for a reason, Nick!

"Rawkfist" fades off, leaving only the boos of the crowd.

"All Along the Watchtower," by Jimi Hendrix.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

The wonderful pickings of Hendrix wail into the roaring crowd. Hall
steps onto the ramp, soaking in the glory, much missed during his
hiatus.

Nick: Here comes the Canadian Dragon, in his triumphant return!

Lights whirl through the arena while E-Hall eats it up. He then starts
stalking down the ramp, tossing the hair out of his eyes.

Vince Howard: And his opponent! Hailing from the Glorious North,
standing five feet, eleven inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred
and thirteen pounds...he is The Canadian
Dragon...EEEEEAAAASTOOOOOOON HAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"
Hall steps through the ropes, arms in the air to the cheering crowd,
before turning his attention to Donnelly, all business.

Nick: This will be a great return-match to see if Easton still has it in him!

Richard: It'll certainly be humbling.

The music fades, making way for the bell.

Ding Ding Ding

Nick: Game on!

The two combatants circle for a moment before locking up. Easton wins
the power struggle, using his strong legs to push Donnelly back toward
the corner. Donnelly, thinking quick, pushes off Hall's shoulders and
jumps up, landing on the turnbuckle like a nimble cat. He simply leaps
over a confused Hall's head and lands safely on the mat, turning
around quickly with palms up in defense.

Richard: Got a game of cat and mouse going on here!

Easton stalks forward and the two find themselves locked up once more.
This time Easton manages to lock in a headlock. Donnelly fights back,
throwing his elbows into Hall's chest. Easton releases the hold and
finds Donnelly advancing with lefts and rights. Nitz pushes The
CanDragon into the ropes and pushes him off. Easton flies across the
ring and into the other ropes. Donnelly times everything and leaps
into the air for a dropkick, but finds nothing but mat as Hall keeps
hold of the ropes, going nowhere.

Nick: Nice evasive maneuver from Hall!

Nitz hops to his feet, a tad frustrated. Hall charges forward,
thumping the High Class Ass to the mat with a shoulder block, followed
by a quick leg-drop. Easton drops down for a cover.

One!

Two...kickout.

Richard: Too soon, shorty!

Easton stands, grabbing Nitz by the hair to bring him to his feet, but
finds himself doubled over as Donnelly catches him with a low-blow,
sending Hall staggering away, clutching his valuables.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Nick: Cheap tactics from the Bostonian!

Richard: All's fair, Nick!

With opportunity rearing its head, Donnelly runs, springs into the
air, and wraps his legs around Hall's neck, whipping forward and
tossing him ass-over-tea-kettle with some sort of 'rana.

Richard: What a move!

Hall sprawls onto the floor. Nitz hops to his feet and sprints,
throwing his legs out and cracking Hall in the head with a vicious
baseball slide. With Hall's head rattled, Nitz makes the cover.

One!

Two...kickout!

Hall throws the shoulder up, followed by clutching his stinging head.

Nitz stands, throwing a quick boot in for good measure. He grabs a
hand of long hair and yanks Hall to his feet. He pushes him off the
ropes again, and the groggy Easton can't help but bound off the ropes
and right into a spinning heel kick from The Ego. Nitz, in an
impressive display of athleticism, immediately leaps to his feet and
jumps onto the second rope, hurling back into a second-rope moonsault
and landing on Hall's chest. Nitz remains in that position for another
pin attempt.

One!

Two

T....kickout!

Nick: Hall is not going down!

Richard: But Nitz ain't letting him up!

Nitz shakes his head, annoyed. He stands, bringing Hall with him, and
gives him a nasty whip into the corner. Donnelly charges and leaps,
landing one of those weird Jeff
Hardy-moves-where-he-lands-on-them-in-the-shape-of-a-V. Hall stumbles
forward, and Donnelly chops him down to his knees.

Nick: Not looking good for Hall!

Niz stands and paces to the other side of the ring, hands in the air
to the crowd with a sneer on his face.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Donnelly turns to face Hall. Easton struggles to his feet, groggy.
Donnelly runs full steam ahead.

Richard: Here comes the killing blow!

But as Nitz charges, Hall pushes to his feet, and incredibly is
able to grab Donnelly around the waist and slam him with a
tilt-a-whirl belly-to-belly suplex!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Nick: THERE IS A MIGHTY BULGE IN MY PANTS! AND IT'S IN YOUR MOUTH!

Richard: How long have you been waiting to say that?

Nick: Too long!

Donnelly sits up, dazed. Hall bares his teeth, a new wave of
adrenaline surging through him. Hall backs up, putting distance
between them. Nitz stands and shakes the cobwebs. They run at each
other, Donnelly swinging for the fences, by Hall leaps and delivers
the FLYING BACK ELBOW~!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Nick: INCREDIBLE!

Nitz drops, and Hall hops to his feet, waiting. Nitz stands to his feet, groggy.

Richard: My god! Nitz is up!

Nick: Miraculous!

Donnelly spins around, and is met with a picture-perfect dropkick from
the Canadian Dragon!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Nick: My god!

Nitz stirs, and Hall takes the opportunity to climb to the second
rope. Donnelly staggers to his feet, the crowd's roar deafening in the
arena.

Richard: Look out, Nitz!

The High Class Ass turns around, and Hall leaps, creaming him with an
ELEVATED FLYING BACK ELBOW~!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Nick: WOW!

Nitz crumples. The Dragon rolls to his feet on the opposite side of
the ring. He turns and bends his knees, arms resting on his legs.

"E-HALL! E-HALL! E-HALL! E-HALL!"

Donnelly rolls his head around, and starts pushing to his feet. Hall
waits, fire in his eyes, as the crowd chants his name.

Nick: This one might be over!

Nitz makes it to his feet, and eventually catches his balance. He
starts to turn.

Hall charges.

Nitz faces his on-comer.

And Hall leaps, cracking the Ego with...

Nick...BURNING WITCH!

Richard: BLAST!

Donnelly crumples, and Hall covers.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ding Ding Ding

"All Along the Watchtower," by Jimi Hendrix.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, advancing to the second round of
the Jewel in the Crown...EASTOOOOOON HAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLL!

The ref lifts Hall's arm in the air. Easton takes in the glory before
rolling out of the ring and hiking up the ramp, victorious.

Nick: Hall has out-classed the High Class Ass! Just like that, Nitz Donnelly is out of the JitC!

Richard: Ridicoulous! Preposterous!

Nick: Fantastic! Don't go anywhere! Hoyt Williams takes on the
returning JTF! NEXT!

Commercial break.

Faith Rodriguez stands out in the middle of the hallway looking as sexy as ever. The commotion of the evening is starting to get to her though as all of these new athletes who've never been in PRIME before have been walking around, and throwing her menacing looks. On top of that, the return of several stars, including Easton Hall and Dusk, had left her in a state of wonderment.

What else could happen tonight?

She continues walking, hoping to find a star that she could interview without feeling intimidated or stupid afterwards. As she walks in front of another locker room, she sees the name ever so clearly, and smiles to herself. Perfect.

The camera then zooms in on the name.

Wade Elliot

The fans in the arena go absolutely insane at the sight of his name and Faith looks back at the cameraman before winking at the camera. She then begins to knock on the door feverishly.

Faith: Mr. Elliot?! Faith Rodriguez here, requesting an interview! I'd love to know your feelings to losing the Intense Title to Tony Gamble at last week's Great American Nightmare! Wade?! Are you in there?!

Yet, there's silence emanating from the room, and Faith just stands there dumbfounded.

"Get out of the way! MOVE!"

The voice booms through the hallway and Faith can only turn around in the nick of time to see several paramedics and officials rushing past her. She looks at the commotion with a worried look, and as the last person passes by her, she runs after them. As she starts getting closer to the scene, she sees Lisa Tyler standing at the head of the pack rather upset.

Lisa Tyler: What the hell happened?! Who did this?!

Her voice echoes throughout the entire hallway, but no one seems to answer. The cameraman following Faith begins to move around the crowd to get a clear picture of what exactly Lisa is yelling about. Paramedics seem to be treating a man who is rather unconscious. As they move ever so slightly, it becomes very clear as to who they're treating.

Dusk

The fans start cheering for Dusk, but realizing that he's knocked unconscious, they start to worry for him. There's a large gash in the center of his forehead as he's spread out on the floor with blood staining his face. The medics continue to work on him to see if anything else is wrong, but the fans know that something is wrong if Dusk is laid out.

Lisa: Damnit! I want answers, and I want them now! Who the hell did this?!

Lisa continues to yell as she walks off, rather irate at the loss of one half of her main event for the evening. The paramedics then begin to load Dusk onto the stretcher to take him to the hospital. At the sight of this, Richard and Nick begin talking.

Nick: Oh, this is one hell of a blow for Dusk as he was rather excited to get back in that ring tonight.

Richard: This was going to happen sooner or later. He keeps rubbing people the wrong way, and people are going to strike back.

Nick: The question is, who? Chainz? The two had just exchanged words before Dusk was discovered like this.

Richard: Chainz is rather insane. Dusk could've given him a cupcake and Chainz would've tried to kill him.

Nick: Well, it could've been Brandon Youngblood. Youngblood and Dusk exchanged words earlier today, and the two are supposed to face each other tonight in the main event. Getting rid of Dusk almost seems like a sure fire plan to go on to the second round of the Jewel in the Crown tournament tonight.

Richard: Very possible. Or, it could've been the new Intense Champion, Tony Gamble.

Nick: Very well could have been. At this rate, it could've been anyone looking to get one over on The Lost Soul. Fans, we're going to do our best to keep you updated on Dusk's health as well as the status on the main event.

The fans can only watch as Dusk is wheeled away towards the waiting ambulance. He lies there, showing no signs of life.

Nick: Well, continuing with the tradition of the Jewel in the Crown, coming up next we have another match between…

No we don’t. Instead, we have music. Glorious music.

# LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #
# GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Nick: It’s the new tag champions, Richard!

Richard: Ugh. I can’t believe Vangy let me down like that.

Nick: Vangy?

It seems the crowd has finally come around to Ian and Gildenstern, the devious and didactic duo who have been around PRIME for about three or four months now. They let out a hearty cheer as the music continues.

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

A voice that sounds like a proud mother (except it’s a dude’s voice) calls back loudly.

"PRIME Tag Team Champions!"

Indeed they are. Ian and Gildenstern stand at the top of the ramp, holding their new titles high. The fans cheer as they then proceed to run down the ramp to the ring. Ian motions for a microphone, and he is promptly given one.

Ian: Hello, Montreal!

He gets a modest cheer for his efforts.

Ian: I am really excited about being here. I’m also really excited that Gil and I were finally able to come into our own and win in a really big match. It might only bring our record up to 3 and 1 million, but one of those wins were for THESE, baby!

Ian and Gil raise their titles to more cheering.

Ian: Actually, come to think of it, we’re really 3-1 when you think about it. The only time we’ve lost to an actual tag team was when the Illustrious Face-Eater distracted us by his horrible body odor and picked up the W.

Richard: Facey does stink, Nick.

Nick: That’s what I’ve heard, but thankfully never experienced.

Ian: So yeah, these titles belong here. We beat the Upstarts, who are now back in some development territory. We beat Risk and Reward, who are now crying because of both their losses and their stupid name. And we beat Olsig and St. Romani, making us the best team PRIME has to offer. So yeah, I’m really excited about that.

Richard: That’s only because there aren’t many tag teams.

Nick: Still, no one can take it away from them.

Ian: I’m also really excited because next week, I participate against the PRIME Killer, Digital Mortality, in the first round of the Jewel in the Crown tournament. I wish him luck, and want to give him an advantage leading into our match. So, Digi, if you’re listening, I’m going to let you know what my gimmick is for next week. My gimmick is going to be…

Just as Ian opens his mouth to finish his sentence, the opening chords to "Down" by Stone Temple Pilots hits and the crowd immediately lets out a chorus of boos. The show of feelings reverberates off the walls of The Belle Centre.

Nick: Now what in the hell is this?

Richard: I think it’s a real tag team, Nick!

# PLEASED TO MEET YOU #
# NICE TO KNOW ME #
# WHAT’S THE MESSAGE #
# WILL YOU SHOW ME #

Their jeers grow even louder as Aaron Andrews and Tyler Chance trot out from behind the curtain and onto the stage. Despite the "warm" welcome from the crowd, both men are all smiles. Aaron throws his arms into the air and turns in a circle as they continue down the ramp.

# I’VE BEEN WAITING #
# A LONG TIME NOW #
# NOW HERE’S THE ANSWER #
# YOU’RE ALL MINE NOW #
# YA, I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR MY SUNDAY GIRL #

Aaron reaches the ring and hops to a knee on the apron before using the top rope to pull himself up to a vertical stance. He ducks in through the ropes as Tyler slides under them and gets to his feet. Ian and Gil stand across the ring, looking at each other and the other men variably. Aaron and Tyler stare right back as the bigger man asks for a microphone and is handed one and their music fades.

Aaron: Don’t let me interrupt you. You were going to inform Digital Mortality as well as the rest of us as to what your gimmick for next week will be. Let me guess; an ugly man with mediocre wrestling ability? Oh, I guess that wouldn’t really be too much of a gimmick; it’s your life.

The crowd boos at the cheap shot.

Nick: That was ridiculous.

Richard: It was kind of edgy.

Ian raises the microphone to respond, but he’s interrupted by Aaron’s booming voice.

Aaron: I’m not done. You see when we made our debut here in PRIME, we were billed as two local guys; two guys that were picked up off the local independent scene to come in and fill a spot for the night. We didn’t get to play our cool entrance music, wear our flashy ring gear or flash our awesome hand gestures. Then we did something that nobody thought was possible; we won. Nobody gave us the credit that we deserve for that victory, so we’re here to get it.

Nick: What do you mean nobody gave you credit? I sat here that night and said I was damn impressed. I’m thinking about retracting my statement.

Richard: You’re too critical. He’s just speaking his mind.

Ian tries to speak again, but Tyler holds up his hand to stop him as he takes the stick from his partner.

Tyler: What Aaron is trying to say is that you guys are a tag team and are the holders of two shiny things now. So let’s play a game you guys should know. It’s on a show with a big yellow bird and a…thing that lives in a garbage can. It goes something like "One of these things, doesn’t belong here."

Tyler allows a smirk to come across his face as he watches Ian and Gil react.

Richard: Ha! Our tag team champions watch Sesame Street!

Nick: And how can you prove that?

Tyler: Let me translate that for you simple-minded people in Montreal. Those belts don’t belong over your shoulders, around your waists or anywhere else you could think to hang them. They belong in OUR possession, plain and simple.

Tyler hands the microphone back over to Aaron, who quickly cuts Ian off again.

Aaron: We could be complete dicks and get the match signed for next week on ReVolution. But word has it that you have an ass kicking scheduled as part of the Jewel in the Crown tournament. So we’ll let that pass and when you guys are ready to put those belts up, we’ll be ready to take them. Are you ready for the Fall From Glory? It’s imminent.

With that "Down" hits the system again and Aaron drops the microphone before making a "I want those belts" motion at his waist. Tyler follows suit before the two of them leave the ring and begin backing up the stage.

Nick: How about that? These two newcomers almost demanding a title match with the new champions!

Richard: And if anyone deserves it, I think they do!

Smoke bellows into the arena and Breathe strikes up. As strobe lights get to work around the arena Joshua Taro Freedom enters the main stage confidence flowing and a face that shows his complete and utter focus on the task at hand. Taking off the Freefall shit and throwing it into the crowd Joshua reveals the Blue Dragon tattoo that seems to come alive under the strobe lighting.

Joshua turns to look up the ramp when the words of Personal Jesus replace his music, they echo throughout the arena as Hoyt and Duke Williams step out onto the ramp way. Duke is dressed in his usual attire as Hoyt has on a robe covering his wrestling attire.

Nick: And here comes Hoyt with his manager and father, Duke Williams.

Richard: God has just entered the building! We should be on our knees out of respect for this man…

Nick: And you say I am playing favorites..

Hoyt throws both arms out and spins a little almost like Mr. Perfect would, allowing everyone to bask in his glory and understand how big his ego is. They slowly stroll to the ring. Fans reaching from all angles to try and slap Hoyt’s hand but he pays no attention to his followers..

Nick: Hoyt who is paying no attention to his fans is walking very slow, and has yet to even set eyes on his opponent.

Richard: Why would he, it's not like JTF is any sort of threat to him making it to the final round at King of Kings.

Hoyt walks slowly up the stairs of the ring, and Freedom rushes Hoyt the moment he steps between the ropes, taking him down with a quick armbar then hurries to mount the PRIME Hall of Fame member.

Nick: There goes the bell, and this match is underway!

"Your Personal Savior" is currently trying to save his face from being beaten into a pulp by covering up from his foes punches. JTF doesn't relent though, once he realizes his blows are no longer connecting he climbs to his feet and drags Hoyt into the corner... where the beating continues. At least it continues until the referee tries to force a break, giving Hoyt the opportunity to slide out of the ring and recover.

Nick: Hoyt doesn't look like he wants to be in the ring with Freedom at the moment, so much for ring rust!

Richard: He'll get back in there... he's just trying to get Josh to build up some false momentum before striking him down like the commoner that he is.

Nick: Well he might have to rethink that plan, because here comes JTF!

Throwing himself through the ropes, JTF flattens the former Universal champion with a suicide dive, almost plowing Hoyt through the barricade. The fans around the ring are predictably getting over excited as JTF gets back to his feet... if only to put the boot in to Hoyt as he lies slumped against the security wall. "Crash!" moments later JTF throws Hoyt against the ring steps with a thunderous impact. His anger not relenting, the former Five Star champion pulls Hoyt up and rolls him into the ring before flashing a determined look towards the camera.

Nick: Freedom hasn't given Hoyt a chance to even get out of the starting block here, he looks like a man possessed at the moment.

Richard: You're right Nick, possessed by Satan himself! Never fear though, because the light of God will prevail over darkness!

After snarling around the ringside area for a few more moments, JTF rolls back into the ring... where Hoyt suddenly shoots back up to his feet and greets the former Alias champ with a driving elbow to the back of the head.

Richard: See? What did I tell you.

Trying to seize control of the match, Hoyt grabs a handful of JTF's hair and drives his face against the mat... making sure to drive his knees into the kidney area a couple of times. Hoyt manhandles Joshua before giving him a piledriver. Obviously keen to wrap things up, Hoyt then delivers a big splash into a cover.

Nick: Hoyt's using his power and size to his advantage at the moment, but I don't think this pin will get it done.

Referee: One... Two... NO!

Sure enough JTF kicks out quite comfortably, meaning that Hoyt has more work ahead of him yet. Choosing not to sit on his laurels and give Freedom a chance to get back into the match, Hoyt sends the former Tag Champion into the ropes and smashes into him with a clothesline. Everything seems to be going Hoyt's way, so he opts to hoist Freedom onto his shoulder, ready for the Crucified & Saved. The returning veteran however has different plans and slips out of the powerslam position, just as Hoyt starts to run with him. Now behind Your Personal Savior, Josh pushes Hoyt forward, causing the larger man to hit the buckle face-first.

Nick: Hoyt was looking for that Oklahoma stampede finisher of his, but Freedom countered superbly!

Dazed, Williams staggers back... straight into a russian legsweep. Freedom now slides out of the ring, but reaches back under the bottom rope and grabs Hoyt's left leg. Dragging his prey towards the corner, JTF wraps the holy leg of his opponent around the ring post and proceeds to slam it against the steel. Not once, not twice, but three times before the referee threatens a DQ. JTF doesn't care though, because the damage has been done.

Richard: That's not right! How cheap can one man get? Using the ringpost as a weapon like that... actually, I'm impressed.

Nick: Flip flopping like a pair of old sandals as usual.

JTF climbs back into the ring where Hoyt is trying to stand. His leg is very tender, causing him to hobble back toward his opponent, who is quick to take it out from under him with a standing dropkick to the knee.

Nick: He's going for a pin!

Referee: One...

Halting the count abruptly, JTF decides to lift Hoyt's shoulder off of the mat himself... a signal that he is far from finished yet.

Nick: Uh oh... it seems that Freedom is not ready to put Hoyt Williams away quite yet. In all my years as an announcer, I have to say that this is generally not a wise move.

Richard: Someone needs to get Hoyt out of there. Now I remember why I used to like JTF!

Immediately, he limbers up and hooks on a cross armbreaker, but Hoyt locks his hands to prevent JTF from using the hold, then hooks his leg around the bottom rope, forcing a break.

Nick: Perhaps Joshua's looking to end this earlier than he should in this match.

Hoyt hooks a leg and spins around to apply an STF to Joshua. Freedom grits his teeth in the hold, refusing to yell out. Slowly, JTF crawls for the ropes while Hoyt yanks back on the face lock. Finally he makes the bottom rope, and Hoyt stands with the toehold still applied, dragging Josh to the center for another try, but the free foot knocks him off balance just long enough for Josh to scramble to his feet and duck a running lariat from Williams.

Nick: Looks like Joshua may be getting back into the groove of things like he was at the beginning of this match.

Looking to grab the advantage, he attempts to force Hoyt down with a headlock, but gets elbowed away. Freedom fires an elbow and eats a right hand in return. The two trade strikes, neither budging despite a couple of jaw rattling shots, until Freedom gets fancy with a rolling elbow shot, which is blocked, and ends up eating a boot to set up a DDT. Cover by Hoyt...

Referee: One... Two... NO!

WIlliams still has JTF down, and looks to hook both arms and pull him up to a standing head scissors – but gets shoved away by JTF. He tries to hit a lariat on the rebound, but JTF ducks it and manages to pull out a bridging German suplex.

Referee: One... Two... NO!

Nick: Hoyt kicks out, but JTF making some headway with the aggressiveness he showed earlier..

JTF chops away at Hoyt in the corner, reddening his chest, before placing him atop the turnbuckle. He follows up, and Williams tries to knock him away, but Joshua is persistent and brings him crashing to the mat with a gorgeous superplex! JTF crawls across and hooks a leg...

Referee: One... Two... NO!

Hoyt takes a momentary breather, before rising to his feet and staring across the ring at a groggy JTF who motions for Hoyt to step forward. He obliges, never one to turn away from a fight, and hits several rights on JTF and whips him to the ropes, but JTF dodges the clothesline by nailing a low dropkick to the knee. He then hooks on an Indian deathlock, sharply leaning backwards to further damage the joint, sarcastically clapping along between wrenches. Finally, he spins through and applies an STF. Williams is dead center in the ring, and has difficulty crawling to the ropes. He tries, JTF wrenching the hold viciously, and again eventually makes the ropes.

Nick: Freedom taking his time to release the STF.

Richard: The hand of God will strike him down for his actions against his son.

Releasing the hold after a good count of four, JTF stands up and takes a few steps back away from The Pontiff. Eying him as he stands to his feet, he notices Hoyt spread his arms across the top rope to keep himself up. He rushes forward, keen on the idea of keeping the momentum on his side against a much larger for, but gets greeted with a bit of sole food. No, not the kind Asa Fountain would sell out of a barbecue pit trailer on the back of an old beat up Chevy, but the kind you'd find on the bottom of your shoe.

Richard: Okay, I was wrong. It would be the foot of God that struck him down.

Nick: Yeah, that makes far much more sense.

Staggering back, JTF has no time to shake out the cobwebs as Hoyt grabs him and lifts him up onto his shoulders.

Richard: Crucified and Saved!

Nick: This one looks to be in the books ladies and gentlemen!

Referee: One!

.

.

Two!

.

.

THREEEEE!!!!!

The bell sounds.

Nick: HE DID IT!! HOYT WILLIAMS HAS MOVED ON TO THE SECOND ROUND OF THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN TOURNAMENT!

Richard: I KNEW ALL THAT PRAYING WOULD WORK!!

We start with champagne. Plenty and plenty of champagne.

It seems that Ian Nackedy and Gildenstern were unfazed by Risk and Reward’s challenge minutes earlier, and they have retired to their room to do what any new tag team champions would do.

Have a fun time and drink.

Ian: I’ve paid my dues…

Gil: Time after time…

Ian: I…uh…Gil, do you know the words?

Gil scratches his head.

Gil: Not really.

Ian: Uh, okay. Let’s just do the fun part.

Gil: Okay.

There is a slight pause as Gildenstern sips at his champagne lightly.

Gil: AND IT GOES ON AND ON AND ON AND ON!

Ian & Gil: WEEEEE ARE THE CHAAAAMPIOONNNS MY FRIIIIIEND!

Ian chugs the champagne, then continues to sing.

Ian: WHICH WE WON BY WINNING AT GAN!

Ian & Gil: WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, NO TIME FOR…

Ian and Gil trail off in their terrible rendition because there is someone standing in the doorway of their locker room. Looking up, Ian cocks his head to the side.

Ian: Hello, unknown person. What can I do you for?

The man smiles mischievously and extends his hand.

Man: Well, I am only the man who will defeat you in this years Jewel in the Crown Tournament. I am the man who has countless victories against people from this…

The man face contorts into something that expresses disgust.

Man: … place.

Ian and Gil look on dumbfounded.

Man: I am none other than the PRIME Killer, Digital Mortality. Nice to make your acquaintance.

Ian extends his hand towards Digital and shakes his hand.

Digital: I just wanted to give you a piece of advice. I see you are having a bit of a celebration.

Digital looks at the bottle of champagne in Ian's hands.

Digital: I suggest you leave your champagne bottles in your house next week and instead buy a bottle of the strongest whiskey you can find, because after the beating I will give you, you will want to numb the pain as much as you can.

A smirk forms in Digital's face.

Digital: Just like your older brother did. Foster never stood a chance, but he was valiant and he really knew what the meaning of respect was. You idiots have no idea what it is to give your life to this business and next week, I will destroy you and your dreams. Next week will be the start of a massacre that will lead me to the top of this… place… without even being of the roster.

Ian and Gil look at each other for a second, and Ian takes a big swig of his champagne. Gildenstern shrugs, and Ian turns back to Digital, saying nothing.

Digital: You will just be my first obstacle and you will be an unproblematic one at that. What's wrong Mr. Wit? Cat got your tongue, pendejo?

Ian once again looks to Gildenstern, who nods. Then, Ian looks to Digital again, smirking as much as he can with his cheeks puffed out like that.

...wait. Why are his cheeks puffed out like...

PPPSSSSSSSH!

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Digital Mortality's hands instinctively go up to his face as a mouthful of champagne just drenched his upper half. Ian smirks to Gildenstern, then shrugs.

Ian: I remember, Gil! The next line was "I've done my sentence, but committed no crime."

Gil: Yeah, that's right.

Digital Mortality drinks the champagne that got inside his mouth. He slowly wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt without taking away the murderous look he is giving Ian and his partner. When he is done, he smirks in the general direction of Ian Nackedy and leaves without saying another word.

Gil: Did he just swallow your champagne flavored saliva?

Ian: I think he did.

Gil: Gross.

They watch the doorway as we cut elsewhere.

With his feet up on top of Blaine Blair's desk, the Permascar Superstar leans back in his chair and yawns. The Intense title is resting nicely on his lap, as he strokes it like the back of a cat.

Blaine Blair: You think this is funny, don't you?

Tony just kind of let's the comment roll off his shoulders without giving it a second thought.

Tony Gamble: You know, I was thinking about a new way of marketing myself the other day. Maybe we could get in touch with some sort of designer that makes Halloween make up, have them make custom scars kids could stick on the side of their face. Those things would sell faster than fake vomit, let me tell you.

Blaine shakes his head, considering everything that's going on with PRIME right now, it's hard to think he wouldn't be getting frustrated with everyone.

Blaine Blair: Believe me, this is no laughing matter. We've got repor-

Tony Gamble: Hey, that's a pretty good name for this new move I've been practicing. Would you mind if I steal - Uhm, borrow - it from you?

Blair shakes his head from side to side.

Blaine Blair: No, go right ahe-

Of course, it doesn't take him long to realize he's supposed to be angry.

Blaine Blair: Dammit, I wish everyone would start showing me the respect I deserve!

He stands up and shoves Tony's feet off of his desk.

Blaine Blair: I can't believe you did this, Gamble! The last thing we need right now is another blemish on the face of PRIME, and you go and get arrested? I don't understand how it can be so hard for you guys to just stay out of trouble. It's not like we're the Cincinnati Bengals for crying out loud.

The shock has yet to fade away from Tony's face, his eyes still fixated on his feet which are now on the floor.

Tony Gamble: I can't believe you just no sold that. I mean, I know we ignore you like a kid brother that has to tag along everywhere we go, but it's done out of love man.

Blaine adjusts his shirt, his face still a light shade of red from the anger that has set in.

Blaine Blair: Don't patronize me. You've got yourself in a serious bind here, Tony. There's nothing I can do to fix this. You're going to have to talk to her.

Tony jumps up from his seat.

Tony Gamble: But she's liable to kill me. I mean, I may as well have taken her virginity on a set of stained sheets that have seen more action than a monastery.

Blaine's face contorts as that exact image flashes in his mind.

Blaine Blair: My hands are tied, Tony. You're on your own with this one.

Tony Gamble: Fine, but let's see if my hands are tied when it's time to send out the invites to my super secret bachelor party.

Tony hangs the title on his shoulder, frustration set on his face like a portrait.

Tony Gamble: Boy do I hope my hands are tied.

Thoughts of what he was actually going to say to her when he approached her play out in his mind as he pulls open the door.

Tony Gamble: Damn.

Nick: Coming up next we have more JitC action!

Richard: With dirty FUSE people.

Nick: Don't be prejudiced. Speaking of, here comes Ethan Frost!

The lights in the arena fade to an ice blue colour which covers the crowd like a frozen lake in winter.

'Colllld.. asss.. iiiiice; you know that you are
Colllld.. asss.. iiiiice; you're cold as ice to me!
Colllld.. asss.. iiiiice..'

As the main beat kicks in pyro's blast from either side of the entrance ramp as Ethan Frost appears from behind the curtain, a look of concentration on his face which breaks into a smile showing a number of large white teeth.

Yeah, hahahahaha, OHHHHH SHIT! {'You're as cold as ice'}
YEAH!! {'You're willing to sacrifice'}
Word the fuck UP! {'You're as cold as ice'}
You're ICE! {'You're willing to sacrifice'}
{*whispered*} First Family
{'You're as cold as ice', 'You're willing to sacrifice'}
{'You're as cold as ice', 'You're willing to sacrifice'}

As Ethan reaches the ring he raises his arms into the air as the crowd cheer and show their appreciation before the lights fade to normal and Ethan begins to strech on the ring ropes, some final preparations before the match.

Nick: Olsig is already in the ring, and he looks prepped.

Richard: He's angry after having his stupid partner cost him the tag titles to those nutjobs.

Nick: That was a fair match that they simply couldn't win. No excuses needed.

Richard: PLUS OLSIG'S DOG ATE HIS HOMEWORK!

Nick: Anway...Let’s get started!

DING DING DING!

The bell rings and Ethan Frost is the first to make a move, diving in and taking Olsig to the mat with a leg takedown. He immediately sits on top of Olsig, trying to get a camel clutch, but Olsig moves, trying to roll over. Frost catches his head and applies a side headlock, forcing Olsig down on the mat. Olsig flails, but Frost shakes his head, then cinches in the move.

Nick: FUSE member Ethan Frost starting the match off technical.

Richard: More like sucksical.

Nick: Is sucksical a word?

Richard: Yeah. I usually use it to determine when a musical is bad.

Nick: You watch musicals?

Richard: …NO THEY’RE GAY!

Olsig struggles, pushing himself to his knees and making Frost raise up slightly. Using his right arm, Olsig fires off two punches to Frost’s back, then grabs Frost’s neck, forcing him to release the hold. Frost stands up, holding his neck, and Olsig comes in for a clothesline.

Nick: Reversal by Olsig, and here he comes…OH!

Richard: Dammit!

Nick: Huge clothesline by Frost!

Olsig hits the mat with a big thud, and Frost stomps at him for a moment before running towards the ropes. Frost comes back and hits a big splash on Olsig, and he immediately covers.

Nick: Frost using his strength to his advantage, could be an early win here!

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Nick: No, kickout!

Richard: Facepaint > blue hair.

Nick: Did you just say "greater than sign"?

Richard: Yeah, got a problem?

Frost lifts Olsig up and throws him into the ropes, then meets him in the middle of the ring with a swinging neckbreaker. Frost pauses to taunt as the fans boo just a little bit.

Nick: Frost is one of the good guys in FUSE wrestling, but the PRIME fans aren’t really digging him so far.

Richard: GET OUT OF MY ARENA, FUSEY! DON’T MAKE US GET THE BIG HOSE!

Nick: Thank you for setting the PRIME announce team back to the 1960s.

Richard: And don’t get snacks from our vending machines!

Frost bends down to grab Olsig, but Olsig kicks Frost off and spins to his feet, coming up with a big enziguri. Frost falls back a bit, and Olsig takes advantage, kicking Frost in the stomach and trying to whip him into the ropes. However, the bigger Frost plants his feet, then lunges forward for another huge clothesline.

Nick: Olsig ducks!

Olsig grabs Frost from behind and hits a full nelson slam. Frost hits his head hard and topples over, and Olsig rolls Frost up for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick: No, quick kickout!

Frost tries to collect himself, but Olsig is already on top of him, hitting kicks to Frost’s side. Frost is trapped into a corner, and Olsig keeps him there with a boot, putting it to Frost’s throat. As Frost tries to struggle, Olsig suddenly jumps up and hits Frost with his other leg, knocking him against the ropes. Olsig sees this, then bounces off of the opposite side.

Nick: Here comes Olsig…

Richard: COME ON!

He takes Frost out, and they both fall over the rope. Frost hits his head pretty badly as Olsig rolls to his feet. Olsig shrugs as the fans boo him, then turns back to his opponent.

Nick: Vangelus Olsig has a lot to prove tonight. He wants the Universal Title, has come out of hiding just to challenge for it, after losing a tough match against Sound and the Fury for the Tag Team Championships.

Richard: Well, he’s obviously going to get one step closer here, because Frost is a dumb FUSE head.

Nick: FUSE head? Really?

Richard: They can’t all be winners.

Olsig lifts Frost up and kicks him in the chest, then proceeds to whip him towards the steel steps. However, Frost reverses the whip, then follows him. In a sickening display, Olsig hits his back against the steel steps, then is immediately sent toppling over them as Frost delivers a huge superkick to the face of Olsig.

Nick: WOW! What a reversal!

Richard: Dammit, Vangelus, come on!

Olsig has some trouble getting up, and the referee begins his slow ten count.

ONE!

Frost grabs Olsig and chops him across the chest, then sends him into the barricade.

TWO!

Charging in with his shoulder, Frost tackles Olsig, leaving him on the ground, hurting.

THREE!

Nick: What would happen if they both lost, Richard?

Richard: I’m guessing hell would freeze over. Because that’s just not happening.

Frost lifts Olsig up and signals for a big move. Some fans cheer, but most remain silent. He lifts him up, looking for the Frost Bite.

FIVE!

Wait, what happened to four?

JUST KIDDING >=)

However, Olsig struggles and slips out of Frost’s grip, then shoves him face-first into the steel steps.

[*CLANG!*]

SIX!

Nick: Olsig might win by countout!

Olsig rolls into the ring as Frost lays there, unmoving. Olsig stands up and looks down, laughing.

SEVEN!

Frost stirs, and Olsig preemptively holds his hands high in victory. Frost wipes his face to check for blood. There is a little on his lip.

EIGHT!

Nick: As much as I like to see PRIME succeed in interfed displays like this, I don’t think this is the right way for the win to happen.

Richard: I whole-heartedly disagree!

NINE!

Suddenly, Frost slides under the ring and waits for Olsig to turn around. As he does, Frost begins laying hands into the former Intense Champion. Right, right, right, left, right, staggering Olsig. Then, Frost grabs Olsig and hits a snap mare.

Nick: This could be the Colour of Money right here!

Richard: But his hair is blue.

Nick: What?

Richard: Nothing.

Then, Frost takes a few steps back to go for the second part of the move, as Olsig remains in the seated position. Frost runs, goes for the shining wizard…

BUT MISSES!

Nick: Olsig moves! Olsig moves! Frost looks bewildered!

Frost turns to meet a boot to the chest, and Olsig puts Frost between his legs.

Nick: Here comes Sacrifice!

Richard: I told you baby! WOOOO!

Olsig smirks, then lifts Frost up, hanging him above his body in the crucifix position. After dangling them there for a second, Olsig tries to send him over…but Frost isn’t having it. Kicking and struggling, Frost is able to drop behind Olsig.

Nick: He escapes…

Richard: NO!

Frost bounces off of the nearby ropes as Olsig turns around…

[*WHAM!*]

Nick: AVALANCHE! AVALANCHE! IT’S OVER!

Richard: NO!

Frost rolls over on the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick: Frost did it! Frost beat Vangelus Olsig, and he’s going on in the Jewel in the Crown!

Richard: NO!

One would think Sonny Silver had enough of a celebration, what with the trumpeters, the party, the golden OLD SKOOL MIC~! And such. One would also think he would stop gloating for once tonight and shut up about the fact that he was the champion.

Silver: YOU! FUCKER!

…Of course if you believe Sonny Silver wouldn’t gloat to the high heavens, welcome to your first PRIME show.

Walking down the halls STILL clad in a fancy suit, belt over one shoulder and open bottle of Hennessey in the other, Sonny struts with an arrogant stride unlike any champion before him. He approaches two techies having a conversation amongst themselves in the corner and gladly interrupts.

Silver: HEY! ASSHOLES! CHAMPION, LIKE, WALKING THROUGH AND SHIT!

Techie #1: Ugh. Do you have alcohol on your breath?

Sonny furrows his brow.

Silver: No.

He shoves the bottle of Henny in both their faces.

Silver: It’s in my hand, you assbite! AHAHAHAHA!

The two of them walk away from the clearly tipsy Silver and go on their merry way while Sonny scoffs.

Silver: Pfft. Buzzkills.

He continues to traipse down the halls until he happens to come across the path of somebody who is very much NOT a lowly techie. But more appropriately, one of the odds-on favorites to take home the JitC.

Chandler Tsonda looks mildly surprised to see PRIME's alpha dog slumming it backstage. But he’s always ready with verbal fisticuffs.

Chandler Tsonda: Hey cockwad, just because you’re….Jesus, nice suit, man.

Sonny nods, shaking off the insult that did escape Chandler’s mouth and takes a mock bow.

Silver: Ah-thank ya. I am a little south of forty, but I am still stylish beyond my years. That having been said… have you come to partake of the awesomeness of Sonny Silver: Universal Champion? You can get pictures with the belt for $5, I’ll let you hold it for ten, but it’ll be through a big pane of protective glass with those lead gloves. No germs on my title, you see.

Chandler Tsonda: Momentary lapse, don’t get your hopes up, sparky. You’re still two balls short of manhood. You’ve been playing patty cake with the girls in the school yard for the last three months. And now look who strolls over towards the jungle gym, wanting to play with the big boys.

The statement is ended with a punctuating sneer.

Silver: What big boys? You?

He takes a swig of the Hennessey and tosses the bottle to the side, not taking his eyes off Chandler the entire time.

Silver: I took out Wade Elliott, Chet Worth, your own homeboy Ferguson – in a tag match, but that’s just semantics, you anti-semantic bastard – on the way to the Queen herself. Also, nobody else on the active roster has a victory over her except for the guy standing in front of you. You think I’m afraid of anything YOU can do? I’ll put you in the ground faster than you can say "Versace."

Chandler Tsonda: Active, schmactive. You put me in the ring with Troy and I make your…

He completely overacts air quotes with his hands.

Chandler Tsonda: …"epic struggle" look like what it was: underachieving disguised as rivalry. I’ve beaten Hall of Famers, Silver. Hoyt. Lisieux. Tchu. The fact that PRIME’s selling themselves and the Uni Title short is out of my control. Unless of course…you’re man enough to face me in front of thousands of rowdy Canucks, all of whom would like nothing more than to see you splattered.

There’s a slight roar in the arena at the thought of Sonny Silver meeting his untimely demise as champion.

Silver: AH, SHUT UP, MOTHERFUCKING CANUCKERS!

Even more booing rains down upon him as he starts waving to nobody in particular. He turns back to Tsonda.

Silver: Pssh, Hall of Famers are my bitch, too. Just ask Karina Wolfenden or Vangelus Olsig what happened when I stepped into the ring with them last time. We can play the Name Game till our faces turn blue, but I don’t want to do that. Not when I’m in a good mood, Tuh-Sonda. Besides, you want a title shot, I’ll be more than happy to defend against you…

…As soon as you win the Jewel in the Crown.

Chandler Tsonda: Sooner than you think, Silver.

The champion rolls his eyes, looking disinterested in the conversation now that he’s shut down Tsonda’s request.

Chandler Tsonda: New champion, same result. I’m looking forward to you defending once every month and a half. Since you’re petrified of what I’d do to you, why don’t you at least rep your squad? Sonny Silver and His Two Travelling Gasbags against the one and only A-List.

Sonny opens his mouth for a retort, but looks over Tsonda’s left shoulder, then his right.

Silver: Uh… question, though… where’s the rest of your Paparazzi? Last I checked, Ferguson’s probably having reconstructive surgery to fix his shattered nose and to remove yours from his ass. Facey probably, I don’t know, got high, forgot he had a job and left, I guess. You’re all by yourself, Ching Chang Chong.

Tsonda looks over both his shoulders, then twists his mouth in disdain.

Chandler Tsonda: We’re going on hiatus until January like Lost, cock. And I’m not gonna be that guy that tells you to watch your back while you’ve got that title…

Silver turns, but Tsonda grabs him by the shoulder. The tension mounts.

Chandler Tsonda: …but don’t go walking around in those fancy clothes backstage. Somebody might be as rude as to get blood all over them.

Sonny rips his arm away from Tsonda’s grip and loosens any wrinkles the Viet Viper may have left.

Silver: Lost? That’s the best you got, Grand Master Gook? I would’ve gone with 24. At least "Stop terrorist plot in a day" isn’t as convoluted as "trap people on an island and fuck them up the ass with flashbacks."

The champion’s got that proverbial last word as he rounds the corner. And Chandler Tsonda’s left…very much alone for the first time in a long time.

The bronze nameplate affixed to the locker room door reads "Lisa Tyler." Scott McKannon raises a clenched fist toward the nameplate, preparing to knock on the boss’ office door, when something on the floor catches his eye.

A drop of blood.

He looks to the right, in the direction he had just come from, but sees nothing. He turns to the left, eyes trailing across the arena floor, staring in curiosity at the trail of blood drops leading away from Ms. Tyler’s office. He hesitates for just a moment, reluctant to postpone his summons.

McKannon: It’ll just take a minute.

His footsteps land beside each drop of blood, eyes wandering forward to track the progress of the trail. Around the corner, down the hall, take a right and…

McKannon: Whoa. Hey, are you okay?

The trail ends beneath the slumped body of Tyler Rayne. Rayne coughs, ejecting another few droplets of blood and saliva upon the arena hall. His head rolls from its resting place on the wall, glazed eyes turning up to acknowledge Scott McKannon. Despite his obviously unhealthy appearance, Rayne manages to flash that infamous smile at the reporter.

Rayne: Five by five.

Scott furrows his brow in momentary confusion, but quickly shrugs it away and drops down next to Rayne.

McKannon: Here, lemme help you up.

Rayne is, thankfully, more capable than he looks, and it’s not a terrible struggle for McKannon to get him back on his feet.

McKannon: I’ll go, um, go get you some help.

Rayne: I’m fine.

McKannon: Well, just to be sure…

Scott turns and begins to step, but a firm hand snatching the shoulder of his blazer brings him to a stop, and damn near dumps him on his ass.

Rayne: I said I’m fine. You wanna help me, go tell Lisa Tyler she can [bleep] herself.

A second passes as both men stare at each other.

Rayne: What the [bleep] was that? Oh, come on! You’ve got to be [bleep]ing kidding me! I can’t [bleep]ing believe this bull[bleep]! What the [bleep], McKannon?

McKannon: I, uh, I don’t know. This isn’t exactly HBO. Maybe, you know, the FCC finally got around to censoring some of these, um, segments. You know, toning it down a bit. We are on FX.

Rayne: That’s just [bleep]ing ridiculous. Why me? I mean, all these other ass munching, [bleep] [bleep]ers get to run around and say whatever the [bleep] they want. Why the [bleep] am I the guy gets stuck with the [bleep]ing censorship bull[bleep]? That stupid [bleep]ing [bleep]. This is probably Tyler’s doing. She [bleep]ing set me up for this [bleep]. Probably called those [bleep] ass mother [bleep]ers just to make sure they’d ruin whatever the [bleep] I said on her stupid [bleep]ing show. Bad enough the [bleep] won’t [bleep]ing hire me back, but now she’s got to go and pull this [bleep].

McKannon: Well, actually, they started censoring Nitz Donnelly a few weeks back. I suppose they’re just working their way through the roster. You were probably next on the list.

Rayne: Oh, [bleep] you, McKannon. Like I’m even remotely close to that [bleep] sucking ass[bleep]. Are you serious? I can’t even say ass[bleep]?

McKannon: We broadcast in the Midwest. They’re kinda strict on these things.

Rayne: Well [bleep] me.

McKannon: Um…did you say that Lisa won’t hire you back?

Rayne: What? Yeah. [Bleep]ing [bleep] whore. At least I can [bleep]ing say whore. Jesus. [Bleep] said I’m in no condition to wrestle, despite the fact that the doctor’s cleared me and everything.

Scott takes a moment to look back at the trail of blood drops.

McKannon: You don’t think that maybe she has a point?

Rayne: Eat a [bleep], McKannon. I’ve been tied up, drugged up, cut up and beaten down every hour on the hour for damn near a [bleep]ing month. Yeah, okay, so it might take me a week or two to get back in the swing, but [bleep], the least the [bleep] could do is offer to negotiate a contract.

McKannon: So you don’t even have a new deal?

Rayne: [Bleep] no. [Bleep] said that my absence is indicative of the kind of unsafe environment I create for myself and my co-workers and she would be irresponsible and morally remiss to even consider inking me a new deal. [Bleep]ing [bleep] is just sore that I’ve gotten farther with Troy than she has.

McKannon: You and Troy…

Rayne: No, you little ass monkey. But at least I can delude myself into believing ol’ Lindsay’s got an eye on me. Which is more than that [bleep] up in the big office can say.

McKannon: So if you’re not hired back, um…what are you doing here?

Rayne: Coughing up blood. What the [bleep]’s it look like? Hey, you’re LT’s little microphone monkey aren’t you? Just talkin’ about this [bleep] has put me in a [bleep]y mood. Tell the ex-Uni I’ll be down at the bar on the corner she feels like catchin’ up. ‘Bout to throw back some shots like Shakur swallows [bleep]s. [Bleep]. [Bleep]s. Penises, alright? Little emo kissin’ penis licker likes to swallow man juice. Can I say that? Huh? Is that [bleep]ing okay you Neo-Nazi censoring sons of bitches? I swear to Christ, I get this stupid ass contract bull[bleep] figured out, I’ma blow up their [bleep] damn censorship building and shove those little bleep buttons straight up their [bleep]s.

With a resigned sigh, Tyler Rayne turns his back on Scott McKannon, marching off toward what we assume is an exit.

Rayne: How the [bleep] does Donnelly put up with this [bleep]? Five minutes and I’m already ‘bout to lose my [bleep] damn mind. [Bleep]ing ridiculous!

Hoyt Williams is getting his knee bandaged after his tuff match earlier in the night. He is on a cell phone yapping away as the medical staff works him over.

Hoyt Williams: Yup and then I was named GREATEST WRESTLER EVER!! I know……..Jesus…..Jesus……Jesus hold on.

Medical Staff: You are all set sir.

Hoyt Williams: Thanks pal.

Hoyt goes back on the phone.

Hoyt Williams: Ok Jez I have to go…..I’ll talk to you later bye.

Big Al walks in just in time for Hoyt to close his cell phone. Al is white as a ghost.

Hoyt Williams: I just got off the phone with Jesus telling him about my trophy. That stuff really burns his ass since he really didn’t accomplish much during his stay on earth. I’m going up to heaven later this week to show off the trophy and rub it in some more.

Big Al: We got an issue?

Hoyt Williams: WE?

Big Al: The trophy….its gone.

Hoyt Williams: What you talking about sinner?

Big Al: It was in your locker room during your match after the match you went here to the trainers room. I went in the locker room looking for you and it was gone. I asked around and nobody has seen it?!?!?

Hoyt Williams: Satan is behind this. We just seal down the arena and interview everybody about my damn trophy. PRIME is made up of jealous jag bags who want my greatness. Sad really. This deed will not go unpunished. We will find which roster member did this.

A little blue dog comes in and starts barking at a wallet that is laying in the center of the floor.

Hoyt Williams: We must search for clues.

BARK BARK BARK

Big Al: Where should we look first. Over there? Or Over there?

Big Al looks into the camera as if he’s talking to us.

The dog counties to bark at the wallet on the ground.

Hoyt Williams: For Christ sake shut that dog up.

Big Al runs the dog off missing out on Blues Clue.

Hoyt Williams: Much better. We’re out of seg slots so we’ll have to figure out this mystery next week.

Big Al: Oh I hate suspense.

Hoyt Williams: Patience is a gift of the Gods. Lets get out of here before more stuff ends up missing. I beat that Olsig did it!

The two men pick up their bags and head out.

=w=

Vince Howard: THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL AND IT IS A JEWEL IN THE CROWN 2007 FIRST-ROUND MATCH!

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.

Vince: MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING FROM SAN DIEGO, CA BY WAY OF HANOI, VIETNAM… WEIGHING IN AT 195 POUNDS… CHANDLER TSONDA!

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, the next match we’ve got on tap for you is being heralded by many to be the biggest first-round match of this tournament! Chandler Tsonda – a man whose popularity and in-ring ability have seen him make many waves since his return – is taking on a bona fide veteran in former fWo and IWO World Heavyweight Champion High Flyer! Richard, who would you give the edge to in this match?

Richard: Well, Chandler at one point was a true blue scumbag though we’ve seen him change in recent months. High Flyer on the other hand, is a veteran like you said with all the skill necessary to win this tournament.

Nick: And your pick?

Richard: Tsonda, ONLY because he’s the hometown boy as it were.

Nick: Way to be impartial.

Richard: Your job, not mine!

Tsonda bounces off the ropes and does a few pre-match calisthenics to loosen the joints. He focuses on the entryway as a series of rapid-fire green and silver strobes illuminate the arena with their hue.

"Flyentology" by El-P.

The fans that have a pretty good idea of who the well-traveled veteran is EXPLODE when the curtains part to reveal the form of former multiple-time World Champion and Hall of Famer in several circles.

Vince: AND HIS OPPONENT… FROM LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA! HE IS A FORMER IWO, fWo, WORLD CHAMPION.. MAKING HIS PRIME DEBUT… WEIGHING IN AT 224 POUNDS.. THIS IS HIGH FLYER!

Flyer slaps palms with a few of the PRIME fans in the audience, happy to compete for a spot in PRIME’s illustrious Jewel in the Crown tournament. Tsonda nods his head casually as Flyer climbs the turnbuckle and stops to point at the sea of fans up in the nose bleeds with lots of his older fWo merchandise on them.

Richard: HEY, HEY, HEY! BEAT THOSE BASTARDS FOR WEARING OLD MERCHANDISE TO OUR SHOWS! IT’S PRIME OR BUST… YOUR NUTS!

Flyer hops into the ring and stares down Tsonda, albeit with a nod of his own with somewhat mutual respect. They start to circle one another closely as the bell rings.

Nick: Now, this is going to be a very interesting match. Tsonda’s perfected his game over time to be able to work that speed to his advantage. However, High Flyer didn’t get his name by throwing punches at people all day. He’s got the weight advantage over Tsonda and is blessed with great technical and aerial capabilities. This’ll be very interesting to see, no doubt.

The two men continue to circle, then meet in the center of the ring for a Collar-and-Elbow tie-up. Flyer, with a slight power advantage, tries to power Chandler up and over his shoulder with a single-leg, but Tsonda brings him back down and ensnares the former multiple-time champion with a headlock. Flyer uses his strength to push the former 5-Star Champion into the ropes and tries to catch him with a clothesline on the rebound.

Tsonda ducks and runs off the opposite side, trying for a Roundhouse Kick, but Flyer ducks that. Chandler lands on his feet and waits on Flyer, attempting another headlock, but Flyer’s at the ready, grabbing Tsonda and snapping him down with the headlock takeover!

Nick: What a hot start we’re off to so far! These two appeared just about evenly matched there for a moment, but High Flyer has the advantage as far as experience goes in this match.

Richard: Somebody better take somebody’s head off by this match’s end or I’m gonna be super-pissed.

High Flyer does his best to ground the speedy Tsonda (Tsonda note: "I’m only speedy in the ring, ladies!") but Chandler manages to get his legs up and trap the former IWO Champion with a tight Leg Scissors. It’s the Viet Viper’s turn to keep the Lunatic grounded, but Flyer manages to show off some impressive skill and kip his legs up in order to free himself from the hold!

As Tsonda stands up, Flyer rushes at and takes him down with a Sunset Flip attempt!

ONE!

TWO!

Reversal by Tsonda!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Flyer escapes and as the two meet each other at their feet, The Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic locks him up in a backslide and goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Tsonda rolls throught he pin attempt and gets to his feet, catching a completely off-guard Flyer with the Small Package pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Both men make it back to their feet, sizing up their opposition as the Montreal fans cheer on both men.

Nick: What a great opening we’ve seen thus far! These two can’t seem to get an advantage over one another just yet.

Richard: Yeah, that’s all well and good, but if Tsonda loses this to an outsider, I’ll sob.

Nick: There’d be no shame in defeat to somebody as skilled as High Flyer. The fact that Tsonda’s sticking it out thus far speaks volumes.

Flyer and Tsonda lock up again, but this time, Tsonda ducks underneath the grappling attempt and STIFFLY connects to High Flyer’s breadbasket with a Low Spinning Kick. He grabs him and Irish whips him to the nearest corner before dashing in. The Snowman gets the elbow up and stuns Tsonda long enough to take him into the corner. He lights up his chest with a few Knife-Edge Chops (complete with WHOO! Action from the crowd) and hurls Tsonda cross-corner. He follows him in and throws him up and over with the Monkey Flip…

TSONDA LANDS ON HIS FEET!

The Snowman dashes at the Model Citizen only to be stopped in his tracks with another Snap Kick to the chest. Tsonda catches him with the Jawbreaker, then runs off the ropes and DRILLS both feet into the head of High Flyer with a Front Dropkick! The fans cheer as Tsonda throws all his body weight into a pinning attempt.

ONE!

TWO… SHOULDER UP!

Richard: BOO! SLOWEST. REF. EVER.

Nick: That was another great athletic exchange, but Tsonda finally gets the better of High Flyer and nearly scores the win there.

Tsonda pulls Flyer up by his hair and takes the fight to him with a succession of Snap Kicks to the chest and head; each one more painful than the last. He whips The Snowman into the corner and follows him in with a HARD Back Elbow and hangs onto him, attempting to follow it up with a Bulldog, but Flyer finds the wherewithal to push the former 5-Star Champion off him. The Viet Viper turns around and EATS the back end of Flyer’s boot, courtesy of a Jumping Calf Kick!

Trying to get as far away from Flyer as humanly possible, Tsonda climbs out onto the apron to take a breath, but Flyer is there at the ready, knocking him off with a Ohtani-esque Springboard Dropkick!

Nick: And just like that, High Flyer’s snatched control back from Chandler Tsonda showing why he’s such a decorated veteran!

Richard: If you say "decorated," "accomplished," or "veteran" one more time, I’m going to smack you.

Nick: It’s true!

Richard: He may be all those things and yeah, that dropkick gave him the advantage, but Tsonda can pull this one out.

While The Sultan of Style tries to recuperate from the high-octane offense of his opponent, High Flyer begs for his opponent get back to his feet. When he sees an opportunity present itself, he leaps to the outside apron and flies, taking down himself and Chandler Tsonda with the Asai Moonsault!

Richard: I’ll give him this… he was rockin’ that Asai Moonsault!

Nick: You complimenting him?

Richard: I did… time to restore things to natural order… you’re an ass!

Nick: …I hate you.

The Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic takes his time to get back to his feet, throwing Tsonda back in underneath the bottom rope. Flyer slingshots himself over into an Elbow Drop across the heart of Tsonda! He goes for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Tsonda throws the shoulder up, but this doesn’t deter Flyer from exacting some punishment upon the Vietnamese PRIME star. He takes down a rising Tsonda with a snapmare and goes after the back, BLASTING him with a series of kicks. Chandler arches his back in pain while Flyer continues to deliver the punishment with a kick to the face that knocks Tsonda down. Flyer bounces off the ropes and drives a Quick Leg Drop across the neck of the Viet Viper, pinning him again.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick: Flyer’s bringing the punishment, but Tsonda’s been weathering the storm!

Flyer tries once again to bring Chandler to his feet with an Arm Wrench. He twists him around and looks for a German Suplex… TSONDA LANDS ON HIS FEET!

The surprised Jack Harmen turns around and walks into another NASTY Snap Kick targeting his chest. Tsonda lifts him up, but drops him across the knee with a big-time Inverted Atomic Drop. He follows it up with a hard-sounding Spinning Wheel Kick that knocks the veteran down!

Flyer makes it back up in a daze, but the second-rope Headscissors Takeover from Tsonda doesn’t do much to help it. Rolling around the ring frantically, High Flyer’s momentum takes him outside the ring where a focused and intense Chandler waits for him to set up his next move.

Nick: Uh-oh! Looks like Tsonda’s gonna give Flyer a taste of his own medicine! What’s he gonna do here?

Richard: Cook him a dog?

Nick: That was uncalled for.

Chandler bounces off the ropes and FLIES over the top rope, spiraling several times before crashing down upon Flyer.

Nick: PERFECT 10! TSONDA’S GOT HIM ON THE ROPES NOW!

Indeed he does. Both men crash in front of the announce table like they’ve been ejected from a car crash. Tsonda’s the first one up after the impact, grabbing Flyer by the head and throwing several stomps into his temple. When his feet get tired (or he takes the fight back into the ring, you be the judge), he rolls High Flyer back inside the ring and follows up with an Eddy Guerrero-esque Slingshot Senton! The pin follows.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

High Flyer shoots the shoulder up, but Tsonda isn’t deterred. He rolls The Lunatic to the center of the ring and applies a Cobra Clutch.

Richard: It’s weird seeing Tsonda fight fair and… use a submission?

Nick: That’s the Viper’s Bite. The Cobra Clutch submission’s an oldie, but a goodie and if Flyer can’t find a way out of the submission, he can kiss his chances of advancing in the Jewel in the Crown goodbye!

The Snowman grits his teeth as he finds himself being robbed of his air by his own left hand. Chandler pulls back on the choke even more and shakes him vehemently, trying to disorient the man known across many circles as a former World Champion. With precious air being robbed from him by the second, Flyer makes a bid to return to his feet as the Canadian crowd battles verbally between Flyer and Tsonda, with the crowd slightly more in the former’s corner.

Shaking and pumping his fists, Flyer starts to roll to his feet while The Sultan of Style pulls back further on the submission hold.

"FLYER! TSONDA! FLYER! TSONDA! FLYER! TSONDA!"

He barely makes it to his feet when Tsonda places a leg in between his and SWEEPS him harshly back to the canvas with a modified Cobra Clutch Legsweep.

Nick: Nice move there! Flyer thought he was gonna escape the Viper’s Bite, but Tsonda pulled a great counter out of nowhere!

Richard: He’s becoming quite the well-rounded athlete lately. He’s almost like Karina Wolfenden with brains. And a penis. And a sense of style. And a normal haircut. And a normal hair color….

Tsonda goes back to the submission again as about half the excited Canadian crowd rally behind The Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic. He starts to shake him around some more in an effort to drain the energy out of him, but somehow Flyer manages to find his legendary second wind that has guided him to so many victories in the past. He finds himself slowly rising to a vertical base, then throws his entire body weight into the turnbuckles, ducking and sending Tsonda face-first into the top padding!

Nick: OH! Tsonda just took a face full of that top buckle!

Ricahrd: Hey! That face earns him money! This whackjob High Flyer needs to get his ass kicked!

Tsonda walks forward again, but gets caught in a Ura-nage Suplex position…

Nick: LUNATIC BOMB! Flyer calls that sit-out Ura-nage Suplex the Lunatic Bomb and it looks like he may have bought himself some time!

Cradling his back in pain, Tsonda grits his teeth and tries to shake off the pain while Flyer tries to breathe to get his energy back. The referee makes his mandatory ten-count which I’m not going to bother recapping since I pray to God all you readers know how to do so. High Flyer and Tsonda make it back to their feet and start to trade off kicks and forearm shots.

KICK FROM TSONDA!

FOREARM FROM FLYER!

KICK FROM TSONDA!

FOREARM FROM FLYER!

Tsonda manages to stun him with a barrage of kicks to the rib cage, then bounces off the ropes, but a BIG Leaping Jericho-style forearm from High Flyer knocks him down! The former 5-Star Champion makes it back to his feet, but a stiff forearm shot to the back of the head puts him back down again!

Richard: Ouch! Richard, I think I used a similar punch to the back of your mom’s head last night, too.

Nick: That’s just wrong! Focus on the match, idiot!

Richard: Why? This is much more entertaining to me!

High Flyer waits for Tsonda to stand and as he does so, sends him crashing damn near through the mat with an Exploder Suplex! He goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE… NO!

Close call, but Chandler Tsonda doesn’t give in that easily to defeat. High Flyer eagerly awaits The Model Citizen’s triumphant return to his two feet, but cuts him off about halfway with several alternating kicks to the head. He grabs him by the arm and whips him to the nearest corner, following him in with a Cartwheel Elbow! Tsonda staggers into the path of a nasty Thrust Kick to the jaw!

Nick: What’s Flyer gonna do now? He’s going out to the apron!

The A-List member doesn’t have much left in the tank as he finds himself driven back to the mat with the Springboard Thesz Press! Flyer goes to town on him with the right hands as the fans go berserk for the competition!

Nick: See this, PRIME fans? This is EXACTLY the type of competition that PRIME it proud to offer every single one of you each week!

Richard: Oh, you don’t have to kiss their ass anymore! They’re already watching our show!

Nick: Are you TRYING to lose fans?

On the brink of defeat, Tsonda has to use the ropes to pull himself to his feet as Flyer rolls off him, waiting for his final chance to assault. He starts to taunt him with some of his classic devil horns before slapping his foot.

Nick: Uh-oh! Flyer could be looking for the Locomotive here! That Yakuza Kick has fallen opponents of all sizes!

Richard: Locomotive? This guy’s crazy! Oh, wait… I get the joke. Hehe.

Like a deer in the headlights, Chandler’s eyes bulge out of his head when he sees the boot flying his way, but split-second reaction time allows him to duck the boot with literally "this" much space left. He rolls the unsuspecting Flyer up with a School Boy!

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

Nick: That was a close one!

Chandler finds himself taking the business end of Flyer’s boot to his abdomen. He tries to whip Tsonda into the ropes again, but Chandler reverses. Flyer reverses THAT and sends him to one side of the ring. Flyer goes for a Clothesline, but Tsonda ducks and springboards back with a BIG Back Elbow to the head!

Tsonda rolls through the fall and gets to his feet, meeting the rising Flyer with TWO stiff boots to the skull, courtesy of a dropkick! With the PRIME fanbase firmly on his side at this juncture, Chandler whips Flyer into the nearest turnbuckle and runs full-speed, CRASHING into Flyer hard with a Leaping Spinning Heel Kick! Tsonda uses the momentum to roll through to the outside as High Flyer crashes to the mat.

Nick: TSONDA SWANDIVE!

The Headbutt successfully connects and Tsonda cradles both legs.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Chandler holds up three fingers, certain that the win was his, but the referee holds up two fingers signifying otherwise. Sighing in frustration, Chandler grabs him by the head, possibly looking for the Golgotha Drop, but Flyer reverses his positioning and grabs the arm! He locks his head up looking for the Cold Snow DDT, but Tsonda pushes him back to escape the hold!

They lock up again, but Flyer cuts him off with a right hand to the temple. With the advantage now in his corner, High Flyer throws the former 5-Star Champ-een to the corner overlooking the timekeeper’s table and puts the boots to him to soften him up for something. He seats him on the top turnbuckle.

Richard: Sweet! Somebody’s gonna take a dive!

Flyer climbs up the turnbuckles and prepares for whatever his next move is going to be upon Tsonda. He leaps into the air for the Frankensteiner…

Nick: OUCH! Flyer takes a dive with Tsonda hanging on for dear life on that turnbuckle! Flyer’s gotta be out of it now!

Crashing down to the mat at an awkward angle (stomach-first), Flyer stumbles up in a daze, but finds himself in Tsonda’s grip now…

RUNWAY VAULT!

The fans explode as Tsonda successfully connects with the Diamond Dust maneuver – a true first in what has been a successful stint for the former model. He hooks the legs and holds on for dear life after pulling Flyer away from the ropes!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nick: HE DID IT!

Vince: HERE IS YOUR WINNER AND ADVANCING IN THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN TOURNAMENT… CHANDLER TSONDA!

The referee goes to raise Chandler Tsonda’s hand, who looks around in a small fit of disbelief that he pulled victory from the jaws of defeat. He looks at the fallen Flyer and offers a nod of respect before leaving the ring.

Nick: What a match! It was back and forth the whole way through and several times, it looked like High Flyer was going to advance in the tournament, but out of literally nowhere, Chandler Tsonda finds a way to eek out the win!

Devin Shakur seldom has a night off in PRIME, being one of the puppets for Lisa Tyler’s rage. However, coming off his big win against Danny Ferguson, he has the fortunate circumstance of not wrestling on this card. So what does a potential main event white hot heel do on his night off?

"AND I RUN! I RUN SO FAR AWAY…"

Listen to Flock of Seagulls on his iPod while grinning down the hallway and chomping down on some sausage. Shakur executes a well placed spin moves and Scott Hall walks around the corner…

Smack dab into his opponent for 145, Tom Walczak. The iPod headphones fall out of his ears and he scrambles to pick them up to avoid major stompage. Once he recovers, he looks up at the much taller and much larger and…Deuhboy, bigger Walczak.

Devin Shakur: DUDE-

Shakur throws his arms outward

Devin Shakur: You interruptin my flow.

The normally unemotional expression plastered on the face of Walczak, has turned to one of utter disgust. Walczak has never tried to hide the contempt he has had for American's, but the hate beaming from Walczak at this moment is different.

Walczak: What was that? Seriously is there something wrong with you?

Devin Shakur: Why is it that whenever there is a camera following someone as illustrious as me, limelight hoggers like you always have to "coincidentally" be in the hallway at the same time?

Walczak: Why would I try to go out of my way to be in the same place as you. I can barely stand the sight of you. In fact next week I hope to get in an out of that match as quick as possible, so as not to be in the same feneral vicinity for an extended period of time.

Walczak walks past Shakur, feeling that he has made his point, and no longer wanting to trade words with his future competition.

Shakur turns around, suddenly feeling a surge of balls in between his legs.

Devin Shakur: Yeah, the whole monster heel thing died when Big Daddy V showed up with his village sized tits hanging out. Seriously, you try to act like you are better than me. You’ve felt the glass ceiling that is my talent Walczak, don’t think you are above it now just because you get airtime once a week.

Shakur manages to get Walczak to stop in his walk down the hall, referencing the fact that he has in fact beat the monster Pole inside of the PRIME ring.

Walczak: Yeah, that was quite a victory you managed to pull off. I guess you don't remember the fact that it happened to be my first match in over two years, or the fact that I was not even remotely close to wrestling shape at the time. But I have to applaud your victory Shakur, and I hope that you can really be stupid enough to think that this gives you an edge next week.

Walczak slowly claps his hands, sarcastically applauding Shakur's previous victory.

Devin Shakur: Wow, actually using an excuse on a piece of American made trash like myself? I draw the line at "Gamble’s midgetness threw me off" in terms of a legitimate excuse for a lose around here. Trust me kid, I haven’t gotten worse since we last fought and all it takes is one kick upside your big fat delicious sausagey head and, as Mike Goldberg would say, "IT IS ALL OVER! IT IS ALL OVER!". Then Joe Rogan is probably going to accuse me of plagiarising Mirko Crocop…Rat bastard.

Walczak: And Rogan would probably be right. You see it is just a general rule of life that everything great originates from Eastern Europe. You don't have a chance in this tournament. I come from a land of kings and it is only right that this title should come home with me.

Shakur is startled and tries to navigate his brain to formulate a response.

Devin Shakur: …Yeah, well…I fuck a really Chinese woman, and China is whooping ERRBODY’s ass at everything, and I become like 1/1000th Chinese everytime I tap it…And…And…FUCK YOU! YOU ARE FAT, UGLY, AND SMELL LIKE ROTTEN EGGS!

Shakur runs around the corner and down the hall, out of camera range. Walczak just stands there in amazement.

“Fuck Tony Gamble!”

The camera opens up backstage, revealing the source of the deep, gravely, and apparently drunken voice that could only belong to PRIME's Bad Dog, Wade Elliott. A side door, likely his locker room, busts open, and the 'Bama Bruiser stumbles across the hall, thudding into the opposite wall. A near-empty bottle of Jim Beam dangles from a finger as he attempts to push himself to full-standing positon.

Wade Elliott: I'm alright! Fuckin'...leave me 'lone!

Wade staggers to the center of the hall. His drifter's hat tilts at a side as he throws back another swig of bourbon.

Wade Elliott (wiping his goatee): Pfffft, I don't even care! I'm Wade fuckin' Elliott! Whadda I care 'bout fuckin'...belts...n' all that?! Huh!?!

The Southern Sparkplugg whips around to face his non-existent audience.

Wade Elliott: I mean, fer fuck's sake, he's all've four feet fuckin' tall! An' he took my belt! He fuckin' tricked me! 'Ows that legal?

Another swig falls down the Drifter's throat.

Wade Elliott: Now they're gonna be sayin' “Oh! Big Bad Wade couldn't beat a midget! Har har har!” Real fuckin' funny! I ain't even laughin' it's so fuckin' funny!

A random backstage helper has made his way into the picture, arms full with a large cardboard box, and unfortunately for said helper, he's come across a very, very, very drunk Wade. Elliott whirls to the helper.

Wade Elliott: AIN'T IT FUCKIN' FUNNY!??

Helper: AAH!

He drops his box and runs off-screen. Wade watches him go through glassy eyes, and offers a quick drunken smile.

Wade Elliott: Haha.

He takes another swig and sort of stumbles backwards a little, right into another body that wasn't there a moment ago.  Wade whirls around again and his eyes meet the hazel ones of the last Universal Champion, Lindsay Troy. Her face scrunches as the smell of booze hits her nostrils and she sighs, heavily.

Lindsay Troy: Come on, Wade.

Wade Elliott: Lindsay! Yer right on *hic* time! There's a party in celebration've our defeat! I attend to fuckin' intend! Or...intend

Lindsay Troy: The only place you're going is to a hotel so you can sleep this off. Getting drunk backstage and stumbling about was Caesar's M.O. PRIME doesn't need someone else like this.

Wade drapes an arm over The Queen of the Ring's shoulders, allowing her to keep him on his feet.

Wade Elliott: Fuckin'...fuck them hotels! You'd best be takin' me to my god damn truck! I ain't no...fuckin'..fancy *hic* prick...

Lindsay Troy: Okay well, I know you and you won't let me drive your rig, and I'm not letting you sit in it all night in the arena parking lot. So you can suck it up for one night.

Troy starts walking the belligerent Bad Dog down the hall, taking his bourbon away from him.

Wade Elliott: Then I'll!...fine...I'll *hic* go...

The Blue Collar Brawler succumbs as the two take slow paces down the hallway.

Wade Elliott: 'ey, Lindsay?

Lindsay Troy: Yeah, Wade?

Wade Elliott: I love ya, Lindsay.

Lindsay chuckles and shakes her head.

Lindsay Troy: Yeah, yeah.  Don't let Jim talk too much.

Wade Elliott: Okay.

With the main event nipping at her heels, Lisa Tyler paces backstage worried about what she should do. Several people are standing around her, waiting for some kind of cue from her, but she doesn't seem to be giving any as she weighs each option equally in her head. She looks at the stagehands and contemplates cursing at them. Instead, she decides to make them a part of the decision making.

Lisa: Okay, people, Dusk isn't going to be able to make it here for the main event tonight, so we need someone to replace him.

One the stagehands steps forward and looks at Lisa apprehensively.

Stagehand #1: Why don't we just let Youngblood advance? How would it be fair for him to have to fight an opponent he hasn't prepared for? His mind was set on Dusk after all.

Lisa: Yeah, but just one problem with that. If Youngblood did indeed attack Dusk, then we're just playing right into his hands. I don't intend to let that happen, not with his attitude. Next suggestion?

Another stagehand steps forwards.

Stagehand #2: How about we postpone the match to next week? That gives Dusk some time to get better or gives us time to find a better opponent.

Lisa: NO! I need a main event tonight! These fans paid money for this and god damn, I'm giving it to them! So, you better come up with something better then that!

Then, another stagehand steps forward.

Stagehand #3: What're some decent matches with Youngblood? We've got Wade Elliot, Tony Gamble, and Devin Shakur all in the building.

Lisa: No, they're all involved in the tournament. Not happening that way either. I need something fresh people! Come on, you can do better than that.

One of the previous stage hands decides to move forward.

Stagehand #1: What about Troy?

The look in Lisa’s eyes is priceless.

Lisa: BRING ME LINDSAY TROY!

Yet, as one of them starts moving to get her, sirens are heard in the background.

Lisa: What the--?

And behind her, an ambulance starts pulling up towards her. As the door flies open, a man jumps out of it, looking like a bat out of hell. As he moves around from the corner of the ambulance, it's rather clear who it is.

Dusk

Oh, and the fans pop.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Lisa: What the hell are you doing here?! The doctors have told me you're in no shape to compete tonight!

Yet, from the look in Dusk's red eyes, burning hot and dancing around like flames, she knows better to argue with Dusk tonight. Someone had attacked him and nearly took him out of one of the biggest matches of his life. He wanted revenge and if he thought Youngblood did this, then he would get the brunt of it. On his forehead is a large white bandage that is sure to come off during the match sometime.

Lisa: They didn't get a chance to stitch up your wound?

Dusk takes a long look at Lisa.

Dusk: No.

Lisa: Then, be careful out there.

Then, Lisa takes a look at Dusk's arm and inserted into one of his veins is his IV needle. Dusk takes a look at what Lisa is looking at and notices the needle sticking out of his arm as well. He grabs the needle and pulls it out of his arm before throwing it on the ground. He grabs his trench coat from a stage hand rushing up out of nowhere and throws it on. He begins walking towards the gorilla position and then hears Youngblood's music start in the arena. In his mind, he begins to get ready for the match. As he starts to walk away from Tyler, she yells something at him.

Lisa: Did Youngblood do it?

Dusk pauses in mid-step and looks at Lisa.

Dusk: I don't know who did it.

Lisa looks at Dusk and nods her head.

Lisa: Then take it out on him.

Dusk doesn't say another word or even acknowledge her words as he begins moving towards the entrance, and is ready for the hell waiting for him.

"Blaine! Mr. Blair… Bossman!"

The various greetings float into the office of Blaine Blair, raising the gaze of PRIME’s chief man in charge from an assortment of documents. Standing in the doorway, large grin on his face (probably due to the twenty pounds of gold draped across his shoulder, couples with the copious amounts of alcohol he’d downed this evening) stands the Universal Champion himself.

Blair: What can I do for you, Sonny?

Silver: Please, call me, "Champ"… and the question is… what can I do for you.

Blair: You can leave me be. It’s a crazy time of the year, and I’ve got a handful of important things I need to be focusing on.

Sonny shifts the Universal title on his shoulder and shakes his head.

Silver: Not what I meant.

Blair: Then what did you mean?

Blaine finally gives in, paying his undivided attention to the newly crowned face of his franchise. Leaning back in his leather chair, Blair folds his arms across his chest and raises an eyebrow, giving Sonny a "well… I’m waiting" type of look.

Silver: What I meant, is that I’m here to offer up my services as the official Special Guest Referee for the Jewel in the Crown tournament Finals match at King of Kings. With a hard fought, ladder match victory over that she-beast… I’m ready to sit atop my throne and oversee the quest to crown my first challenger.

Blair: That’s an intriguing idea.

Silver: By being guest referee, I’ll be able to ensure only the best survives to face me. And since I’ll have the night off otherwi…

Blair: Who said anything about having the night off?

Silver: Uh… news flash, Sean Hayes. Everyone on the roster is already booked in the tournament. Other than those handful who decided to conveniently take vacation following GAN. There afraid of me , you know?

Blaine chuckles to himself and shakes his head.

Blair: I doubt it. Nonetheless… regardless of the fact that the entire roster, and parts of other company’s as well, are pre-occupied with the Jewel in the Crown tournament… its KoK tradition for the Universal Champion to defend the title. And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

The look on Sonny’s face show’s little of the arrogant pride and amusement it had upon entering the room. Instead, he furls his brow, and fires a cold stare straight towards his employer.

Silver: Who’s the CHUMP I’ve got to beat down this time?!

Blair: I can’t say.

Sonny looks nonplussed at Blair’s statement. One would go so far as to say "Goddamn irate."

Silver: This is bullshit! (stomps fists on desk) I’m supposed to have the night off, then you sit there and tell me I’m going to have to defend my title… and now you don’t even have the common courtesy to tell me against who?!

Blair: I haven’t squared away the last of the paper work yet. And I’d hate to say anything before its all set in stone. But I can assure you, Sonny… King of Kings is going to be the furthest thing from a night off.

With an angry sigh, Sonny turns and heads for the door.

Silver: Not a smart move to disrespect your Uni champ, Blair. Asshole. Shit-stain! DICKFACE!

The various names echo into the hallway as Silver marches out of sight.

The fans inside of the Bell Centre are on their feet as "Wait" by Earshot rips through the arena. They don't waste any time with getting their boo on!



Vince Howard: The following match is one fall and is a first round match in the Jewel in the Crown Tournament! Introducing first...

Out from the back comes Brandon Youngblood with a large smile on his face as he has the 5-Star Title with him! At the mere sight of him, the fans immediately get intense with their booing as they just frankly can't stand the guy! Yet, with the smile on his face, he doesn't give a damn in the world as he begins walking down the ramp.

Nick: As we just found out, Dusk is back, and will be competing in this match tonight!

Richard: Yes, but does Youngblood know that yet? Dusk was just arriving as Youngblood was about to come out here, you have to ask yourself if he actually knows that Dusk is here!

Nick: I think by the look in his eyes, Brandon doesn't know!

Vince: Standing at 6 feet 3 inches tall, and weighing in at 245 pounds... HE IS THE DIAMOND! THE FIVE STAR CHAMPION! BRRRRRRRAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNDOOOOOOOOOOOOON! YOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNGBLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Brandon then slides into the ring and walks around as he parades and shows off his 5-Star Title before handing it to the ringside attendant and looks like he's just won a million dollars. He stands there in his corner, relaxed, and laid back. He then looks over at the camera with a huge smile on his face.

Brandon: Bring on your best, Lisa. Who's it gonna be?!

Richard: And that just confirmed it! Youngblood has no idea that Dusk is back in the arena!

Nick: Oh, he's going to be in a rude awakening, that's for sure.

Richard: Yet, Dusk is obviously in no shape to be wrestling tonight!

Nick: I don't think that's going to slow Dusk down at all. Though, it will give Youngblood a huge advantage.

Richard: No joke.

Then, there's silence as Youngblood just looks down the ramp and waits for his opponent. Yet, the fans inside of the arena already know what's going on as they begin to chant his opponent's name.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Then, Kanye's voice explodes through the speakers as "Stronger" starts playing through the arena.

#Th-th-that that don't kill me
#Can only make me stronger

The beat then drops hard as the PRIME*Tron lights up and the lights dim. On the screen, it shows different highlights from Dusk's run in PRIME thus far. In the ring, Youngblood is looking down the ramp and is yelling that it can't be! Yet, it is as from the back comes Dusk, wearing his patented trench coat, and with eyes that could kill at this point in time. At the mere sight of him, the fans go crazy!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

He doesn't waste any time as he explodes and runs down the ramp and slides into the ring with the song just playing behind him!

Vince: His opponent... weighing in at 250 pounds and standing at 6 feet 4 inches tall, he is THE LOST SOUL! DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSK!

Nick: And listen to the fans here tonight as they're witnessing the return of Dusk to action for the first time since DDT and the Roulette match!

Richard: Yeah, where this crazy person ran up the back of Titan St. James back and did a shooting star press onto Jonathan Winters from the very top of the cage! I still don't think Winters has recovered from that!

Nick: He's never been one to be considered sane as he will put his body on the line each and every night as he said earlier tonight when he interrupted Youngblood earlier tonight.

Richard: Idiot.

The music fades out as the lights turn back on. Dusk just stands, looking hard at Youngblood, and wondering to himself if Youngblood was the one who had attacked him earlier. He comes to the conclusion though that he really doesn't care.

Nick: Dusk came out here and made it clear that he cares about being the best period in the ring. He doesn't care about titles or anything along those lines, he just cares about having the best matches possible, and that's admirable.

Richard: Well then, he should just let Youngblood win here tonight.

Nick: I don't see that happening.

With both wrestlers in the ring, the fans inside of the Bell Centre are on their feet, and chanting on Dusk. Yet, he doesn't acknowledge him as his red eyes are focused solely on Youngblood who stands in his corner acting cocky. The referee stands in between them and signals for the bell yet neither man moves as the intensity between the two is at an all time high. The bandage on Dusk's head is the largest target on both man, and one that Youngblood plans on taking full advantage of. The chanting in the arena reaches an all time high as they continue to support Dusk.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Nick: And these fans are just not relenting right now! Youngblood is going to have a huge hill to battle if this keeps up.

Richard: Nick, the fans don't win the match, wrestlers do.

Nick: You underestimate adrenaline and momentum.

Richard: Two things which Dusk relies too heavily on and that Youngblood can destroy in a heartbeat.

Nick: Dusk lives and dies by these fans, and they reward him for it. Youngblood pisses them off and he's been on the receiving end of losses because of it.

Richard: Trust me, that's not going to happen tonight.

Then, Youngblood starts moving towards Dusk, and Dusk explodes out of the corner with a jab to Youngblood's jaw! Youngblood is caught off guard by the move, and Dusk nails another one on him! Youngblood stumbles away as Dusk follows him and pushes him into the ropes before nailing another jab to Youngblood's face! With each fist, the fans inside of the Bell Centre get louder and louder with fury and anticipation! Dusk then grabs Youngblood's arm and whips him into the ropes and then turns him inside out with a clothesline that causes the roof to nearly be blown off the arena!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Nick: And Dusk comes out explosive here. The momentum is clearly on his side as he's got a lot of anger pent up right about now. If he can keep this up, then he's got a huge chance of wearing Youngblood down to the point where Dusk's injuries won't even matter.

Richard: Oh, they'll always matter Nick. Trust me on that one.

Nick: Oh, okay Richard. I forgot you were the king of injuries and just know how Dusk is feeling at all times.

Richard: Well, it's okay, but don't do it again Nick!

Youngblood gets right back up and as Dusk walks over to him, Youngblood slams a knee into Dusk's midsection before connecting with a belly-to-belly suplex that silences the crowd! Dusk starts to get back up, but Youngblood punts Dusk in the side of the head, and Dusk has to grab onto one of the ropes to balance himself. Youngblood keeps the assault up as he clubs Dusk in the back a few times, and with each blow, the intensity in his movements just gets tougher and tougher. The blows come faster and harder to the point that Dusk is face down into the mat unable to do a damn thing about it! Brandon then grabs Dusk by the neck and pulls him up. He then follows that up with a vicious uppercut that sends Dusk into the nearby corner! He keeps it up as just ruthlessly starts pounding away at Dusk's head with vicious blow after vicious blow!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: And just like that, Youngblood has taken complete control of this match. Once Youngblood takes it, he's not giving it back.

Nick: It's all Youngblood needed to do to be honest. Dusk came in here with a huge target and Youngblood went right after it, wanting to make sure Dusk felt as much pain as possible.

Richard: It's Youngblood's style of wrestling. Just hit him hard and Youngblood is one of the best at that. From here, Dusk is going to have a downhill battle. The idiot should've stayed home and tried again next year. He's going to risk a lot more then this match at this rate.

Nick: Dusk is not going to back down from a fight and we've seen it all year long.

Richard: That'll be his death knell. You just watch.

The fans continue to show their hatred for the 5-Star Champion as he just continues to wail away at Dusk with no end in sight. Then, he grabs Dusk's arm and whips him across the ring as hard as possible, and Dusk collides chest first with the opposite turnbuckle! The impact drops him flat on his back and Youngblood just comes up and mounts him before firing away at Dusk's head once again! Dusk attempts to cover up, but it's no use as Brandon is one of the best hitters in the gamer, period. The referee yells at Youngblood to get off of him, but Youngblood doesn't listen as he starts to choke Dusk with all of his strength! The referee begins to count!

Nick: And Youngblood is going to need to break this hold if he doesn't want to lose this match.

Richard: The referee isn't going to DQ Youngblood, not in this setting. The fans would have his head!

Nick: Youngblood might not give him a choice!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

GET OFF OF HIM!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

At those words, Youngblood breaks the hold and gets up as the referee rips into him. Yet, Youngblood just pushes the referee away before walking over to Dusk and picking him up off the mat. The slightly smaller Youngblood then whips Dusk into the ropes and nails him with a high knee to the chest that drops Dusk to his knees as he clutches his chest in a world of pain. Youngblood then bounces off the ropes and slams his foot into the back of Dusk's head and causes the former Intense Champion to fall flat on his face. Dusk just lays there, breathing lightly as it seems like Youngblood has done a considerable amount of damage to Dusk! Youngblood saunters over to Dusk and turns him over before going for the cover!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard: COME ON REF! CALL THE DAMN MATCH FAIRLY!

Nick: That is fair, Richard! Dusk got his shoulder up and that's that! No questions about it.

Richard: Trust me, I'm going to have my questions. Dusk should've been done right then and there!

As the referee's hand came up for the three count, Dusk is able to get his shoulder up off the mat as Youngblood just glares over at the referee for his, in Brandon's mind, slowness. Instead of lingering on it though, he just grabs Dusk by the back of the head and pulls him to his feet. He grabs Dusk's arm and goes to whip him into the ropes again, but Dusk is able to reverse it and starts to whip Youngblood into the ropes. However, Youngblood is able to reverse it again and kicks Dusk right in the midsection before planting him in the center of the ring with a DDT! The fans can only grimace at the sight of this as their hatred for Youngblood just intensifies!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: It looked like Dusk might be able to catch Youngblood off guard there, but that DDT put those plans on hold.

Richard: Youngblood is just too focused right now for something like that to happen. Dusk is going to have to fight back and it's going to have to be the hard way. He's going to have to give his shots and take Youngblood's shots as well if he hopes to get back on his feet without Youngblood controlling him.

Nick: Youngblood might be the best at strikes and aggression, but Dusk might be one of the best at taking the pain.

Richard: He might be, but he was already down seven in the 9th inning. Can he mount the comeback?

Nick: Knowing Dusk, it's only a matter of time.

Richard: We'll have to see about that.

With Dusk face down in the mat, Youngblood fires off a succession of kicks to the back of Dusk's head before dropping down and putting Dusk into the crossface! Dusk immediately yells out in pain as the referee moves in to the check on Dusk who can feel the pressure along the bridge of his nose, his jaw, and his neck. Yet, his red eyes seem to be on fire as he continues to grit it out and his teeth start grinding together! Youngblood is seen gritting his teeth as well as he can feel the match coming to a conclusion as it's only a matter of time before he taps out. Yet, as the fans just watch on, they see that Dusk is not going to give up. Not tonight. Not here. Not now. He continues to toughen it out as he tries to start moving, but is already starting to feel weakened from the moves he's had to face from Youngblood on top of his earlier assault. He is able to move a few inches and tries to reach out to the ropes, but he's still not close enough!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Richard: Just give it up, Dusk! Don't risk it all here tonight!

Nick: Dusk is not going to tap out, not with all of these fans chanting him on!

Richard: Once again, he might not have a choice. How long before he passes out from the pain? He's not in ring shape for this! He's not ready for this kind of abuse!

Nick: Dusk isn't just going to give up, not tonight! He'll keep fighting until he's got nothing left!

Richard: And how long before that happens?

Nick: I honestly don't know. But, the fans aren't giving up on him, and neither am I.

Richard: Fool.

As the fans chant his name, Dusk can feel some adrenaline rushing through his body, and he continues to fight, refusing to give up as the referee checks on him. Youngblood starts to scream as he wrenches back as hard as he can to make Dusk tap out, but Dusk just keeps holding it off for as long as he can. Every second, he keeps moving, hoping to get to the ropes before he reaches his tolerance level.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Nick: He's almost there!

Richard: Youngblood might break his nose or neck in the process.

Nick: Just something else for Dusk to fight back from!

His energy level begins to get low, and Dusk knows he doesn't have much longer. He makes one last gasp effort and is able to grab onto the ropes!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: HE DID IT! DUSK GOT TO THE ROPES!

Richard: DAMNIT!

Nick: And listen to these fans as they go wild!

The fans in the Bell Centre go wild as the referee yells for Youngblood to break the move and after a few moments, he does. Youngblood gets up and this time he's pissed as he was certain that Dusk would tap to the move! Yet, Dusk continues to hold onto the rope, and the match goes on! The pain though is done to Dusk as he can feel his entire head throbbing and with his free hand, he's clutching his head in a world of pain. Youngblood just looks at Dusk with hatred in his eyes before he bounces off of the ropes and kicks Dusk in the midsection, hoping to send him to the outside. Yet, Dusk is able to hold onto the rope as he reaches the edge of the ring apron. Dusk then starts to pull himself up using the ropes and Youngblood just eyes him before bouncing off the ropes with the intention of sending Dusk flying into the ring barrier. Yet, as Youngblood reaches Dusk, Dusk pulls down the top rope and falls onto his back as Youngblood goes flying out of the ring and hits the barrier instead!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: And Dusk pulls a fast on Youngblood who just went flying out of the ring!

Richard: He got lucky there.

Nick: He might have, but now is time for Dusk to capitalize on this.

Richard: If he's got anything left in him. He's been taking a beating from the onset of this match and with his shape, he might not be able to do anything before Youngblood can get back up to be honest.

Nick: Dusk is going to have to reach down deep as this might be his only chance to comeback!

Dusk somehow is able to roll into the ring and slowly gets to his feet as Youngblood starts to get up as well, except on the outside. Dusk looks over at Youngblood and knows he's got to take this opportunity to strike. He looks out at the fans and then at Youngblood before he bounces off the ropes and leaps into the air, not even using the ropes, and flies over the top rope and connects with a suicide dive on Youngblood as the fans just go crazy for Dusk as he finally gets a few moves in on Youngblood, for the first time since the opening moments of the match!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Richard: JUST INSANE! THAT'S WHAT HE IS, INSANE!

Nick: Dusk with the suicide dive! Athleticism, pure athleticism as well as he didn't he use the ropes to help him, and his body was several inches above the top rope. Reckless abandon, he threw everything in the wind! That's the mark of a man who wants to be a champion.

Richard: Or a man with a death wish.

Nick: You can't deny that Dusk is willing to give everything he's got.

Richard: He very well might be, but that doesn't win titles or matches. Getting your opponent's shoulders on the mat for a three count does that. With the shape Dusk is already in, how was this smart?

Nick: He does things his own way.

Richard: And that way might have just lost him the match. Dusk might've done more damage to himself then Youngblood there.

After a few brief moments, both wrestlers start to move with Dusk the first one to get up off the mat. Youngblood though isn't far behind him and Dusk decks him with a forearm shot! Youngblood goes stumbling as Dusk follows behind him and slams his head into the barrier! Youngblood bounces off of it before being dropped by a clothesline from Dusk who seems to be gaining some momentum as the fans are buzzing with anticipation. Dusk starts to pull Youngblood up off the mat, but Youngblood is able to slam his shoulder into Dusk's midsection. Dusk is momentarily winded, but slams his knee into the side of Youngblood's head! Youngblood is dazed after that shot as Dusk pulls him up before moving behind Youngblood. Dusk quickly wraps his arms around Youngblood's torso, and then nails him with a release German Suplex onto the nearby ring steps! The fans look on in pain as Youngblood's body rolls off the steps limp as he grabs the back of his head!

Nick: OOOOOOOOH! That one HAD to hurt!

Richard: Yeah, I think the back of my head hurt there, and Dusk has quickly turned the tables on Youngblood. That's the way to do it if you have to. High impact moves that just brutalize people.

Nick: Finally, giving Dusk some respect.

Richard: He's good in the ring, but he's an idiot overall. He just tries too damn hard to impress the fans, doing crazy things like that!

Nick: Yet, it works for Dusk.

Richard: Yeah, because Dusk's been winning so many matches.

Nick: He might be able to do so here tonight!

Dusk uses the ring apron to help him up and he begins to stalk Youngblood who is trying to fight his way back up, but is stopped quickly by Dusk who kicks Youngblood in the stomach before pulling him up and rolling him back into the ring. With Youngblood still down, Dusk gets onto the ring apron and climbs up to the top rope. Below him, Youngblood starts to get back up and as he turns towards Dusk, Dusk jumps off the top rope and connects with a missile dropkick! He then quickly goes for the cover, hoping to pull off a fast one on the 5-Star Champion!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yet, it isn't meant to be as Youngblood is able to kick out before the three count!

Nick: And a close one there for Dusk!

Richard: Yeah, it was, but if Dusk wants to win, he's going to have to do more than that! Dusk's best friends are his lethal feet which can knock people out in a heartbeat. We've seen it time and time again, even at the Great American Nightmare when he knocked out Gamble with them! That's his strong suit and going for a pin before that isn't going to get him a victory.

Nick: True, true.

Richard: Thank you Nick for finally just shutting up.

In the ring, Dusk is back to his feet and Youngblood is doing the same thing. Dusk is able to get a few shots in, but the two men start trading punches, and that's never a good thing as Dusk is quickly on the losing side of that battle. He continues to take the punishment though as he doesn't drop from them. Youngblood just unleashes blow after blow, haymaker that could knock any normal human being, but Dusk just continues to take the punishment as he starts to waver from the earth shattering blows! Youngblood then grabs Dusk's arm and nails him with another belly-to-belly suplex and Dusk lands hard on his back! Youngblood though pulls Dusk right back up to his feet and throws him into the nearby corner. He wears Dusk out some more with a flurry of kicks as Dusk's only able to remain standing thanks to the ropes. Youngblood then tears and claws at Dusk's bandage and as he rips it off, it's clear that the wound is still rather raw. At seeing this, Youngblood can only smile.

Richard: Oh, this is like Christmas for Youngblood! He opened his present and he couldn't be any happier!

Nick: This is just going to turn sickening pretty soon as Youngblood is going to want to make Dusk bleed until he dies.

Richard: I don't think Youngblood is going to try and kill him, Nick. Now, if it just happens, well, then that's a different story.

Nick: So morbid, Richard.

Richard: Thanks. But, you brought it up!

Youngblood then elbows Dusk in the throat before opening up the wound on Dusk's forehead with some more crushing blows! Brandon focuses solely on the open wound, negating everything else as he can see the pain in Dusk's body as he just keeps wearing down on the blow, and the blood starts trickling out! Yet, this isn't enough for Youngblood as he wants to open that wound even more and takes the back of Dusk's head and slams it into the turnbuckle as hard as he can! Dusk grimaces in pain, but Youngblood does it again as the wound just begins to split wider and wider from the impact! The blood now is flowing much more than before and this only makes Youngblood happy as he slams Dusk's head into the turnbuckle again and this time lets Dusk go as he collapses to the floor. The fans can only look on as they remain silent from the drastic turn of events.

Nick: And listen to the fans now...

Richard: That's right, listen to them! No more chanting, nothing! They see their hero, bloodied, and just a simple mess. There's nothing left to him now! He's done with and at the hands of Brandon Youngblood!

Nick: And you can see the pleasure in Youngblood as he just looks down at Dusk, knowing he could very well have this match in the bag.

Richard: There's no very well, Nick, he does. Dusk is DONE!

Nick: He very well mig-- what the hell is Youngblood doing?

The referee begins to yell at Youngblood as Brandon starts ripping off the padding on the top turnbuckle that he was using before. It doesn't take long for Youngblood's strength to win out over the padding and as he tears it away, it exposes the raw metal underneath it. The referee continues to warn Youngblood, but Brandon continues to ignore the referee.

Richard: Okay, this is cool!

Nick: Youngblood plans on destroying Dusk once and for all! How is this cool?

Richard: Dusk walked into this match knowing full well what could happen!

Nick: That doesn't mean he deserves this.

Richard: It's part of the ring, it's fair game.

Nick: It's not, Richard, and you know that! Youngblood is taking advantage of the fact that the referee won't disqualify him in this high-profile match! Look at Dusk's face as Youngblood holds him up. Dusk's face is a crimson mask!

Richard: And in a minute, it might be even darker!

As Youngblood eyes, the turnbuckle, the referee decides to put a stop to all of this nonsense as he gets in between Youngblood and the turnbuckle. He then yells at Youngblood.

Referee: YOU DO IT AND YOU'RE DONE! DUSK WILL WIN!

Hearing these words only infuriates Youngblood as he eyes the referee viciously and contemplates just going for it. Yet, he decides against it, and instead, knees Dusk right in the head! The fans all let out a painful yell at the sight of this and Youngblood does it again. This isn't something that the referee can stop though as he just continues going for it, feeling the life of Dusk being sucked out of him! After ten consecutive shots and feeling as if Dusk might as well be knocked out by now, he lets him go as Dusk just drops to the ground and lies there limp!

Richard: And that might be it for The Lost Soul! He might be knocked out after that!

Nick: And the referee is checking on him, and it doesn't look good! He's talking to one the ringside attendants and keeps checking on Dusk as Youngblood just stands back, waiting for the match to be awarded to him!

As the referee continues to check on Dusk, and checking to see if he's conscious or not, he then decides to call for some paramedics as he waves towards the curtain. He then gets up, and starts walking over to the announcer and timekeeper to signal for the end of the match!

Richard: And it's all over! Dusk is going to lose this match after being knocked out by the referee!

Yet, something stops him in his track.

Dusk grabbing his arm.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: MAYBE NOT! DUSK MIGHT NOT BE DONE QUITE YET!

The referee looks back at Dusk who's eyes are finally open. The ref then kneels and talks to Dusk for a moment, but doesn't get much further as Youngblood pushes the referee out of the way, drags Dusk to the center of the ring, and goes for the cover!

ONE!

...

TWO!

...

TH--NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard: HOW THE--?!

Nick: DUSK IS STILL GOING! AND YOUNGBLOOD CAN'T BELIEVE IT AND HE GOES FOR ANOTHER PIN!

ONE!

...

TWOOOOOO!

...

TH--NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: And Dusk kicked out again, and Youngblood is now beside himself! He's up on his feet and yelling at the referee! He thinks this match should be over!

Richard: IT SHOULD BE! YOUNGBLOOD HAD THIS MATCH!

Nick: And that's what he's telling the referee right now, but he needs to get focused back on this match!

Youngblood continues to yell at the referee, but in mid-sentence, he stops himself and walks over to Dusk who is on his knees and trying his best to get back up. Yet, with the amount of blood that he's lost, his entire face covered in it, you can only imagine how out of it he is. Youngblood walks over to Dusk and begins to pull him up, but Dusk explodes onto his feet and starts laying Youngblood out with a succession of fists! Youngblood is rocked by this, but is able to put a quick end to it with a knee to the midsection! He then pushes Dusk into the ropes and whips him into them! He then goes for a clothesline, but Dusk is able to duck it at the last second. As Youngblood turns around, Dusk is flying through the air with a flying crossbody that knocks both of them down!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard: Good job by Dusk, but he's not even moving right now! He might have used his last little bit of energy after that one!

Nick: But, the fans are back in this one now, Richard! They're chanting his name like crazy right now! Listen to them!

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Richard: The fans in Montreal are idiots anyways, don't listen to them.

Nick: Oh, okay. Whatever you say.

In the ring, Youngblood is the first to get up, but he seems a little dizzy from the whiplash he just received. He stands there though and looks out at the fans with pure anger as they continue to chant his name. Meanwhile, Dusk just lies there, and seemingly done with.

Seemingly.

Then, he nips up!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: HE'S UP! DUSK IS UP! HE'S ON HIS FEET AND HE'S GOT A CERTAIN FLARE TO HIM AS HE LOOKS AT YOUNGBLOOD!

Richard: Get back down, GET BACK DOWN!

Youngblood turns around and looks like he's seen a ghost as threw the blood all over Dusk's face, the red eyes seem to be haunting him as they dance around like a fire in a fireplace. He can't believe it as Dusk was seemingly done just moments ago! He rushes up towards Dusk, but is dropped on his back as Dusk just decks him with a huge punch! Youngblood gets back up only for the same thing to happen to him again! Once again, he gets back up, and Dusk is ready for him as he whips him into the ropes, and nails him with a spinebuster!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: Dusk with the SHATTERED GLASS! HE'S GOT YOUNGBLOOD RIGHT WHERE HE WANTS HIM!

Dusk walks over to the corner and can feel every single fan behind him as he just waits for Youngblood to get up. He yells at Youngblood to get up! Slowly, Brandon obliges Dusk, and Dusk just waits. He turns towards Dusk and Dusk is ready for him as he goes for the superkick!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But, Youngblood is ready for him and low blows him!

Nick: THAT ROTTEN GOOD FOR NOTHING LOW LIFE!

Richard: I think Youngblood was going to pick Dusk up, but just couldn't get it off.

Nick: OH SURE! THAT'S WHAT IT WAS!

Richard: But the referee isn't going to DQ Youngblood after that one!

Nick: He should!

Youngblood then locks Dusk up as Dusk is in a world of pain, and seems to be going for one of his finishers as he's got a look in his eyes!

Richard: OH, HERE WE GO! THIS COULD BE IT!

And it is, as Youngblood is able to connect with the Katahajime Suplex to Gridlock combo! Youngblood locks it in good as the fans chant Dusk's name as he desperately tries to fight off the hold, but is unable to do so! The referee checks on Dusk, wondering if he will give up, but Dusk refuses to do so as he just grits through the pain! Youngblood then begins to yell at Dusk to tap out, but he refuses to do so as well! He just continues to feel the pain as he tries to move his body, but with each movement, Youngblood just locks it in even tighter, ensuring that Dusk can't move or even inch his way to the ropes. Youngblood shows no signs of letting it go and Dusk shows no signs of giving up here tonight!

Richard: JUST GIVE IT UP!

Nick: He can't, Richard, he just can't!

Richard: Then let him die in the center of that ring! He won't be able to last much longer.

Nick: He'll find a way to get out of it, trust me.

Richard: No, he won't Nick! Only one person has gotten out of the hold, and it sure wasn't Dusk!

Dusk just continues to yell out in pain.

And then it stops.

The referee looks at Dusk who is hardly even breathing at this point. He's unconscious. The referee wastes no time in ringing the bell!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

DING DING DING!

Richard: And Dusk passed out! He's done!

Nick: Youngblood picks up the victory here tonight via Dusk being unconscious. You have to give Dusk credit though for lasting as long as he did. He came in injured and gave it his all.

Richard: He's an idiot, that's all I'll give him credit for.

The referee then motions for the announcer and Vince stands up.

Vince: YOUR WINNER... AND ADVANCING To THE SECOND ROUND OF THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN TOURNAMENT... BRAAAAAAAANDOOOOOON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Nick: And look at Youngblood, not even letting it go! The referee yells at him and slowly, Youngblood lets Dusk go who just isn't moving right now!

Richard: That's what he gets! This sport is for men and he knew coming out here that if he was going to compete, he would have to take it all from Youngblood! Tonight, he couldn't handle it.

Nick: Unfair for Dusk, but he'll have to move on from here.

Youngblood gets up and takes his 5-Star Title before looking down at Dusk and shaking his head. He then celebrates as he's one step closer to going to the King of Kings and truly becoming the King of Kings.

Nick: FOR RICHARD PARKER, I'M NICK STUART SAYING THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT!