Hoyt is sitting at his computer typing something struggling to word it right. His father and manager Duke Williams walks in and looks over his shoulder to see what he is doing.

Duke Williams: You at a computer? This is something new.

Hoyt Williams: Yeah, I need to fire Peter Vetra and disband Imperium.

"The Malice Man" shakes his head in agreement and lights up a cigar.

Duke Williams: About fucking time you can't keep carrying this dead weight around any longer. You'll do better on your own then with Baltasar, Vetra, and the other guy.

Hoyt Williams: Baltasar quit last week anyways.

Duke Williams: What else is new? Anyways why don't you just tell Vetra instead of doing all this typing.

Hoyt spins around in his computer chair to face Duke eye to belt buckle.

Hoyt Williams: Have you ever tried to have a conversation with Peter Vetra? It's like paint drying only less exciting. He puts me in a coma and I can't recover. You know how I've been on a bit of a losing streak on the TV shows?

Duke Williams: Yea?

Hoyt Williams: Thats because before all those matches I talked to Vetra. He put me in a comatose state and I have lost every match afterwards. None of those losses are my fault, they are all Vetra's. Every single one of them including the Universal Title was after talking with Vetra. So I'm avoiding him like the plague he can read all about it in his e-mail tonight.

Duke Williams: What if he needs us or we see him tonight?

Hoyt Williams: Just play like we're still a team. He's so slow it might take him a month or so before he figures out Imperium went the way of Beta players, the Houston Oilers, Angelo Deville, and conservative values.

Duke rubs his eyes as he looks at Hoyt.

Duke Williams: That's kind of pussy on your part isn't it?

Hoyt Williams: Look I'm a busy man and I don't have time to fire every member of Imperium face to face. I called the Fed-X guy, but he wanted like fifteen bucks to send letters to all the members of the group of follows who served well as my tools. I can tell you they aren't worth fifteen bucks so I'm just going to e-mail Vetra and CC the other guy or guys. Not sure who is even in this piece of Satan anymore.

Duke opens a bottle of booze and smiles.

Duke Williams: Its your call. I'd tell him face to face, but what ever I'll play along.

Hoyt Williams: I'm sure he'll read his e-mails by next week just play nice tonight I might mention it to the crowd, but he never listens to me anyways so you know that shouldn't clue him in.

Duke Williams: Imperium, RIP 2004-2006

Hoyt hits sends on his hotmail account and kills Imperium.

Backstage 2 hours prior to the beginning of Revolution 88 the doors that lead to the parking lot of the Giant Center in Hershey, Pa swing open. Through the doors steps Jake Keeton, in a heavy white winter coat and jeans with a duffle bag over his shoulder. The coat, his bright red cheeks and the fact that his black cowboy hat has been replaced by a blue toboggan are all signs of the bitter winds blowing over Pennsylvania. Speaking through chattering teeth he approaches the first person he sees, backstage camera man Jay Michaels.

Keeton: Haaaave you seen Nova?

The camera man who looked rather comfortable leaning up against a stack of wooden pallets drinking a cup of coffee looks up from the newspaper he was reading and gives a confused smile.

Jay: Nova?

Keeton: Yeah, Nova.

Jay: Blonde hair, beard, always stoned?

Keeton: That'd be him.

Jay: It's 2 hours before show time; Nova won't be here for another 121 minutes buddy.

Keeton: Damn... I really needed to talk to him before the match.

Again the camera man seems confused while Keeton turns to walk off.

Jay: Wait a minute... what match?

Jake turns back realizing just like Baltasar did last week, this guy has no clue who he is.

Keeton: Yeah, the first match of the night, I'm Jake Keeton. Nova and I have a little bit of history and I just wanted to assure him that I'm not the same person he remembers. Thanks for your time.

Jake continues on down a hallway to a door labeled "Under Card Locker Room". The makeshift locker room looked more like a big broom closet with some tiny blue lockers along the wall. He sits his bag on the floor realizing it won't fit in the locker when he looks up and sees Lisa Tyler standing in the door he left open.

Keeton: Can I help you?

Lisa: Not a very luxurious locker room from someone with your accomplishments.

Taken back by the fact that she actually recognizes him Jake can't help but smile, and would have probably blushed had the redness in his cheeks faded from being so cold.

Keeton: Damn... someone knows who I am.

Lisa: I'm Lisa Tyler, an interviewer for PRIME. I wrote a paper on you in college.

While flattered, Keeton looks a bit disappointed.

Keeton: Thanks, I'm glad I was interesting enough to write a paper about. I'm only 28 but I feel like I should be hobbling in here on a walker though.

Lisa: We're close to the same age, but you dropped out of college remember? My paper was on young independent wrestlers with a bright future for a Sports Journalism class.

Jake's smile widens as he takes off his coat and tries to stuff it in the locker.

Keeton: That was 10 years ago, you still followed my career?

Lisa: Not every bit of it because I had my own career to build, but I kept up through the internet and wrestling magazines.

Keeton: Don't believe everything you read on the internet.

Lisa: I don't, all I believe is what you tell me.

Keeton: Is this an interview?

Lisa: No, not yet. I just wanted to introduce myself. I've got some things to get in order for the show, but I'll get that interview scheduled sometime in the coming weeks.

Keeton: That works I guess. Could you do me a favor, if you see Nova before the show hits the air tell him I'm looking for him.

Lisa laughs and walks off.

Lisa: Nice meeting you Jake.

Keeton: You too.

He goes back to stuffing the coat into the tiny locker.

Before anyone would be tagging with anybody, there were a few things that needed to be cleared up. Namely... who the hell are you? Funny, you would think that sort of thing wouldn’t be necessary between tag team partners, but as it turns out, the world can be a very strange place. Even stranger in PRIME (I mean... c’mon... a dude who eats faces? Rock n’ Roll Express Version 7.3? Clyde Walkins as a winner?).

Collins: Hey...

At the sound of the word, Tchu spins on his heels and looks toward the doorway of his locker room. There, he finds on of his tag partners for the night, a man by the name of Chris Collins.

Tchu: Who the hell are you? (see, I told you that was the basic question that needed to be asked)

Collins: I could just as easily ask the same thing about you.

Tchu: Yeah... right. But you don’t get it. Really, I don’t know who the hell you are.

Collins: And I really don’t know who the hell you are. All I know is that we’re being forced to team up tonight, along with that Dick character, and I don’t imagine either of us is thrilled about that.

Tchu: Sounds like we have one thing in common, Collins.

Collins: Probably the only thing.

Tchu: How the hell did you find me here?

Collins:.........

The Inhuman Being takes a menacing step towards his tag partner for the night. It appears his patience has already been worn thin.

Tchu: Well! How did you find me here?

Collins: It’s your locker room, it says so on the door.

Chris rolls his eyes, apparently his patience lacking on the evening as well.

Tchu: Why are you here? One of the PRIME officials send you to get under my skin? Try to rattle me before the match?

Collins: I’m here to make sure we’re cool for tonight.

Tchu: Are you gonna lose the match for us? If so, no... we’re not cool. We’d be very uncool. And then, we’d have a lot of problems, me and you.

Collins: I don’t plan on losing anything for us tonight? But maybe that’s what I should be asking you. From what I’ve heard, you’re the one who’s apparently a little... unstable at the moment.

Tchu: Unstable? Who the fuck told you I’m unstable? I’m pissed! There’s a big difference.

The self-proclaimed "anti-PRIME" takes a seat in a folding chair near the corner of the room. Quickly, and with purpose, he starts to lace up his boots, starting with the left.

Tchu: One is reckless aggression that’s wasted with no direction. The other is that same aggression under a steady control that makes it highly dangerous.

Collins shrugs his shoulders, not seeing the necessity of the explanation, or at least not caring all that much.

Collins: Whatever, so long as it doesn’t take your mind outta the game. I’m not interested in losing because one of my tag partners snaps and goes crazy in the ring. I want this win as bad as you do.

Tchu: Then we should be fine.

The Inhuman Being nods his head towards the doorway that Collins is standing just inside of. In reply, Collins just shakes his head, certainly concerned about the mental and emotional state of his unwanted ally and the disastrous potential it posed for the six man tag match coming up. The last thing he needs is some nut job falling apart in the middle of his match. Random fuckin draw. Shit.

Tchu: Now why don’t you get the hell outta here.

Collins, not interested in going any more pointless rounds, turns and heads out of the room.

Collins: Wouldn’t want to stay.

Paddy has friends. He does! I swear! Oh you don’t believe me? Fine! I’ll prove it.

The scene opens in the parking lot of the arena, clichéd obviously but meh, the cars are hardly going to float down from the heaven, smartass. Anyway, darkness is falling that has administered a golden haze to the surroundings. The place is desolate save the cars but they obviously don’t count because they’re not alive (unless this is Herbie). Well there is one person, but he smells so he doesn’t exactly count. It’s Paddy O’Shea. Applause. Leaning up against a GREEN door. Massive applause.

Dressed in a dirty white vest and three quarter length khakis (unusual choice of attire considering the biting cold), he looks at his Mickey Mouse goes to Afghanistan watch. He’s late.

Suddenly he’s joined by a Lemon. Sorry, Lamen. Wink. He enters the scene from the right, his hair a shock of blue. Paddy spots him and his eyes widen.

Paddy: Bejesis. Wha’ the feck happened t‘ yer hair!?

Lamen smiles, running his fanned fingers through his hair.

Lamen: Relax Paddy, it‘s the way it is. You seemed a little lonely out here on your own, thought I’d give you a little company.

Paddy: Aye have friends!

Lamen cocks an eyebrow. Not in the "I wanna take you to bed" way...more the "whats up with this tithead?"

Lamen: Yeah...I know.

Paddy: Aye do! Aye do! Hundreds and thousands!

Lamen claps a hand onto his smelly shoulder, Lamen now being smelly from hence forth.

Lamen: Calm down Paddy...what are you doing out here anyway?

Paddy smiles, looks left then right, then taps his nose.

Paddy: Aye’m waiting fer a ‘friend’

Lamen: What? Is he a secret agent?

Paddy: Nah, aye just always wanted t’ do tha’. He should be here soon anyway. All the way from Ireland!

Lamen: A nice little party organized then I take it?

Paddy looks at him confused. He raises an eyebrow now and no, not in the bed way.

Paddy: No...aye’m just showin’ him about.

Lamen seems a little shocked, afterall, a friend coming the whole way from another country...doesn’t that warrant some kind of celebration? Lamen begins to open his mouth, then shuts it suddenly.

Lamen: Paddy...I need to be off....I’ve got something to organise...I’ll see you later.

Paddy tips his hat that isn’t there (but he damn sure wishes it was so he could sell it) and Lamen hurries off.

Time for Lamen’s deed of the day.

When we zip on over to the backstage area, no one expects to see Tchu doing what it is he's doing...

READING!

That's right! The Inhuman Being was using his Inhuman Eyes and reading about an Inhuman Deed in the day's edition of USA Today. It's not so much the headline, but a minor blurb in the side-column of Entertainment/Gossip that really stands out.

"Hollywood Hand-Break Sex!"

It's enough to make any curious human being raise an eyebrow or four.

Tchu: My God...

He sits at the caf's table with a little more than a bewildered look. Almost as if he reads the article in disbelief. He is so entranced with the tale of a woman's ruined career, he doesn't hear the doors to the caf kick open in a burst of energy.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: FATTY!

Tchu's eyes ominously move from the paper to a half circle around the clock. He knew it was going to happen, but Tchu had thought maybe the Face would be too busy doing fuck-all to meet up with his random partner for the night.

He thought wrong.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Get your college-educated face out of that stupid type shit. We've got matches to win, mother fucker!

Tchu: Have you even given a SECOND THOUGHT to what happened the other day? Do you have any remorse-

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I TOTALLY FORGOT DUDE! Damn, thanks for reminding me! I told you Danza's parties are the balls.

Tchu: WE RUINED THIS GIRL'S CAREER!

Tchu holds up the newspaper, pointing at the picture Irene Mallow, the actress of Wendy from "Andy Richtor Controls the Universe".

The Illustrious Face-Eater: ...so? 'Angel' sucked. And her name was Fred. WHO THE FUCK IS NAMED FRED?!

Facey begins to walk away, but is struck with 'comic gold' in his eyes that is too awesome to not let Tchu hear.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: An E-break fucker, that's who!

Tchu grabs the Face by his shirt collar, causing the Super Fucking Duper title strapped to his shoulder to fall wayward.

Tchu: You're the most worthless and vile human being that I've ever come across in my life. And that's saying a lot coming from a guy like me.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Ummmmm thanks! Now let me go. I'm all up for the huddling shit but this is completely unnecessary; you're ruining my shirt!

Before Tchu shoves the Face-Eater through an oblivion of drywall, the sound of the caf's doors crashing open segue to the entrance of... Killean Sirrajin!

Just kidding, it's Peter Vetra.

Peter Vetra: There you are, Adam. I've been looking everywhere for you.

Vetra who is in all kinds of shambles after the news of the Imperium breaking up is trying to hold it together

Peter Vetra: Looks like you are having a little problem...

Tchu: Is he a friend of yours?

Tchu releases his grip on the Face's throat to let him speak clearly.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I've never seen this guy before in my life!

Peter Vetra is shocked and appauld. How dare he say such a thing after their enounter last week?

Peter Vetra: Come on MAN!..... I mean FACEY.. Don't you remember last week?

Facey stares blankly.

Peter Vetra: We... you know.

Vetra's tone grows quiet.

Peter Vetra: wesmoked.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: WE WHAT?!?!

Peter Vetra: WE SMOKED! Blazed! Lifted! You got me high, man, and I just wanted to thank you! I really need-

Tchu: You're getting people HIGH?!

Tchu shoves the Face-Eater against the wall.

Tchu: Stay the fuck away from me. You ruined my relationship with my wife, made my brother look civilized through comparison, ruined a girl's career-

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Don't forget that I beat Gilbert Gottfried in Leg-Wrestling.

Peter Vetra: You did?!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Yeah, it was sweeee-

Tchu: SHUT UP. This is your last chance. Tonight, don't ruin it. And if we happen to make it through successfully, you'll never have to deal with me again. BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD, if I ever have to deal with you again, IT WILL NOT BE FRIENDLY.

Tchu storms out of the catering area, leaving a very awkward silence between Facey and the newly corrupted Peter Vetra.

Peter Vetra: So... do you have any more pot?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: WTF?! THAT's what you want? Dude, RULE NUMBER ONE of the Pot Head code of etiquette; DON'T be a fucking scavenger!

With that, the Illustrious Face-Eater runs away as quick as he can, leaving an even more so than before confused Vetra.

Peter Vetra: I just want to smoke...

He says, before following the Face-Eater with the hopes of changing his mind.

Nick: What an opener, and the odd random pairings just keep getting more bizarre...where else would we see Peter Vetra teaming with his one-time nemesis Nova, along with PRIME newcomer Tony Gamble to face off against the recently-returned Baltasar and two PRIME n00bs in Jake Keeton and El Vice?

Richard: I like this Jake Keeton...there's a vicious streak in him, from what I've seen from AW tapes.

Nick: I'm impressed, Rich...doing research?

Richard: Actually, I talked to some fat, hairy dude backstage for a few minutes and figured I'd try to plagiarize what he told me. Thanks for calling me out, friend

Nick: What?

Nova, Vetra, and Gamble all stand in the ring, Nova eyeing Vetra warily as Peter shoots back a few dirty looks. Gamble is sticking to himself, more or less.

Nick: We have the first team in the ring...and here comes the opposition.

"Point to Prove" by Theory of a Dead Man hits and Baltasar lopes quickly out of the back, wasting no time in walking confidently down the ramp, arms swinging from his sides.

Nick: Certainly a comfortable environment here for Baltasar, who's had as many tag team battles as anyone on the roster now...

Richard: I'm glad Baltasar dropped Angelus like yesterday's paper. That guy was milk-toast.

Nick: He certainly didn't possess the charisma or frankly the talent of his larger half. Baltasar on the singles circuit is a force.

Baltasar slides into the ring, staring down the three men opposite him, a hint of an amused grin on his face as he notices them sizing him. "Stand Up" by Trapt hits the speakers.

Nick: And it's not everyday, though it's happened a lot recently, that we see a debut match here in PRIME, and especially not everyday when we see a "legacy" of sorts in their opening match.

Richard: "Legacy?"

Nick: Keeton's younger half-brother Josh Cantrell wowed PRIMEates in the company's infancy. Keeton's a legacy!

The Solution walks out onto the entrance ramp and glances around at the arena full of fans.

Nick: Keeton's seen some big arenas in his day...but I don't even know if he has fully prepared himself for this. It's the world's stage of wrestling!

Richard: Zzzzz...wha? Oh, yeah. World's stage.

Keeton walks briskly down to the ring and slides under the bottom rope. Standing up, he pops his neck and gives his arms a shake. Nova stares at him from across the ring.

Nick: I'm not sure Nova's eyes have left Keeton since the latter appeared on the entrance ramp. Quite the history between these two...Nova's enemies seem to have a way of showing up here, even...

Richard: Don't care, don't care, don't care! This is PRIME, not Podunk Extreme Wrestling...

"Eres Nada but El Hound Dog" replaces Trapt, and El Vice throws back the curtain and walks out to the side of the entrance ramp, gazing across the audience.

Richard: Sheesh...first the Eagles, now Elvis...what aren't the Mexicans pillaging?

Nick: *Sigh*...there goes about five million dollars.

El Vice walks slowly down the ring and climbs up and in through the second rope. The two teams stand off for a moment before Josh Roberts steps between them and begins laying down the law. His piece said, Roberts backs out of the way as a few words are exchanged within the teams. Nova and Vetra back out through the ropes, as do Baltasar and El Vice.

Nick: Looks like Tony Gamble and Jake Keeton getting things started here. Amazing, Richard...half the people in this match weren't even in PRIME as of a few weeks ago. The landscape is continually changing!

Richard: Wheee.

Roberts calls for the bell, and Keeton wastes no time, springing forward and grabbing Gamble for a tie-up. He knocks Gamble backward before dropping him to the mat with an arm-bar. Gamble quickly moves his leg to the rope and Keeton releases at the behest of Roberts. Keeton rolls to his feet as Gamble clutches his arm.

Nick: Brushing thirty, Keeton is on the high end of the PRIME roster in terms of age, but he still moves like a man six years his junior. That combination of explosiveness and technicality is vicious! And he's got Gamble up now, and a snap suplex into the middle of the ring!

Gamble rolls over as Keeton climbs up again and drops a quick elbow onto The Grin's chest.

Nick: Keeton not letting him breathe here and he's lifting him up for...wait, Tony's fighting out of it.

Gamble knocks away the tie-up and slams his forearm into Keeton's forehead. Jake reels, and Gamble cracks him with an overhand chop. He dives forward with a clothesline, but Keeton reads him and ducks under, taking one of Gamble's legs out and dropping him to the ground as The Solution wrenches back on his ankle.

Nick: Keeton taking every submission opportunity possible here trying to slow Gamble down...

Richard: Tony Gamble is so dramatic. It doesn't hurt so bad.

Nick: How would you know?

Richard: Uh...heard from a guy.

Gamble cries out in pain as he reaches out for the ropes, but they're several feet away. Keeton wrenches back harder, but Gamble manages to pull him forward about a foot.

Nick: Tony Gamble fighting for the ropes here!

Keeton twists his ankle again and Tony grunts but tugs towards the ropes again.

Nick: Almost there! And it looks like...it looks like...OHH! Gamble almost on the ropes and Baltasar with a kick to the head through the ropes! What a cheap shot, and Keeton doesn't look happy about it.

The fans rain boos down on the former Tag Team champion, who shrugs them off. Keeton steps over Gamble, who's out on the mat, one hand over his battered mug, and gets into the face of Baltasar. Keeton jaws something at the Red Devil, who laughs in response.

Nick: Keeton definitely didn't appreciate the "team assistance" there by Baltasar...

Richard: What a baby! I thought this guy was supposed to ruthless?

Nick: This is a different Jake Keeton, apparently...

Richard: Huh? There are two of them?

Nick: No, idiot. He's changed.

While Keeton is staring down his teammate, Gamble rolls away towards the middle of the ring. Jake turns away from Baltasar and sees him, walking over and lifting him off the mat. Gamble surprises him with a lock-up into an Irish whip, which Keeton reverses, sending Tony towards the ropes.

Nick: And Gamble hangs on! In reversing the whip, Keeton just did Gamble a favor! He's been duped!

One of Tony's legs kicks up from the whiplash before he dives over to the side, slapping Nova's outstretched hand. The fans roar with approval as the Rising Star steps into the ring, eyeing the Solution with caution.

Nick: Keeton's calling for a lock-up, and Nova's shaking his head "no"...he still doesn't trust him! And the fans want to see these two mix it up!

Richard: Don't over-exaggerate, Nick. That guy in the second row with the "I <3 Triad Wrestling" baseball tee wants to see these two mix up.

Breaking the calm, Nova moves forward, and Keeton meets him in the middle as they begin trading punches. Nova gains the upper hand, peppering Jake with rights, forcing him back before giving him a boot to the stomach and dropping him with a double-arm DDT. He floats over for a quick pin attempt...

Josh Roberts: One!

.

.

.

Keeton shoots his shoulder up, surprised at the pin. He rolls away from Nova onto his haunches and plunges forward, catching the rising...um...star in the abs with a spear takes him down.

Nick: Keeton refusing to lay off here, and he's hanging on here, rolling over into the position for a...German suplex! Jake Keeton sending Nova through the air there and dropping him on his head, and he's on for the quick pin!

Josh Roberts: One!

.

.

.

.

.

T-

Nova kicks out, rolling onto his stomach and gripping the back of his head.

Nick: Nova's cleared to wrestle, but I don't think his neck will ever be like it was before Tropical Turmoil!

Richard: Tropical Turmoil...what a show! They don't make 'em like that anymore...

Nick: Rich, that was five months ago.

Richard: Feels like five years...

Keeton stands up, but before he can lift Nova off the mat, he feels a loud slap.

Nick: Baltasar with the blind tag! Baltasar just tagged himself in...and Keeton has to leave the ring! Look at his face!

Richard: Ah, ha, ha! Forced tags = hilarity. The vein on Keeton's forehead would give Dracula a boner!

Baltasar steps into the ring as a red-faced Jake Keeton is told by Josh Roberts that he has to go out onto the apron.

Nick: Keeton obliging, though he's not happy about it, and Baltasar has Nova up...positioning for a powerbomb, but Nova pushes him back, too early for that...

Nova pops the Red Devil with a European uppercut before knife-edge chopping him across the chest. Baltasar howls, but avoids stepping back towards the ropes.

Richard: That's smarts, Nick...Baltasar isn't giving Keeton any opportunities for revenge here.

Nick: Don't you think the inner conflict Baltasar has generated in this match is working against them?

Richard: No.

Baltasar grabs Nova by the wrist and yanks him forward, ramming his shoulder into Nova's shoulder socket.

Nick: Once, twice, three, four, five times, and Nova is being throttled here!

After the fifth blow, Baltasar pulls Nova forward again and hoists him into a gorilla press slam. He holds him up, his muscles bulging as he supports the extra weight, and flash-bulbs go off all around them in the arena.

But he waits too long, and Nova drops down behind him. Baltasar turns, and Nova grabs him by the head, slinging him into the corner where he lays it on with chops and punches to the head. He backs up and body-splashes Baltasar, who's dazed by the quick turn-around in momentum, before grabbing the Red Devil by the legs and hoisting him onto the top rope.

Nick: What's he trying to do here?

Richard: I don't know, but he picked the wrong hombre to try this on...

Nick: I'm inclined to agree with you, Rich...Baltasar is a hoss.

While Duke Williams calls his lawyer, Nova raises a fist to the crowd, inciting a round of cheers, before throwing Baltasar's arm over his shoulder.

Nick: He's going...he's going...and he's got him in the air! SIX FEET NINE INCHES AND 345 POUNDS OF RED DEVIL JUST GOT SUPERPLEXED OFF THE TOP ROPE!

Richard: Ridiculous!

Baltasar lays sprawled on the mat. Nova is face-down next to him, stirring slowly. Vetra and Gamble scream for Nova to pin, and after a moment, the Rising Star flops over onto Baltasar's downed form.

Josh Roberts: One!

.

.

.

.

Two!

.

.

.

Baltasar gets a shoulder up, and Nova rolls off. Both men continue to lie on the mat, breathing heavily. At last, Nova begins crawling for his corner, where Gamble and Vetra both wait, arms outstretched. Baltasar begins stirring.

Nick: Baltasar incidentally closer to his corner, but Nova is making the move!

Richard: Wake up, you fool!

Nova continues to crawl across the ring as Baltasar gives his head a shake and rolls over.

Nick: Almost there...but Baltasar makes the tag! El Vice is in, and Jake Keeton is looking at Baltasar like he knows he just got ignored on purpose! And Nova isn't going to make it!

Nick speaks the truth, as El Vice charges across the ring and clubs Nova in the back of the head, sending him down. Rivera drags Nova back to the center of the ring and pulls him to his feet before popping him with a European uppercut. Nova's head cocks back and he stumbles away, holding his jaw. When he turns around...

Nick: Swinging neckbreaker from El Vice!

Richard: He's no slouch! He knows where his bread is buttered! Take out the neck!

El Vice pulls Nova back up. He positions him for a powerbomb and hoists him into the air and pushes his legs out, grabbing the back of Nova's head and slamming him face-down onto the mat as the crowd bathes them in the appropriate "oohs" and "ahhs."

Nick: Beautiful maneuver from a relatively-fresh El Vice...

Richard: ...

Nick: What is it?

Richard: I was trying to come up with a joke about the word "fresh"...

Nick: Time's up.

Richard: Don't rub it in.

Nick: Looks like El Vice has Nova up...Irish whip into the ropes, but Nova's coming back with a clothesline...NO! Rivera ducks it and Nova's off the ropes behind him, coming back...OH! Super-kick from El Vice and Nova's out!

Richard: He calls it "Cállese"...

Nick: El Vice going for the pin here!

Josh Roberts: One!

.

.

.

.

Two!

.

.

.

.

Thre-

Nick: NO!! Gamble from over the ropes with a leg drop on Rivera! The replay screen is showing a blind tag from Gamble on Nova! The Grin is up, and he's locking back in the Texas cloverleaf, modified with that garish hold on the head and mouth, called 'Smile For Me,' and El Vice is in a bad way here!

Richard: My jaw hurts watching.

Nick: Keeton's in! Keeton's in! He's going...NO! Tripped up by Nova! Keeton's on the mat and Nova's on him!

Baltasar steps through the ropes and charges Gamble...but Vetra plows into him, driving him back against the ropes just as Roberts stands and calls for the bell.

WINNERS: Nova, Tony Gamble & Peter Vetra

Nick: And it's in the books! The unlikely trio of Vetra, Nova, and Gamble have overcome what was frankly, on paper, a promising team-up.

Richard: Great. Whatever. Let's keep it moving.

Nick: Oh, lighten up. This was a hell of a show-opener, a hard-earned victory. Let's go backstage.

Stewart made his way back up the hallway, a bottle of water half-full in his hand. His face was focused, sharp in its concentration and his steps... were interrupted. He sniffs a moment.

Shawn Stewart: What the hell....

He turned and pulled open the door to the janitor closet.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR! I don't want Vetra's jobbing ass to come in here and steal all of my shit.

Stewart looks dumb-founded at the Super Fucking Duper Champion, waving the bellow of smoke that leaves the closet and engulfs his face.

Shawn Stewart: What.... are you doing? And what in God's name is that smell?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: It's a fucking skunk! And you're ruining my hotbox you son of a bitch!

Shawn looks at him quizzically.

Shawn Stewart: Ruining your hotbox? No, this would be ruining your hotbox.

Shawn flips the cap off his water bottle and starts flinging water into Facey's private closet.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: YOU SON OF A BITCH!

The water has sense drenched (okay, as much as a bottle can drench something) everything inside the closet, effectively putting out the Face's joint and soaking his clothes.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Bastard! I will make you pay for that, whoever you are, once I can see your face! Stupid smoke being everywhere.

Shawn isn't exactly endeared towards this A Lister. In fact, he decides to have a little more fun. He reaches in and knocks the ladder hanging on the wall off its bearing and then slams the door shut. The ensuing crash is almost straight out of a Three Stooges bit, as is Shawn's next act.

Reaching behind him, he grabs one of those oh-so-omnipresent folding chairs and shoves it under the doorknob.

Shawn Stewart: Wife's gonna ask if I started smoking pot....

You think a stupid chair is enough to keep the Face-Eater locked up?

You think a fucking chair is strong enough to contain the Awesomeness that is all things Super, Fucking, and Duper?!?!

...you're right.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Hey you jobbing piece of trash! LET ME OUT THIS INSTANCE! I happened to watch Darkness Falls and that creepy tooth-fairy chick just may eat me! HURRY! THE SHADOWS ARE SUFFOCATING ME!

Shawn decides to oblige, and the door explodes open again with smoke, water, a ladder and a very damaged Face-Eater.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: That's it! I challenge you to a-it's YOU!?!? Shawn Stewart?! Didn't the A-List take care of your ass last week?

Shawn Stewart: Similarly to how I just took care of you?

Shawn simply folds his arms and looks at the SFD Champ with indifference.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: You're so fucking smug! You think you and your jobber partner can change fate? Let's tango again, mother fucker!

Shawn Stewart: I'm sorry, it's been a while since I brushed up on idiot-speak, but are you challenging me and Sky to a rematch?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M DOING! I don't give a fuck if we're double booked-we'll still stomp your ass.

Shawn Stewart: In that case...

Shawn began to walk away.

Shawn Stewart: See you later tonight.

A belligerent Hoyt Williams busts through the door of the freshly built to accommodate office of Tyler Nelson. Mr. Nelson is busy on the phone and stunned by this intrusion of the glittering suited former Universal Champion. Nelson calmly apologizes to who he is talking to and hangs up the phone before turning his attention to Hoyt Williams.

Tyler Nelson: How dare you bust into MY office like this! I'm a busy man! I'm running a company here.

Hoyt Williams: About as well as the suits at Ford Motor Company I might add. I want you to get something straight here you suited sinner of self indulgence and greed. PRIME is my federation and I don't give two hippie's who's name is on the title or who the so called boss is.

Tyler Nelson: Oh contraire....PRIME is indeed MINE! You'll lower your tone with me or...

Hoyt gets closer into the face of Tyler Nelson

Hoyt Williams: Or what? The only one who can judge and control me is God and Nelson you're not even a false God, let alone the real thing. Not even at Mormon level. You have about as much control of PRIME as a skinny white prisoner sleeping on the bottom bunk in some cold dark jail cell in San Francisco. Now that I'm not after tonight wrestling on this show anymore you can't punish me nor can you control me. This isn't a pissing contest sinner, this is a fact.

Tyler Nelson: As long as you keep collecting a check from PRIME, your ass is mine, Hoyt. I don't just give my money away for no reason. Keep testing me and you will see how much power I have.

Now Nelson gets right into the face of Hoyt Williams not backing down at all.

Hoyt Williams: Ok perhaps I'm coming at you too hard and maybe I'm not fully understanding what you are made of. At the same time I don't think you understand how much actual power and connections I have. Before you came I in the name of JESUS biblically pillaged the merchandise stands and house ticket sales to fund and give the referees a bonus in their pay. I used PRIME's money to pay off PRIME ref's to see things my way. I'm a white man and so are you. I know, you know, the pressure of being a white business man. I mean why do WE always have to be the president of the United States why can't a black or a women step up and give us a break!! All the worlds responsibilities fall on us the white man. I mean we make the world spin around with our power yet nobody respects us. Being that you are a white man of power I know with my little history lesson of taking over the officials and staff you understand I know what I'm doing. I know you understand I will do that again only it won't be to pay off the officials, it will be to lower your bottom line. I will trash and destroy your ring equipment and cameras causing you to spend more then this place makes. You get what I'm saying my man?

Tyler Nelson: That was with Imperium, which I saw you disband, Mr. Williams. Was that really the best move for you before coming in here to TRY and bully me? Are you really in a position to make me understand your "power"? Because I can tell you I can, and I WILL, find a way for you to understand MINE!

Hoyt Williams: Imperium were a bunch of amateurs. They were wrestlers I used as nothing more then to distract the world while the behind the scenes professionals I command were, and are, getting the job done. You see that little dot of red shining on your heart?? That's not a fan's laser pen my friend that's a trained professional with a sniper rifle aimed at you from across the street.

Nelson backs off of Hoyt looking down at the life threatening snipers aim. With out any panic or distress he walks over to his window and slams the drapes shut removing the smile from Hoyt's face and the dot from his heart.

Tyler Nelson: That wasn't the first, and probably won't be the last time a gun has been pointed at me and it's not going to work to scare or threaten me. I'm the King of the Nicaraguan Death Match, for Christ's sake! You don't impress me Mr. Williams. YOU see that red dot fixed up in the corner? That's a camera and my security team is watching right now. They protect me and make life hard for those who don't play nice. Have you seen Deville lately? Think about that. Also think about the fact that if I was hurt the beating and slow death your brother Jesus felt would be like a trip to Disney Land compared to the hell those men would unleash on you. You understanding me now Mr. Williams?

Hoyt sits down in a large leather chair cueing Nelson to sit down in the even larger boss's chair on the other end of the desk.

Hoyt Williams: We can engage in a war of powerful men or we can work together. I run one of the largest religious organizations in the world with ties in every branch of Government. Plus, unlike you because of my status as a religious organization I don't pay taxes.

Tyler Nelson: Who says I do?

Hoyt Williams: Yea. I get that. I run organizations of society's world renowned and respected. I am the head of the Skull and Bones plus many more I'm not going to name. A New World Order is going to happen and I'm going to be the man who brings it forward. Now you can buy into what I'm telling you or you can shrug it off but, the bottom line is I will affect your bottom line unless you and I reach a compromise.

Tyler Nelson: I handle people like you every day, Hoyt. You like to hear yourself talk and boost your ego, only to crumble under real pressure....like at The Great American Nightmare. You're part of the reason that a curtain jerker is walking around as MY Universal Champion, killing my ratings! But I have enough to deal with and I'm not looking to take you on right now so I'll at least listen to what you have to say.

Hoyt Williams: Ok Mr. T here it is, I'm on a mission to rid this federation of the filth and sin that it encompasses. Traders and never-beens like Balthasar, disgusting men like the Male Ass Eater, pot heads like Nova, rock and roll lovers, fatty's, women out of the kitchen, the French, and so on. I'm going to use tactics the wrestling world has never seen before. Things are going to get ugly Mr. Nelson as I try to achieve what Hitler failed at and a goal God wants.

Tyler Nelson: What is that Mr. Williams?

Hoyt Williams: Genocide....until a perfect race is reached. This isn't about titles and wrestling this is about our world and making it better in the name of Christ and a one world Government. Allow me to use all tactics I can with out restraint or condemnation. Let me unleash the full power of the RISP and Hoyt Williams. Cold, calculated, and determined to establish our mission. Can you do that Mr. Nelson?? Can you look the other way in exchange for my people leaving your assets alone? Let me be the Hoyt Williams the world will respect out fear.

Nelson rubs his hands on his face as he thinks over the offer.

Tyler Nelson: Hmmm....I can save this battle for another day, Hoyt. But know this...the second you interfere in my dealings you WILL feel my wrath, and its twice as much as what God has to offer. They say he's vengeful, well not nearly as vengeful as a pissed off greedy son of a bitch. You think you have connections, but you have absolutely no idea the kind of shitstorm I can create in your world.

Hoyt Williams: Same applies to you. The second you break your word I will cut the tongue of the silver tongued devil that you are.

The two men shake hands, both wary of the other.

Tyler Nelson: So we have ourselves a little détente, Mr. Williams....for now.

Now please I have business to attend to.

Hoyt walks out of Nelson's office with both men seemingly satisfied.

Much like the week prior, Danny Ferguson and Chandler Tsonda make their way through the catering area of the Giant Center, looking for a certain individual. He's not hard to spot, being a somewhat large, dark haired man.

His name is Chet Worth.

This week, we must have missed his can opening ritual, as the can of Coke is already open. In front of him, sit three pieces of pizza, each on a different plate, each with the points facing away from each other and Worth.

Danny Ferguson: Hey there Chet.

Without looking up from his newspaper, Worth dismisses the two men.

Chet Worth: Go away. You're bad news.

Seemingly oblivious, Ferguson continues with the small talk.

Danny Ferguson: Pizza, huh? Wasn't sure they had it here this week. Would that be the new Domino's Spectacular 7's deal that PRIME got this week? You know, I almost did that commercial. Turned it down.

Chet Worth: Go away.

Still oblivious, Ferguson reaches across the table, and moves each slice, taking a look at the topings, and completely screwing up the configuration of each slice.

Danny Ferguson: Let's see. Sure does look like Domino's. And you chose well. Supreme, Pepperoni, and Sausage and Peppers. Damn good choices, Chet. Damn good. Chandler LOVES sausage.

Chandler Tsonda: Go fuck yourself.

The movement of the pizza is the breaking point for Worth as he slaps Ferguson's hand away from his food, and carefully moves them back into their pre-arranged positions.

Chet Worth: Go. Away. You're bad news.

Ferguson is shocked. Tsonda looks... well, like Tsonda normally does. Aloof. Mysterious. Vague. He sits down at a chair, and pulls out his T-Mobile Sidekick, and starts hacking away at the keys.

Danny Ferguson: What? What's wrong, Chet, buddy? Did I do something to offend?

Chet Worth: You're damn right you did. You gave me thirteen twenty dollar bills last week.

Unfazed, Ferguson shrugs, amazed that Worth still hasn't looked up from his newspaper yet. He looks toward Worth, and manages his best Harry Shearer as Ben Starr in "The Fisher King" impression.

Danny Ferguson: Ah. Well, EXCUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME. $260? Is that not enough for you?

Chet Worth: No, the amount was fine. It was the quantity. I hate the number thirteen. Hate. It. Like you hate Lamen.

Ferguson goes from offended to relieved in about .002 seconds. He taps Tsonda on the shoulder, still lost in Sidekickburbia.

Danny Ferguson: Okay. Well, what do you propose for payment this week? I mean, I was thinking that it's a bigger task than last week, so it requires a more lucrative offer. What number's good for you?

Without hesitation, Worth answers.

Chet Worth: I want ten pennies, ten nickels, ten dimes, ten quarters, ten of them gold dollar coins, ten dollar bills, ten five dollar bills, ten ten dollar bills, ten twenty dollar bills, and ten fifty dollar bills.

A momentary pause fell over the room, as Chet Worth finally put down his newspaper, picked up the slice of pizza that faced north, and bit it, crust first. Ferguson pulled his hands up, trying to count on his fingers the amount Worth just asked for.

Chandler Tsonda: Eight hundred seventy four dollars and ten cents.

The entire arena went silent, as each man in the building turned toward Tsonda, with a collective "What. The. Fuck?!" Tsonda looked at his Sidekick for a moment before looking at Ferguson, over to Worth, and then to Lunch Lady Doris.

Tsonda: Lucky guess?

Each man shook off the shock of Tsonda's display of intelligence, clueless that he'd in fact had the calculator open on his Sidekick by chance, trying to figure out how much money he'd make twenty thousand dollars a day for the rest of his life.

Danny Ferguson: Okay. Consider it done.

Chet Worth finally looks at Ferguson and actually smiles.

Chet Worth: Fantastic. Now, what do you want this week?

But, that would remain a mystery.

Nick: We are LIVE from Hershey, Pennsylvania for another Wednesday night edition of ReVolution, brought to you direct and hardcore by Playboy Television. We're up to number eighty-eight now, the big one-hundred expected to roll around come May and tonight sees a special six-man tag night.

Richard: That's right, Nick - we've already seen Nova, Gamble and Vetra go up against Baltasar, El Vice and Keeton and there's a zebra in the ring checking the ropes and turnbuckles so I'm assuming blindly here that it's time for the second match of the night.

Nick: Thomas Giles IS indeed in position for the upcoming bout which sees the impressive line-up of Tchu, The Illustrious Face Eater and Chris Collins go up against the exciting mix of Ignatius Lisieux, Johnny Noble and Brian Arson - who knows what the heck to expect from these six men tonight!?

The sound of a CD skipping repeatedly flushes through the arena as gold and red lights flash and strobe around the entrance ramp and stage area and Chris Collins' impressive entrance video rolls on the PRIME-a-TRON. Vince Howard steps through the ropes and into the centre of the ring, microphone fastened in-hand, ready to announce the competitors...

Vince Howard: The next bout is scheduled for one-fall and has a thirty-minute time limit... Introducing first, from Brooklyn, New York and weighing in at two-hundred-and-ten pounds... "The Innovator of Offense", "The Surreal Deal", "The Human Car Wreck", "The Kind of the Impossible"...

Nick: ...The man with too many damn aliases!

Vince Howard: ...Chris... COLLLLLLLLLLLINNNNNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSS!

Collins appears on the stage amidst calls of "Money on my mind" with his arms placed cockily on his hips to a decidedly negative reaction from the Hershey faithful. He swiftly walks to the tip of the entrance ramp and regards all sides of the arena with a spiteful glare before arrogantly raising his arms up by his sides so as to present himself to the PRIME fans.

Nick: A man certainly not short of confidence, this little firecracker of a superstar has an awful lot to prove in PRIME and tonight he gets a chance to do just that alongside a very impressive duo of partners.

Richard: I have a lot of respect for this little guy, Nick, he does not let his size become an issue - have you ever seen such a confident midget before? This dude is a beacon of hope for small guys everywhere.

Collins begins pacing confidently down towards the ringside area as Lil' Wayne's lyrics kick into full flow behind him. He does his level best to avoid making any contact with the outstretched hands of the PRIMEates, preferring instead to give them some rude remarks instead of a hand-slap, much to their chagrin.

Nick: Not a lot of respect shown by this competitor for our loyal fans, he'd better hope that he doesn't get tossed in amongst these spectators because if he does then he could find himself in a world of trouble.

"The Innovator of Offense" grips onto the bottom rope and springboards himself impressively onto the apron before diving up onto the turnbuckle to raise his arms once again, causing more and more jeering to reverberate around the Giant Centre.

Richard: It's quite ironic to see somebody as small as that competing in this arena, isn't it Nick!

Nick: I suppose it is Richard, but I guess that what Collins lacks for in height and power he makes up with by using his immense speed...

Richard: ...and don't forget his supernatural cheating ability Nick, this guy may be the greatest un-sportsman since Ian English!

The scratching and waxing lyrics of Lil' Wayne fade into a moment's silence before Coheed and Cambria's lively guitar, bass and drum intro to "The Final Cut" and the imminent arrival of The Illustrious Face Eater ensues.

Nick: Here comes trouble! After last week where he terrorised the broadcast booth during the main event, The Illustrious Face Eater is in Hershey to terrorise the fans and his opponents!

Richard: Are you talking about the honorary member of the awesome A-List group along with Chandler Tsonda and Danny Ferguson? The only thing that guy terrorises are girl's panties because of his sheer coolness.

Nick: What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Richard: If you don't know now, you'll never find out...

Leaving the cryptic-ocity of the announce booth attention focuses towards the middle of the ring as Vince Howard continues conducting ceremonies.

Vince Howard: And his first partner... weighing in at two-hundred-and-two pounds... from Salt Lake City, Utah... he is the SUPER F'ING DUPER Champion of PRIME... The Illustrious Face EATTTTTTTTTTTERRRRRRRR!

A horrible reaction ensues from Hershey as the lyrics begin to "The Final Cut" and Facey dances out onto the stage. Waving at his pseudo-peeps in the crowd, Facey pays absolutely no heed to the abuse he receives from the fans - instead preferring to turn and watch his own awesome entrance video on the big screen, nodding his approval and laughing at himself on the screen.

Nick: I've never known someone like themselves as much as Facey does - granted the guy is a rare commodity and a hell of an asset to this company but I just can't abide the way he does business.

Richard: You mean you don't like the fact that he's a success? That Alias Title sure does look great around his waste... I mean the SUPER FU-

Nick: ...Oh no, oh no you don't... not in my booth.

Facey turns around and gives his shiny title a quick polish before jogging Ultimate-Warrior style down towards the ring. Collins is inside, bad mouthing Howard's mother most likely, and doesn't move a muscle as I-F-E slides under the bottom rope and jumps around inside the ring with his arms raised in the air. Apparently totally oblivious to the "Facey Sucks" chants echoing through the stands, he begins blowing nonchalant kisses in all directions before Coheed and Cambria begin fading down into silence.

Nick: Despite their attitude problems, this trio of superstars are going to be an extremely tall order for Lisieux, Noble and Arson to deal with - and rumours floating around here are that the latter may not even be here tonight after a contract dispute.

Richard: So you mean to tell me that I might get the delightful viewing of Team Awesome here destroying Team Suck, consisting of JUST Lisieux and Noble?

Nick: That - unfortunately - could be exactly how this goes down, I really don't see how even two guys the stature of Lisieux and Noble could contain Tchu, Face-Eater and Chris Collins, those three are just... and this hurts to say... too good.

Vince Howard: And their partner...

"Pressure" by Staind kicks into full-gear as the fans rise up to their feet to dish out more hate to another PRIME superstar. The lights go down in the arena as a lone blue spotlight ignites the stage area, basking it in a cold glow of light. A few moments go by, building up the anticipation around the arena - but not affecting the conversing Facey and Collins - until Tchu emerges from the curtain to a rabid response of mixed proportions from the Pennsylvania crowd.

Nick: Seems like the PRIMEates still can't make up their mind about the Tchu Tchu Train, despite him whining like a female dog for the past few weeks about a conspiracy against him by the company... the company who put him where he is today and made him a household name.

Richard: I, too, sometimes feel that there's a conspiracy against me here... Your chair is always far more comfortable and... excuse me while I check with this ruler again, but you always get given a slightly larger monitor than me... Not to mention that your name is always first on the bill and I'm just labelled as a co-commentator...

Nick: ...I get it, Richard, everyone feels a little persecuted now and again but I think Tchu is taking recent events a little too personally...

Vince Howard: ...from Dayton, Ohio... he weighs in at two-hundred-and-thirty-six pounds... a former PRIME Universal Champion...

Tchu scoffs at that little piece of information being included into his introduction and levels an ice-cold stare towards the PRIME announcer, who stutters for a second before continuing...

Vince Howard: ..."The Inhuman Being".... TCHUUUUUUUUUUU!

Again a deafening mixed reaction engulfs the Giant Centre, some fans loving Tchu because of his awesome in-ring talent and cool demeanour, while others focusing on the whiney side of the "Inhuman Being" that has been brought to light in recent weeks.

Richard: The masses of sheep here in Hershey certainly can't seem to make up their mind about him, but I'd like to state for the record that Tchu is pretty awesome and teaming with Facey and Collins can only make him a better person and a better wrestler!

Nick: It's called being of a "neutral" persuasion, Richard, if you remember, "The Number One Son", Adam, was probably the king of neutral back in the day and now Tchu holds that mantle.

Richard: Adam was pretty cool... maybe he should come back some day? I'd allow that...

Tchu reaches the bottom of the ramp and glances up towards his small partners with a swift and agitated shake of the head. Facey delivers a little wave towards him, much to the amusement of a lot of fans and Richard especially, but Collins pays him absolutely no heed whatsoever.

Nick: Looks like there's no love lost between these partners, despite the faux-friendly wave on display from the Face Eater, as individuals they are all highly impressive but will their ego's allow them to function as a cohesive unit?

Richard: I think the fact that they're facing a near-cripple and an ancient might mean that teamwork won't have to be an essential part of their gameplan.

A focused look spreads back over the face of the "Tchu Tchu Train", bidding to regain a winning streak, as he makes his way up the steps and into the ReVolution-emblazoned PRIME ring. Staind begins fading away as the houselights return to prominence...

Richard: Well that's Team Awesome all present and accounted for, it's time for the assembled Team Suck to make their way out here for the beating they deserve so very much!

Nick: I really wouldn't let Noble or Lisieux hear you saying that, Rich, one of these you're gonna get your just-desserts for the slander you lay upon some of these upstanding PRIME stars.

A brief pause begins as the trio of wrestlers in the ring acquaint themselves with one another, you can imagine Facey dishing out some cutting innuendo regarding Collins' and Tchu's wrestling attire... and then...

Nick: Mr. Incredible time!!

The stirring and uplifting roar of a trumpet fires out throughout the Giant Centre as the PRIMEates are brought to their feet in an explosion of support. The trumpets continue to get louder and louder, raising themselves up to a crescendo before...

Bass: DUH DUHN!!!!

BOOM!!

Nick: Johnny Noble is in Hershey, Pennsylvania and they LOVE IT!

Noble's red, white and blue entrance video beams out on the PRIME-a-TRON as the legend himself appears on the stage donned in a star-spangled banner. Tchu, Collins and Facey hold their ground in the ring, quite unsure of what is unfolding before them as each is engulfed in spotlight: one red, one white, one blue... Facey makes a dash to try and escape the light, but it keeps him locked in the beam, much to his frustration.

Nick: Noble's spotlights targeting his opponents for the upcoming bout and The Illustrious Face Eater does not seem impressed.

Vince Howard: And their first opponent... from Tacoma, Washington and weighing in at three-hundred-and-twenty pounds... MR. INCREDDDDDDDIBLE.... JOHNNNNNNYYYYYYYYY NOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBLEEEEEEEE!

Sporting red, white and blue shades to match his entrance the legendary wrestler walks slowly down towards the ring, pointing in the direction of his opponents and motioning slamming motions, while fitting in some seriously aged air-guitar and fist pumping.

Richard: This guy... I just don't get it. How can someone who is qualified for a state pension be allowed to wrestler in our company? Those guys in that ring are all less than half his age!

Noble slaps some fan hands and dishes out some playful noogies to the younger element in the crowd, Tchu makes some angry motions to the over-playful Mr. Incredible, who stops dead in his tracks and shakes his head in the direction of the "Inhuman Being".

Nick: I think Tchu just marked himself down on Noble's list as being first in line for some old-school ass-kicking!

Mr. Incredible reaches the ringside area and puts his shades onto an elderly lady who is probably more aged than he is before delivering her the thumbs up and beating his chest in all four points of the compass. The fans react accordingly with another loud explosion of cheering as "Gonna Fly Now" by Billy Conti unfortunately begins fading into silence and normal lighting order is restored to the arena.

Nick: What an incredibly stirring entrance from a superstar who has wrestled all over the world and is making his final stop in PRIME, this man is respected by all around the globe and these fans are letting him know how much they appreciate what he has done in this business.

Richard: He's a glorified pensioner and I don't understand the appeal, to me it's an old guy with mutton chops, a bad hairdo and some serious stuck-in-the-seventies issues... yet these morons love him!?

Noble paces around on the outside, raising the fans up to their feet for the appearance of his tag-team partner. He pauses to point a warning finger towards the not-so-scared trio inside of the squared circle, two of whom return the gesture with an inverted middle finger: I don't need to tell you who those two would be, but Nick will...

Nick: A total lack of respect shown towards Mr. Incredible from the duo of Chris Collins and The Illustrious Face Eater, I hope Noble plans on teaching those kids some manners here tonight.

Richard: That's more like it - sock it to the guy before he wets his pants. Do we have a nurse on standby for this guy?

Nick: Oh come on...

Richard: Hey if we've got an incontinent superstar then we should make allowances for it.

Noble points towards the entrance of the arena as the lights go out and we are plunged into darkness. The arena is basked in a dull pink glow as electronic voices burst out from the speakers and the fans are yet again brought to their feet. Noble pumps his fists in the air before...

BOOM!

Pink and white pyrotechnics explode as Joe Satriani's expert guitar playing comes to life and "Surfing with the Alien" starts up, sending the fans into raptures. Ignatius Lisieux's pink sunrise entrance video starts up and strobe lights shoot through the arena as Vince Howard steps forwards again...

Nick: Listen to this reaction for Ignatius Lisieux - I suppose we know which side the PRIMEates are taking tonight!

Richard: Morons, morons, morons... talk about rooting for the underdogs.

Vince Howard: And his partner... from Ville-Marie, Quebec, Canada... weighing in at two-hundred-and-twenty-seven pounds... he is the MachiaVellian Protagonist and the Eternal Sunrise.... Ignatius... LISSSSSSSIEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUXXXX!

The fans pop once more as Noble yet again points towards the entrance way. Joe Satriani's guitar continues and continues, but Ignatius Lisieux still does not appear. The trio in the ring begin pointing down and laughing towards a shocked-looking Mr. Incredible, who begins scratching his head, wondering where his tag team partner could be.

Richard: Ha! Does this mean that Noble has no partners? It's obvious that Brian Arson isn't going to come on out here and Ignatius Lisieux is nowhere to be seen... I suppose this is fair if we use Noble's age and add all of his opponents ages together...

Nick: ...What in the hell is going on here? Something must have happened to Lisieux; he just would not leave Johnny Noble strung out like this... Mr. Incredible faces the prospect of taking on two of PRIME's hottest properties and a hungry up-and-comer on his own unless something changes very quick.

The music starts up again, but Lisieux is absolutely nowhere to be seen. The PRIMEates return with resigned looks to their seated positions and Noble's eyes remain widened, he turns to face his opponents with a shrug of his shoulders and raises his arms, trying to get the fans behind him... "Gonna Fly Now" starts up again over the speakers as Noble rouses the PRIMEates behind him and begins building himself up for a huge task ahead. Collins, Tchu and Facey exchange some confident and amused smirks before the latter two head through the ropes to take up their tagging positions, leaving the "Innovator of Offense" in the squared circle, braced for Noble's arrival.

Nick: The crowd are reaching deafening levels as the high-and-dry Mr. Incredible pumps himself up for this mountainous task, it looks like he's setting himself up to take on Collins, Facey AND Tchu... all by himself. I'm ever the optimist, but these odds just look too huge.

Richard: I bet Noble wishes he brought his Zimmer frame out tonight, he's gonna struggle to walk after these three guys are done with him... when will this damn music stop and just where in the hell is Rocky? Geez, Noble is such a rip-off!

The bell rings as Noble swings his arms around and begins readying himself to charge the squared circle, Thomas Giles motions for him to enter with a sympathetic expression on his face as a valiant "Noble" chant breaks out amongst the masses. Noble raises his thumbs up to the sky...

Nick: It looks like the big man is ready to roll, listen to the roar that accompanies him on his charge to the ring!

Noble ushers his thumbs down as Vince Howard escapes the ring. The veteran makes a charge and dives under the bottom rope...

Nick: HERE... WE... GO!

Noble dives into the squared circle and ploughs towards Chris Collins with an attempted clothesline, the quick and nimble superstar though manages to duck under it and turns on his heels, firing some rapid-pistons of right hands into the chiselled jaw of the wrestling legend. Mr. Incredible stumbles backwards a little as Facey tries to encourage Tchu into a game of paper-rock-scissors on the outside and the fans begin with another huge "Noble" chant. Collins keeps firing away but his much larger opponent manages to bat away an attempted shot and then flattens the "Surreal Deal" with a huge right hand. Collins hops right back up and is knocked straight back down with another massive shot from the clenched fist of Noble, the fans begin rallying with their superstar, who knocks Collins down with ANOTHER huge right hand. Again, though, Collins is right back up, so Johnny grips him by the back of the head and tosses him right over the top rope to the outside, much to the delight of the PRIMEates in the Giant Centre.

Nick: A thunderous start from Mr. Incredible in this match, Collins was wearing him down but he fought back with some gorilla-like right handed shots before tossing Double-C over the top rope like a piece of trash.

Richard: This big galoot is nothing but dangerous, he could have seriously injured The Surreal Deal with that careless move, I'm just hoping the little guy is alright.

Tchu and Face-Eater do their level best to distract the huge Noble's attention towards them, but he waves away their calls and gestures, instead preferring to remain completely focused on his opponent. Chris Collins drags himself back up to his feet, feeling the effects of the violent landing he took on the matted concrete and he snarls towards some front-row fans who are giving him a piece of their mind. Collins looks up towards Noble and then shrugs his shoulders towards Tchu and Facey in his team's corner of the ring, before Noble takes a step back and invites the little quickstepping star into the ring. Collins looks weary but duly obliges by springboarding into the ring and motioning in towards a lock-up with his far older opponent. Noble grabs out for Collins, but the mischievous little mongrel ducks away and levels Mr. Incredible with an outstanding flying spinning heel kick. Noble is sent right back flat on his back due to the sheer impact of the move and CC kips-up before flashing a cocky grin towards his partners.

Richard: Tchu and Facey applauding the good work of their partner, he just totally wiped that dumb smirk right off-of the face of Johnny Noble!

Nick: Noble not hanging around on the canvas though, Collins better get back on the attack and quick if he doesn't want the big man getting back up to his feet within the next few seconds!

Mr. Incredible tries his best to climb upwards quickly but "The Human Car Wreck" is once again too quick for his ageing bones as he dives into his knees with a sliding dropkick. Noble is sent down onto all fours as Collins springs into the ropes and dives across the back of his opponent with a highly impressive senton splash, crushing Noble down against the mat. The fans jeer with increasing volume as Collins gets up to his feet and struts around a little.

Richard: Look how fast this guy is! I don't see how these fans can act like this Collins dude isn't entertaining, that move was top-drawer stuff and Noble is still flat-out on the mat.

Nick: Not for long, though, that fifty-two year old body of his has flew back into life and he's on the road to recovery!

Noble grips the bottom rope and hoists himself upwards as Facey and Tchu decide that now would be a good time to distract the referee, Facey slapping Tchu across the chest to draw the attention of Thomas Giles. Tchu snaps a fixated, angry glare onto his insane partner as Giles comes over to see what the fuss is, over on the other side of the ring Collins refuses to miss a blatant opportunity for a little bit of cheating as he slams a right boot square into the possibly-impotent penis of Mr. Incredible.

Nick: Good Lord that was uncalled for! Chris Collins with a blatant illegal move while the official was distracted... and just listen to this reaction...

Richard: Zebra's are so easy to distract, though, Nick.

Chris Collins cockily heads towards his team's corner, where he slaps the wrist of "The Inhuman Being". Tchu shoots a glare towards him and lazily slides through the ropes, keeping his attention on the crawling Johnny Noble at all times. He heads over to where Noble is situated and greets him with a stinging right-boot to the small of the back, a source of numerous injuries for Mr. Incredible through the years. Tchu smiles to himself, pleased that his research into Noble came in useful.

Richard: Looks to me like Tchu has been doing a little bit of scouting on Johnny Noble, I wonder which of the 245, 735 matches in Noble's career Tchu picked out to watch?

Nick: Impressive stuff, though cold and calculated at the same time... Tchu seems to know exactly the right spot to hit on all of his opponents, though, it's old news that he's a true scholar.

As Facey takes delight in taunting a new sparring partner on the apron, Tchu gets to work inside of the ring, relentlessly stomping away on the aching back of Johnny Noble. Another "Noble" chant breaks out in the crowd as Tchu fires an angry stare towards some fans towards the front before defiantly stomping away on Noble every time the crowd sing his name...

Richard: Looks like Tchu has taken up some rhythmic tap dancing here tonight, he's stomping away along with the song of the crowd.

Nick: He's sending a message, that's what he's doing, the more these people show support to Noble and ignore Tchu, the more pain he's going to dish out on his stranded opponent.

The partner-less Johnny Noble squints in pain as Tchu allows him to begin rising upwards with the help of the turnbuckle, Tchu turns towards his partners on the apron and smiles a pretty dangerous-looking smile as Facey and Collins nod back at him with equal delight...

Nick: I don't know what's going through the mind of the Inhuman Being right now but I do know that it's probably not going to be good news for Johnny Noble.

Noble gets up to one knee as Tchu speeds towards him and dives - driving his shoulders into the huge mid-section of Mr. Incredible. Noble's immense weight is carried impressively for a few feet before he is crushed into the canvas with the weight of his opponent piling right down on top of him.

Richard: Spear, spear, SPEAR! Did you see the force in that shot from Tchu!?

Tchu, showing absolutely no mercy whatsoever, unleashes his frustrations onto the immensely popular Noble with a shower of vicious rights and lefts, he closes his fists up as Thomas Giles is forced to dive in and push the "Inhuman Being" away from the winded Mr. Incredible. The fans jeer the sheer machine-like prowess of Tchu, but some of them can't help but looked impressed.

Nick: Johnny Noble is out here with no partner and no hope and Tchu is showing no mercy at all, it's literally three-on-one out there.

Tchu exchanges some frank words with the official, no doubt claiming that this episode is another in the chapter of anti-Tchu sentiment that is taking a hold of PRIME. Giles tries to reason with him a little, but to no avail as Tchu pushes him to one side and slams his boot into the stomach of his crestfallen opponent.

Richard: Wanna see what Noble had for breakfast!? Because I think Tchu does!

Noble winces with pain, gasping to take as much oxygen into his body as possible, but he remains defiant and reaches out a fist into the air, pumping it up and down to the delight of the crowd, but to the immense frustration of the former Universal Champion that stands over him in the very middle of the ring.

Nick: Noble trying to summon up some support from the PRIMEates here in Hershey but it seems to me like all he's doing is grinding Tchu's gears and that is NEVER a good idea...

Tchu looks down on Noble and shakes his head before slamming another right boot down into the stomach of the fifty-two year old from Washington. Noble's fist immediately drops back down into protecting his mid-section as Tchu nods with a satisfied expression on his face before making a tag to The Illustrious Face Eater.

Richard: Tchu shattering the hopes of these Pennsylvanian morons and then stoking them up by bringing Facey into play, greatness!

The "Inhuman Being" steps back through the ropes to take his position on the apron outside of the ring as Collins mutters some confident words to him and Facey nonchalantly glides through the ropes and struts into the centre of the ReVolution ring. He kneels down beside Johnny Noble...

Richard: Looks like Facey is checking to see if there's any life left in the old dog!

...Noble is pretty much still as Facey pokes him in the ribs with his index finger, looking up and around at the arena, shaking his head with a quasi-upset look on his face. He grabs Noble by the wrist and proceeds to do a pulse check before standing to his feet and waving towards the back for someone or something!

Nick: Face-Eater making a mockery of Johnny Noble here, I can see fine and good that Mr. Incredible is breathing easy... Facey better be careful that - there we go!

Turning back from his play-acting and totally unaware of the calls from his team-mates and the fans about a resurgent senior citizen Facey is absolutely levelled by a stinging clothesline from the huge bicep forward-slash forearm of Mr. Incredible, Johnny Noble. Facey is sent flying across the mat into no-man's land as the fans explode in appreciation of Noble's resilience.

Richard: Cheater! He was playing possum!

Nick: I think he just got up, Richard... Facey was taking so long with his play-acting that he took the old dog for granted!

Immediately sensing danger for their partner Tchu and Collins make a bolt for Noble, only to both be cut off by Thomas Giles. Noble turns in their direction and points an accusing finger before shaking his head towards them and encouraging the fans to offer as much support to him as they possibly can.

Nick: Tchu and Collins trying to get in there to save their partner from a crushing but Thomas Giles does a stand-up job... eye-gouge! Turn around Giles, you idiot!

Face-Eater laughs to himself as Noble stumbles backwards clutching his eyes, no doubt disgusted at the level of bad-play he is being subjected to. Tchu and Collins look satisfied enough and finally relent on their faux-ring-rush to return back to their positions on the edge of the apron, Collins asks Tchu for a high-five but is REJECTED.

Richard: Classic wrestling, right there... This big old lump insists on playing it old school and playing it by the book, but that's gonna get him nowhere in ultra-mod PRIME.

Facey rushes towards Noble and slaps him across the chest with a chop, delivering the "whoo" himself as nobody else seems willing to join in... It just degenerates into one huge "whooooooo" as I-F-E goes crazy chopping away at the big oak tree that is Mr. Incredible, his chest is blazened red and swelling up as he drops to a knee, deep into enemy territory.

Nick: Good lord Noble is taking some punishment from this trio here tonight, where the hell is Ignatius Lisieux? I just can't believe that he would let his old friend down like this, Noble is fighting for his life in there.

Noble looks up towards I-F-E and winces as the small superstar dives towards him with a dropkick to his remaining standing leg that sends Noble, once again, plunging down into the canvas. Another valiant but ultimately hopeless chant starts up in the veteran's favour, but Facey turns to all four sides of the arena with a wag of his finger to discourage the fans from offering up any form of support at all to his lonesome opponent. Face-Eater looks down over Mr. Incredible and without a hint of remorse at all drops an elbow into the small of his back before laughing out loud to stoke the Hershey fans up into a frenzy.

Richard: Face-Eater in total Super Duper control of this match as the ageing Johnny Noble is being set-upon from all sides, I don't see that geriatric lasting too much longer the way this is going.

Nick: I'm amazed he's been able to fight this long, anyway, with the amount of foul play that he's been subjected to and the fact that it's three-on-one.

Facey heads over to his team corner and dishes out a little game of pick and choose, essentially forcing Tchu and Collins to play rock-paper-scissors with one another for who gets the tag. Refusing to take part in the shenanigans Tchu slaps Facey across the chest to tag himself into action, much to the delight of the crowd and to the utter confusion of his partners.

Nick: Tchu seeming to get a little bored of the antics from his partners here tonight, he just wants to put Noble away as quickly as possible.

Richard: Acting a little bit like a spoil-sport, but I'm not gonna argue...

Tchu, far more business-like than Facey, wastes no time in dishing out more punishment as he grabs Johnny Noble from behind and drags his big carcass up to a vertical position. Gripping Noble firmly around the neck, he spins him around and with super-fast speed delivers a highly-impressive snap-suplex to a man that weighs almost one-hundred pounds more than he does. The fans are shocked into silence by Tchu's awesome display, but he wastes no time feeling proud of himself at all.

Nick: Amazing power demonstrated by Tchu their, Johnny Noble is a heavy, big guy and Tchu just made his weight look like paper.

Richard: That's just how good he is, maybe Noble broke a hip on that one because he looks in a world of hurt right now.

Not caring if Noble had broken a hip or not, Tchu's immediate thought was to tag-in Chris Collins with a stern look so as to say, "You'd better be taking this seriously." It seemed as though C2 was as he bounded between the ropes and head straight for the dizzying heights of the top rope, taking the briefest of moments to regard the fallen Noble Collins dived towards him, arms and legs outstretched as he flew through the air...

Nick: MOONSAULT! CONNECTS! Here's the cover!!

Thomas Giles: One...

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.

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...Two...

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...NO!!!

Nick: A long two-count, but Noble absolute powers out of it and listen to the reaction of this crowd!

The fans are indeed lively, pounding out an enormous "Noble" chant as Mr. Incredible throws the highly impressive Chris Collins right off him. Facey immediately goes for the old trick of distracting the referee to allow Collins some time to do a little cheating, but Noble has it scouted as he steams towards the two men on the apron and knocks them right off with a massive double clothesline. Wasting no time at all - which is highly impressive for a man of his age who had taken the beating that he had - Noble turned back towards the "Surreal Deal" and thundered in his direction, slamming him right down to the mat courtesy of a massive boot to the face. Even finding time to rally the Hershey crowd a little he pumped his fists into the air before dropping a HUGE elbow right into the chest of his far smaller (and younger) opponent. Collins clutches his chest and gasps for air as Noble storms around the ring like a man on a mission.

Richard: This smells an awful lot like a Hulk Hogan or dare-I-say-it, Tony Rolo, moment!

Nick: It sure as hell does and I love every second of it!

Richard: I knew you would Nick, I knew you would... Tchu and Facey, get in there, put an end to this madness!

Nick: Look at this veteran superstar go, he looks half his age storming around the ring like that... Look out Collins, you're in big trouble!

For some reason, obviously not knowing the rules of the super-babyface comeback, instead of getting up himself, Collins stays down and Noble is forced to pick him up to his feet manually. The chants continue in the crowd for the incredible comeback, but Tchu and Facey ominously regain their position on the apron, both with snarls fixed in the direction of Mr. Incredible. Noble tosses Collins into the ring and when he bounces back he stuns him into stillness with a toe-kick to the mid-section, Collins bobs his head forwards and Noble hooks his arm around it before lifting his small opponent impressively high in the air... The fans go rabid with supportive noise as Tchu and Facey are cut off making an entrance to the ring by Thomas Giles once again, Noble keeps Collins hanging up in the air and finally drops him back down!

Nick: THE INCREDI-PLEX! COLLINS' FACE JUST GOT SLAMMED RIGHT INTO THE MAT!

Richard: That's a bit advanced for Noble, isn't it!?!

Without a moment's hesitation Noble drops down beside his fallen opponent and hooks the leg as the fans call out "ONE!, TWO!, THREE!" then huge jeers begin. Noble climbs up to his feet and stares towards Tchu and Facey, the latter flipping the big man off for the second time tonight. Noble begins heading towards the two men, buoyed by the momentum he has now built up, Tchu and Facey push Thomas Giles out of the way and the three men collide with a BOOM in the middle of the ring!

Nick: Johnny Noble seems intent on taking on all three men here, this is amazing!

Richard: What's amazing is that Tchu and Facey haven't killed him yet, no more taking it easy now methinks!

Noble's attempted double clothesline is easily ducked by the agile twosome, who show some remarkable cohesion themselves by turning, gripping one another by the arm and sending Mr. Incredible crashing down to the mat with their version of a double-clothesline. Thomas Giles pleads with the pair to get out of the ring, but Tchu merely pushes him away as the two men lift the veteran superstar back up to his feet. Noble looks slightly blown-up after his comeback exploits, whereas Tchu and Facey are fresh-as-daisies. Tchu picks Noble up and hoists him across his knee as Facey mounts the turnbuckle...

Richard: Get ready to be impressed, Nick... you said that these guys couldn't work together but it seems to me like they are by far the better of the two teams!

Nick: That's because Johnny Noble has been left without a damn team because of Brian Arson and Ignatius Lisieux!

Tchu holds Noble in position for a little while longer as he waits for the recovering Chris Collins. The New Yorker gets back to his feet as Tchu motions with his head for him to mount the turnbuckle opposite The Illustrious Face Eater. The crowd take a collective deep breath as Collins finally perches himself on the turnbuckle as Nick and Richard struggle to find any words to say... Tchu drops Noble down with a sidewalk slam as Collins and Facey fly simultaneously from the top rope, landing impeccable leg-drops to the top-half AND bottom-half of Mr. Incredible!! The crowd are stunned into silence by the greatness of the move, but Nick finds his voice...

Nick: What a damn move by these three guys... talk about having too much ego to team up together - that was an immense show of fusion from three guys who don't like each other one little bit.

Richard: Draw the curtain on Johnny Noble, this one is done and dusted... I have to say that I was impressed by his effort but as soon as Tchu, Facey and Collins put it into second gear I knew they'd have too much for him to handle. What a way to end it!

Pulling rank on the other two members of his team, much to their chagrin, Tchu pushes them out of the way and drops down to hook a leg of Noble as Thomas Giles falls to the mat to reluctantly make the count, out of Tchu's eye line Collins places his foot on Noble's left leg and Facey puts a foot on his right-leg, so that the pinfall might be shared...

Thomas Giles: One...

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CROWD EXPLODES

Nick: Wait a second... that's... THAT'S LISIEUX! HE'S FINALLY HERE!

Richard: Count faster, Zebra... FASTERRRRRRRR!

Thomas Giles: ...Two...

.

.

.

.

Nick: Lisieux is storming down to the ring... he's at the bottom of the ramp, Collins and Facey have noticed him... they're ready for it!

Richard: Get him guys, get him!

Thomas Giles: ...Thr-... NO!

Nick: Noble gets his shoulder up, Noble gets his shoulder up!

Richard: How in the name of Hoyt can that be possible?!

Lisieux storms under the bottom rope, still dressed in street clothes and ducks the attempted double clothesline from Facey and Collins...

Nick: Lisieux ducks, those guys are in trouble now.... NO... WAIT!

As Lisieux spins to face back on the two guys who tried to attack him, Tchu pops up from covering Noble and locks a sleeper-hold in on the totally unprepared French-Canadian...

Nick: He's got the Downfall locked-in! Look at Facey and Collins laughing at Lisieux!

The crowd fall into a deadly silence as the proposed miraculous ending shatters before their very eyes, Lisieux fades fast and is put out of his misery (or into more, depending on how you look at it) as Tchu drops him with sickening force down onto the canvas. Tchu quickly springs upwards and drops down to hook the leg of Lisieux as Facey and Collins resume their old trick of pinning a leg each, allowing the "Inhuman Being" to think that he's stealing the glory.

Richard: So much for the happy ending to that... Lisieux came down and just got DROPPED by Tchu and Noble... wait, how in Hoyt's name can Noble be getting up!?

Thomas Giles: One...

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Nick: Noble is almost up... this could be amazing, listen to the roar here in the Giant Centre!

Thomas Giles: ...TWO...

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Richard: How can that senior citizen be up, how the hell haven't Collins or Facey noticed him yet!?

Noble lunges valiantly towards Tchu, desperately attempting to break up the pin!

Nick: He's gonna make...

Thomas Giles: ...THREE!!!

Noble crashes into Chris Collins and The Illustrious Face Eater a millisecond too late, sending the middle of the ring into complete chaos. Bodies are sent sprawling as the two small guys make a quick and victorious exit to the outside as "Pressure" by Staind starts-up over the speakers.

WINNERS: Tchu, The Illustrious Face-Eater & Chris Collins

Nick: God-dammit, Noble with a valiant effort to stop Lisieux losing this match but it was just a smidgen too late!

Tchu stands up as Noble lays exhausted next to Lisieux on the mat, looking in disbelief at his "partner" flat-out and beaten in the middle of the ring.

Richard: Lisieux finally showed up and caused Noble to lose the match, he'd have been better off without the French-fry even making an appearance!

As Tchu makes his triumphant exit, following the barely-sweating Chris Collins and I-F-E up the ramp the two fan favourites are left face-down in the middle of the ring with a shocked and disappointed crowd on all four sides of the arena.

Nick: Well what a performance from Johnny Noble, fighting off three guys for as long as he possibly could, but in the end Tchu, Facey and Collins just had too much class here. These three men go into ReVolution 89 with yet another win added to their records and I wouldn't count any of them out of making waves at Culture Shock... as for Johnny Noble, well if he shows that kind of vitality in the Halo then who could say he couldn't cause an upset?

Richard: He's far, far too old... but I guess if a girl can win it...

Nick: And add this as another smudge to Ignatius Lisieux's record, only his fourth ever loss in PRIME and perhaps his most comprehensive, he was barely involved a minute before he lost to the Downfall by Tchu... The French-Canadian is going to need a revelation in order to turn things back around, his seven-match winning streak has been ended tonight at the hands of a very impressive trio, these fans are silenced... we'll take a break.

Tyler Nelson glances over at the clock on his wall. Fifteen minutes? Had it really been fifteen minutes since he had sent that damn intern to fetch him something to drink? It seems odd that Blair would disappear for so long over a single cup of coffee. There's simply no excuse for it to take as long as a Hoyt Williams' entrance to bring back some coffee. No excuse! Of course, he hadn't been able to find that miserable Goddamn cat for two weeks, so it can't be a total shock. Nelson sighs to himself, tired of waiting, then drops his pen on the set of papers scattered across his desk. He could get the beverage himself, shouldn't have to, but he could, and he could sure as hell do it faster than that idiot Blair.

With a stretch, the main man of PRIME leaves his office behind and heads out into the corridors with the common folk. Along the way, he looks for Blair, just so he can save himself the trip over to the catering area (and maybe do a little yelling and cursing too... standard boss stuff).

But, with each passing step that brings Nelson closer to his cup of coffee, Blaine Blair is nowhere to be found.

"Typical" He says it to no one in particular. Nelson finally makes it to the table where the coffee is being kept (too far from his office, he'd make note of that), but it seems he is not the only interested customer.

Tchu: Hey, look who it is! Funny running into you here!

Nelson: I don't find it amusing in the least, and judging by your sarcastic tone it's not a coincidence.

Tchu: Damn, ya got me! Blair was here a few minutes ago. He said something about fetching you some coffee. I told him not to worry about it and to get lost. Figured sooner or later you'd get fed up and come to get it yourself.

Nelson: I have an office, if you want to talk... use it.

Tchu: Not necessary. I didn't want this to be a formal meeting. Think of it as... a quick little chat.

Nelson: Whatever it is, I'm holding you to the 'quick' part.

The anti-PRIME, who had been standing with arms folded, leaning against the wall next to the table, steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Nelson.

Tchu: I just wanted to make sure it was clear what I want. I told that Blair fellow last week to make sure he told you that I wanted my rematch with Clyde. And yet, this week, I found myself teaming up in some gimmicked lame ass six man tag match.

Nelson: That was a decision made by...

Tchu: I don't give a shit what or who it was made by. I just wanted to tell you face to face, to make sure you got it, that I want my rematch against Clyde for the Universal Championship. PRIME saw fit to give Walkins a shot at my title as soon as I'd won the damn thing, so I'm sure they can see to it that I get my right as former champion. Make the rematch happen, Nelson. I want my shot at Clyde. Not next year, not next month, not at the next Pay Per View... next week. ReVolution 89. I had better see it on the card.

With the last few sentences, Tchu had crept closer and closer to his employer so that now, they're faces were only inches apart.

Nelson: Step back Mr. Ward, or you'll quickly find yourself having to start from the bottom and work your way up in some pathetic indy fed of my choosing. I don't take kindly to threats, especially from someone who lost MY Universal Title to Clyde friggin Walkins.

The Inhuman Being steps back one step, slowly, granting Nelson's request... but not at all eagerly.

Nelson: Thank you. Now, since you were kind enough to do as I asked, and for some reason I'm feeling generous, instead of making you work some bingo hall for $40 next week, I'll give you what you want. Seven days from tonight, on ReVolution 89, Tchu will step into the ring with the one and only Clyde Walkins. And I promise you Tchu, contrary to your rant about how you should be the Pulse Champion but were a victim of non-title clauses... I assure you, your match next week will NOT be non-title.

Tchu shakes his head once, in agreement with Nelson's claims.

Nelson: And now that you've gotten your title shot, I'm going to get my coffee that I've been waiting twenty damn minutes for! If you'll excuse me!

Tchu steps out of the way, no longer blocking Nelson from the coffee machine. The Inhuman Being walks off in the opposite direction, content with the news that he would be getting his shot at Clyde's belt.

Nelson goes about getting the cup of coffee that had taken too long to find its way into his hands. As Tchu leaves, Nelson turns and looks over his shoulder, a sly grin spreading slowly across his face.

Paddy: And then aye told him, mass is fer celebrating, no’ fer sleepin’!

Paddy looks nervously at the man that walks beside him, Father Houlahan, but when he smiles Paddy grins from ear to ear. Thank God, he thought the joke was too racy!

Father Houlahan, dressed in his white collar, is the Catholic parish priest of Athenry. That’s where Paddy grew up idiot. Whether it was saying mass or weeding the garden, he was a solemn man, very reserved and serious, but he was kind. And Paddy was always fond of him. Walking through the halls of the arena, passing the occasional lowly PRIME worker, the two chatted quietly with Paddy doing the talking and Houlahan doing the nodding etc.

Father Houlahan: Tell me Paddy, how has workin’ here been like. With all that ghastly wrestlin’.

Paddy: Feckin’ brilliant.

SMACK!

Houlahan’s hand crashed over Paddy’s brow in a split second that made him think of Morpheus from the Matrix. Only he wasn’t black, or fat, and sure as hell didn’t star in that piece of shit, Assault on Pres- WHO CARES!

Father Houlhan: Don’t ye ever use tha’ language in front o’ me again.

Paddy: Jesus H. Ch-

SMACK!

Paddy: Oi! Tha’ feckin’ hu-

SMACK!

The shot slapped him on the lip, and he groped at it in pain, managing to stifle the curse that came out. The stern look on the priest’s face was a constant as he turned back around and the two continued on, approaching Paddy’s dressing room. Paddy was now keen to impress the priest more than ever.

Paddy: Father, wha’s yer favourite book? Aye love t’ read meself...aye do!

Houlahan, a little confused initially, scoured his brain.

Father Houlhan: Anything of Dickens aye’d say...fabulous writer. And you Paddy, wha’ do you like?

Paddy rubbed his chin slowly with his thumb and index finger, trying his best to look like a scholar. Casually, he brought his plan full circle.

Paddy: Well aye’d say the bible...

Houlahan nodded with a smile, impressed by Paddy.

Paddy: Wha’ a superb piece of fiction.

Dropped Jaw. Houlahan.

Father Houlahan: Fiction?

Paddy: Well, of course...wha’ with two animals of everythin’ on one boat an’ people who turn water int’ wine. Sure, aye would have discovered how t’ do tha’ by now. Not likes it’s real or anything, eh, Father.

Father Houlahan: YES IT IS BLOODY REAL!

Somebody hands Paddy a shovel, he keeps on digging that hole of his.

Paddy: Well...we’ll agree t’ differ.

Father Houlahan: No we bloody won’t!

Paddy now a little nervous at the ferocious Houlahan is quite relieved as the two now find themselves outside the dressing room.

Paddy: An’ here’s me dressing room!

Paddy sheepishly opens the door and regrets it instantaneously.

There is a party....not just any party...this is the type of party where a dozen hookers run naked and sit on each individuals faces in turn, including each others. Infact they go and sit on their OWN faces. People are snorting coke and sherbet fizz. Someone is drinking beer from the crack of a man’s ass. Darryl is in the corner getting tea bagged. Even Laurence Fishburne is there! Shades and black trench coat affixed, he walks over to Father Houlahan, a red pill in his right hand, a blue in his left.

Fishburne: You take the red pill and you wake up and remember nothing. You take the blue pill and you go further down the rabbit hole...which do you want?

A random junkie, skinny and greasy runs over, snatching both pills form him.

Junkie: I’ll have both I think....where’s my pipe, I’m gonna snort this shit!!! Woooo! Rabbit Hole!!!!

Paddy slams the door shut, picks up his jaw, picks up Houlahan’s jaw, then begins stuttering like a baby

Paddy: Aye...aye n-never...aye d-didn’t

Houlahan wipes away a tear then turns and walks away.

Houlahan: Goodbye Paddy...

Paddy: No! Father! Please! Aye never!

Paddy runs after the retreating Houlahan and the hallway becomes desolate. This doesn’t stay like this for long as around the corner comes Lemonbake. Rubbing his hands together feverishly, he opens the door to Paddy’s room.

Lamen: Jeez...when’s Paddy going to get here? He’s missing all the fun!....Hey, Morpheus, gimme some of them bluuuuuuuueeeeesssssss

Lamen backflips into the room.

Nick: Last week, we saw the return of Paul Cain who seems to be riding around with some even more peculiar characters than just the usual Damien Kahn. He deliberately rubbed Peter Vetra up the wrong way...

Richard: Excuse me?

Nick: I said Paul Cain deliberately rubbed Peter...

Richard: Yeah I heard that but...God damn...That’s sick.

Nick: Ugh...Anyhow, having swaggered around backstage, Paul Cain went back to where he started from when he first came back to PRIME and that was by taking a shot at Imperium right off the bat. Some things do not change.

Richard: Yeah but his return has left us more questions than answers. Where has he been? What’s he been doing? What’s his latest piece of skirt all about? What’s the deal with Gamble? It’s all too much for me, let alone the average PRIME fan! We need answers!

In truly appropriate style, the lights in the arena come down to black and then white strobe lighting begin to flash. On the PRIME big screen a video plays showing various clips of crowd rioting, violence and gang shootouts. As the scene runs through, a gun shot fires out and three words appear in silver metallic font with bullet marks on:

The Vice Squad
High Stakes

Then as the video continues to play, the introduction to "We Ain’t" by The Game featuring Eminem begins to ring out around the building.

# Ladies and gentleman
# You are now about to witness the strength
# Of Aftermath straight out the mothafuckin streets of Compton
#Put your hands together for Game b!tch
# Hahahaha

As the music blasts from the PA system, the mystery woman appears in the entrance way dressed in her usual attire with her arms stretched out wide to the sky. She takes a few steps forward and then turns to point with both forefingers towards the backstage area. Tony Gamble jogs out onto the ramp and makes his way over to where the female is standing. They both wait, eyes focused on the ramp way as the big man monster known as Damien Kahn slowly comes out from the back. He is bare chested, showing off the sculpted and monstrous body that he has developed. The legs are covered by black track pants and his feet by shiny black shoes. He motions to Gamble and they both head to the ring, Gamble jumping over the top rope and Kahn climbing over it, leaving the woman on the ramp. She claps them both and then returns her attention to the entrance.

The music changes to "On Fire" by Lloyd Banks and two bursts of flame shoot up from either side of the ramp. The music video has changed to one of a night club and various women dancing on the floor and on poles. The same bullet marked silver metallic font appears reading:

The Vice Squad
"Serial Thrilla" Paul Cain

From the entrance way comes Paul Cain dressed in a red suit jacket with white shirt and red pants, accompanied with dark glasses. He plays to the crowd and thrusts his fist in the air as he strides towards the female member of the team. Stopping by her, he turns and grins at her before shaking her hand and then charging to the ring. He dives under the bottom and hops up to his feet, before patting Tony Gamble on the back and touching his closed fists against Damien’s. Confetti and streamers begin to come down from the ceiling welcoming Cain upon his return. Gamble rushes over and lifts the ring ropes up to allow the woman in as Cain takes the microphone. Cain brushes away from the falling confetti from his hair and face as he waits for it stop before speaking. Throughout his whole speech he doesn’t stand still and moves around the ring with a renewed energy and purpose.

Cain: Two months ago, the biggest injustice of them all was perpetrated in PRIME! Because for some reason, our little dead bitch Hin See, got his oriental panties all knotted up over an act of self defence! Now for all you with short term memory loss, zombies out the back, roll it and refresh ‘em!

The video then begins to play on the large screen.

Blackwolf drags Cain up off his feet and scoops him up, slamming him down hard onto the concrete. He adds insult to injury by stomping away hard on the prone body of the Serial Thrilla. This however is not enough as Blackwolf again hauls Paul to his feet, grabbing a tight hold of his hair and then running forwards before hurling Cain against the wall next to the elevator. Paul’s neck snaps back and he falls at the feet of the two engineers who are working on the lift. One of them nervously takes his blue cap which matches the rest of his uniform and attempts to reason with the assailant.

Engineer: Sir, this is NOT a safe area to be in, please we don’t want any trouble!

Blackwolf answers silently with a forearm to the face of the engineer, causing his colleague to run off, losing his cap in the process. Just as Blackwolf goes to grab Cain again, Hoyt steps in.

Hoyt mentions the constant interference of Cain and that he can no longer be allowed to threaten the growth of Imperium. He then orders Mark to prove he is worthy of the Imperium name by throwing Cain down the lift shaft. (The doors are jammed open and the elevator itself is on the floor below. It’s not far enough down to do fatal damage but far enough to finish a career).

Peter Vetra and Jesse Jamester pick up the prone Paul Cain and turn him to face the elevator shaft before letting go of him. This is Blackwolf’s big opportunity as he sets up Cain for the "Death From Above" with the imaginary target painted on the elevator a floor below. As Blackwolf goes to hoist Cain up on high, Williams smiles and adds a final taunt to the Serial Thrilla.

Hoyt Williams: Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

A sick smile comes over the face of Blackwolf as he moves closer in.

Hoyt Williams: Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.

Vetra bows his head as Hoyt recites the lords prayer.

Hoyt Williams: Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.

Hoyt gives the nod of execution to Blackwolf who grabs Cain. Hoyt, Vetra, and Jamester turn to walk away as Hoyt continues the prayer with out being a witness to the crime about to be committed.

Hoyt Williams: And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.

Blackwolfs large hands move down in slow motion as the rest of Imperium countine to walk away. Just as Blackwolf attempts to lift him up, Cain fights back squirming like crazy and kicking his legs desperately. Mark loses control of his victim who slips forward to his feet and spins around with a hard kick to Mark’s chest. Cain savagely fights back with his fists firing at Blackwolf sending him backwards to the opposite wall. Mark then attempts to retaliate himself, launching a big boot towards Cain’s face only for Paul to swerve out of the way. Mark falls forward and stretches his arms out to stop himself from falling down the shaft because of his bodies momentum. Cain then flies forward and slams his full weight into the back of Mark Blackwolf, sending him careering forward into the depths of the elevator shaft.

The camera view comes back to Paul Cain who turns away from the screen and looks down at the ring mat.

Cain: I was not only defending MYSELF that night but I was having to defend the honour of my dead Grandmother... Whose name was dragged through the shit by Hoyt and his harem of bitches known as Imperium...However, our now chargrilled former dictator, Hin See, didn’t see it the same way...He CLAIMED I was endangering others with my...How did he put it....?

Paul turns to Damien who mouths the words "erratic decisions" to his companion. Cain nods to him and readdresses the crowd.

Cain: That’s it...My erratic decisions and he promptly suspended me for MY own good...MY own good?! To hell with that...He was more worried that I would harm his golden boys, the members of the PRIME Kliq that lick each others asses and get the five star treatment...

The crowd begins to boo Cain as he disrespects the upper echelons of PRIME. He points towards the female beside him and smiles at her.

Cain: Thanks to Violet Rayne here, and the good sense of the new management of this company...I’m pleased to say that the "Serial Thrilla" is back and ready to piss on some people’s parades!

Damien Kahn edges over and takes the mic off Paul holding up a hand to silence him. He beckons Tony Gamble over and puts an arm around his shoulder.

Kahn: Hey yo, hold up a sec brotha! This ain’t just the Paul Cain Show, this is about the Vice Squad motherfuckers and we [he points to himself and Tony Gamble] are High Stakes! [He looks to Tony with a reassuring smile] You ain’t got shit to worry about my friend, because you and me, we gonna show the world why we ain’t the people to be screwed with...

Tony holds an open palm in front of Kahn’s face, motioning for Kahn to hand him the mic; which Kahn does. Tony lifts the mic to his lips, a nervous smile forms on the right side of his face as he rubs the mic against his pants before bringing it to his lips again. Grinning.

Gamble: I really wasn’t expecting this.

The rest of the group just stare at him, not too sure what he’s doing.

Gamble: I mean I had this huge speech written out, and I had spent all last night practicing it over and over again in the mirror. It was perfect. I was going to have everyone eating out of the palm of my hand...

Gamble’s smile half-faded into a frown, well as much as it could.

Gamble: ...but I forgot what I was going to say, so I thought I’d let you know so you wouldn’t be sitting there waiting for me to say something. Because I’m not going to say a word. Here you go buddy, finish up that catch phrase.

Gamble smiles, then hands the mic back to Kahn. Kahn looks over to Cain, who merely shrugs his shoulders, having no clue as to what just happened. Kahn shrugs his shoulders before speaking into the mic.

Kahn: Step in the ring with us, and when it’s all said and done...

Damien goes over to the ropes and leans on them into the camera, as Gamble folds his arms across his bare chest.

Kahn: If you ain’t bleedin’, you ain’t leavin’!

He throws the mic behind him to Cain who tilts his head back and holds the mic to his lips.

Cain: Love us, hate us, don’t give a damn about us...We don’t care...Because when your name comes up on our list...You will be....OUR....

A pause for effect.

Cain: BITCH!

Scene fades out to black.

Serenity.

The crisp corners of flipping dead presidents caressed throughout the air, cutting through an otherwise serene atmosphere. There stood Tyler Nelson, basking in the fruitful favor of two million big ones that he'd ripped out of Vangelus Olsig's very hands. In each dollar stood turmoil and agony, all of which had been burdened on Olsig's life because of Nelson's bitter tastes and manipulating tactics.

That, though, made it only the more fruitful.

Anyone who knows Tyler Nelson knows that forbidden is his favorite fruit, that's why not an ounce of guilt weighed anywhere near his heart. He had on his side a psycho clown who would do anything and everything to anyone. He was the CEO of a largely established corporation. The man simply lived the life that the average male only wet dreamed over. But on the other side of his office door was a man who wanted to end said life.

Knock Knock Knock

"Come I-..."

Vangelus Olsig didn't even give Nelson time enough to welcome him in. Nelson's eyes shot up at the blatant and rude behavior only to discover a boiling Vangelus Olsig...all equipped with a lead pipe that was covered in his blood from last week. The very sight startled Nelson enough to make him drop the dollars and immediately snatch up the cellular phone.

"I need Securi-..."

Smack.

The phone went crashing unto the floor below all thanks to a shot with the lead pipe by Olsig, knocking the phone out of Nelson's hands. With Ozric nowhere to be found and security totally clueless as to the actions, which were occurring...it only left Nelson and Olsig, man to man...

The way it should be.

Vangelus Olsig: So lets see...you rob me of two million dollars, you place me in an Intense Rules match knowing that I'm nowhere near 100%, and you send a clown to end me for good. So tell me, Mr. Nelson, what should keep me from ripping your skull apart right here right now.

The tone in Olsig's voice and the fire in his eyes told the story. Nelson took a deep swallow before crafting up an answer.

Tyler Nelson: Ah...ugh...well...list-...

Suddenly, Olsig snatches Nelson up by the collar and pins him against the wall looking all the ready to deliver on his threat.

Tyler Nelson: Y-...Yo-you're ch-oking...me.

Olsig lets up a bit on his grip, but not much.

Tyler Nelson: Now you listen here Olswig. I'm not sure what kind of drugs you're on, but you really need to take a step back into reality and fast, or you'll be picking up your last check....minus any deductions I feel necessary to take out due to your outburst tonight....as you leave!

As Nelson says that, a sick grin creeps unto the face of Olsig.

Vangelus Olsig: Heh...you've already ruined my life, Nelson. I'm practically on the verge of death...do you really think I care about this job anymore? No, my friend...try again.

Running low on ideas as well as patience, Nelson begins to do the first thing he can think of.

Tyler Nelson: SECURI-umph...

Olsig cuts him off by tightening the grip a bit.

Vangelus Olsig: uh uh uh...this one's between you and me my friend. See this pipe?

Olsig holds out the pipe for Nelson to see.

Vangelus Olsig: The blood that stains this pipe represents the blood I shed all because of you and your greed. You threw my life in the gutter and now I have every right to bury you six feet under.

Tyler Nelson: You really...really don't want to do that, do you? What is it...the two-million? Is that what you want?

Vangelus Olsig: What I want is my dignity back...but that's too far gone. You could never restore back to me what I really want, Nelson...so how about I release some much built up anger.

Suddenly, Nelson crashes his eyelids in preparation for the beating of his life. They slowly peel back open, though, after seconds of no pain. No...instead Olsig lets go of Nelson and allows him to slump down to the floor.

Vangelus Olsig: Hehe...you're pathetic. I told you once and I'll tell you again, Nelson. I'm not like you nor Ozric. I handle my business like a real man, and instead of putting you out of your misery right now...I'll do it like a real man would, inside of the ring. Because tonight...in our match...as far as I'm concerned it's me and you one on one. I don't care about any of the others. Not Ferguson, not Wolfenden, not Evans, not Farwell...none of them exist in my mind. I'm going to be all over your saddidy ass like glue, son.

Finished delivering the threat, Olsig begins to turn around to exit but suddenly stops in his tracks.

Vangelus Olsig: But heres a little something for you to think about until our match. Remember those vignettes you ran two weeks ago on labeling me as a murderer? You know the ones where you accused me of being the sole mind behind the killing of Shadow and Dark Angel? Accusing me of having a sick, sadistic, and uncivilized mindset?

Nelson nods his head slowly as he adjusts his tie and collar.

Vangelus Olsig: Heh...believe it.

And with that Olsig turns around and exits the room with his damage done....

Not Phsyically...

Mentally.

The scene: a communal team room for Kyle Lamen, Chet Worth, and Chandler Tsonda. Among them, there isn't much spoken word. In fact, it's completely silent, other than Worth incessantly tapping his foot against the floor. It's evident that Chandler is becoming more and more annoyed by this, but is trying to resist saying anything.

Chandler Tsonda: You wanna...cut that out?

Worth just gives him a strange look, while Tsonda looks at Lamen for some help, but the Last Son of CCW just shakes his head.

Kyle Lamen: Hey, you're the outcast. No life-altering disease.

As they sit in this continuing awkward silence, the door to the locker room flies open. After a brief pause, Danny Ferguson strolls into the room, and yes, strolls is the appropriate word. Suddenly clad in all black, and carrying a rolled up piece of paper, he runs a hand through his hair, which is not really his hair, but a black wig. Also of note is the fake stubble that is now dotting his face. Lamen steps back a little, suddenly uncomfortable with the numbers advantage, but a wave of the hand from Danny eases him...slightly. Worth and Tsonda both stand, just as confused as Lamen.

Danny Ferguson: I don't know what to say, really. Three minutes 'til the biggest battle of our professional lives It all comes down to today, and either we heal as a team or we're gonna crumble, inch by inch, play by play, 'til we're finished.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully, and takes to pacing the room. Lamen keeps himself at a safe distance.

Danny Ferguson: We're in hell right now, gentlemen, believe me. And, we can stay here - get the shit kicked out of us - or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell one inch at a time. Now, I can't do it for you. I'm too old. I look around. (he looks around) I see these young faces, and I think - I mean - I made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I chased off anyone who's ever loved me. And lately, I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.

He pauses and looks up, catching himself in the bathroom mirror of the locker room. Pausing for a second to adjust his collar and straighten the wig, he soon returns to hunched-over pacing.

Danny Ferguson: You know, when you get old in life things get taken from you. I mean that's...that's... that's part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losing stuff. You find out life's this game of inches. So is football...I mean, wrestling. Because in either game, life or fo...wrestling, the margin for error is so small - I mean, one half-a-step too late, or too early, and you don't quite make it. One half-second too slow, too fast, you don't quite catch it.

Kyle Lamen: What the hell is he...

Chandler Tsonda: Quiet. He's just getting started.

Danny Ferguson: The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch. On this team, we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch, because we know when WE ADD UP ALL THOSE INCHES, THAT'S GONNA MAKE THE FUCKIN' DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WINNING AND LOSING!!! BETWEEN LIVING! AND DYING!

Chandler Tsonda & Chet Worth: YEAH!

Kyle Lamen: Wait, huh?

Danny Ferguson: I'll tell you this: In any fight, it's the guy who's willing to die who's gonna win that inch. And I know if I'm gonna have any life anymore, it's because I'm still willin' to fight and die for that inch. Because that's what livin' is! The six inches in front of your face!!

Chandler Tsonda & Chet Worth: YEAH!

Chandler turns to high-five Chet, but Chet balks, not willing to brave that Asian bird flu. Then he turns towards Lamen, who leaves him hanging, as well, 'cause he's a cold cat.

Danny Ferguson: Now I can't make you do it. You got to look at the guy next to you. Look into his eyes!

Chet and Chandler both look at Lamen. Kyle just rolls his eyes.

Danny Ferguson: Now I think you're gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You're gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows, when it comes down to it, you're gonna do the same for him! That's a team, gentlemen! And, either we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That's wrestling guys. That's all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

He stops pacing and looks up at all three of them. Annnnnd awkward silence.

Danny Ferguson: (clearing his throat) Now, what are you...

Kyle Lamen: We heard you the first time, ass.

A little taken aback by the comment - and the ensuing cheers from the arena crowd - Danny looks over at Chandler, who gives him a brief "he's right" nod. Then he looks at Chet, who, no longer being caught up in the moment, has returned to his extensive pre-match rituals. Not receiving the response he had hoped, he tears off the black wig and tosses it at the ground.

Danny Ferguson: Well fine. Excuse me for trying to get some motivation going.

Kyle Lamen: And what, pray tell, makes you think we need some motivation here?

Danny Ferguson: Excuse me, Lame-o, but it's not that often that two of my dear friends...

He slaps Worth on the shoulder before turning towards Lamen. On impact, Chet tries to stand up and go after him, but Chandler quietly calms the big man, unbeknownst to Danny.

Danny Ferguson: ...team up with a reckless punk with a death wish. I want to make sure their heads are in the game, that they don't let you go out there and blow it for all of them. Because win-loss records might not matter too much to YOU in 11 months, Kyle, but unlike you...these guys have a future.

Having reeled in Worth, Chandler makes his way up to Ferguson, putting his hand on his fellow A-List member's shoulder.

Chandler Tsonda: Listen, Champ...why don't you just take a couple plays off? Ya know, stop talking for a while?

Ferguson gives him an eye, but when Tsonda makes the international sign for crazy (spinning his finger pointing at his head, d'uh), Ferguson quietly nods and steps out the door, but not before KVL gets a parting shot.

Kyle Lamen: Yeah, better get to preparing, Daniel. You wouldn't want that oh-so-important record of yours drop to 0-2, would you?

Danny Ferguson: Eh?

Kyle Lamen: You know, your record against women?

The Superstar starts towards Lamen, but then Tsonda catches his glance and Ferguson contents himself with a short glare at "Velocity". Muttering something like "die" under his breath, Ferguson exits the room, leaving the three mismatched superstars to their own devices.

Chandler Tsonda: So...did you guys hear I was looking for a manager?

Silence from the other two.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh fine, have your rotten fucking pre-game silence.

As quickly as the door shuts behind Ferguson, it flies back open again, slamming into the wall, leaving a decent hole. The Illustrious Face-Eater stomps in, eyes ablaze.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THERE YOU ARE!

Chandler Tsonda: There a problem?

Facey stomps up to him, then calms down a little, trying not to look concerned.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: No, why? What's up with you?

Chandler cocks an eyebrow, and looks over at his teammates for the night. Both Worth and Lamen are doing their own thing, but also trying to watch the A-Listers on the periphery.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Listen, I don't have time for pithy small talk to set up our angle. I may or may not have double-booked us tonight.

Chandler Tsonda: You did WHAT?

Furious, Chandler begins pacing the room, tailed by his compadre. Facey tries to explain himself, but Chandler has none of it.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I kinda did this thing...

Chandler Tsonda: I've got a commercial to shoot tomorrow!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: And one thing led to another...

Chandler Tsonda: I can't look exhausted! And I can't have war wounds for the makeup people to charge for! They take that out of my commission!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: It's no big deal.

Chandler Tsonda: NO BIG DEAL?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I talked to Danny outside. He had an idea. Something about Nelson. I wasn't really paying attention.

He leaves Chandler's side and walks over to the door, which is lodged in the wall where he opened it.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'll get back with you after this match. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

He's gone before Chandler can even respond. As a result, Tsonda just curses loudly, ignoring the other people in the room.

Kyle Lamen: Two matches in one night, huh? You'd better be careful, kid - someone might mistake you for a wrestler.

Chandler Tsonda: (growling) I'm older than you are, punk.

Kyle Lamen: That explains the wrinkles.

Tsonda doesn't respond, and all three men go back to their preparation. Before we fade away, Chandler looks up at the bathroom mirror and runs a finger underneath his eyeline. This night wasn't going to do any good for his complexion.

Nova sits in front of a TV screen, an Atari 2600 controller gripped in his hands. The glow of the screen is the only light in the room. Behind him, at the doorjamb stands Jake Keeton.

In fact, he's been standing there for five minutes. Suddenly Nova speaks, though his tone is ambiguous enough that it sounds like he's speaking to no one particularly in the room.

Nova: This game is called Custer's Revenge. It's hard to imagine it was actually released for the Atari. In the game, you're a naked Custer, complete with pixilated wang that flops when you run. The point is to make it through a hail of arrows to an Indian maiden who's tied to a Cactus and rape her. Ten points for every thrust.

Nova takes his cigarette out of the ashtray and takes a drag.

Nova: I know, it's horrible. Absolutely horrible. But I'm drawn to it, somehow. It's so out there, you have to experience it.

Jake Keeton: Nova, I think you have an outdated picture of who I am.

Nova: That's irrelevant. I don't trust you either way.

Jake Keeton: I see. No second chances for me, just for everyone else who...

Nova waves dismissively.

Nova: I'm not interested in your sob story. You're in PRIME now. Great. Leave me alone, give me space, and I'll do the same.

Jake Keeton: Nova, just wait one damn...

Nova: I meant starting now.

Jake scratches behind his head for a second and then turns.

Jake Keeton: Fine. This is your show, chief. You can have it your way.

Nova's eyes are locked back on the TV.

Nova: Great to hear. Good talk.

The Solution opens his mouth...and closes it in gritted teeth. He leaves silently. Nova searches for a cigarette.

Nick: And we're set to go here with Kyle Lamen and Jason Bass starting it off for each team!

Richard: I've got my money on Hoyt's team, Nick.

Nick: Why?

Richard: Because he's got God on his side!

Lamen and Bass circle slowly, with Bass making the first move. He rushes in, and tries to grab Lamen, who ducks under it, and moves to the side. Bass stands up, and again rushes at Lamen, with Lamen ducking it again, this time throwing a boot to Bass's knee, trying to take the much bigger man off his feet.

Bass buckles for a second, and Lamen puts a kick to Bass's broad shoulders. Bass cringes, and Lamen puts another kick to his back. Bass roars in anger and stands up, going after Lamen one more time. Lamen ducks again, and tags in an unwilling Tsonda.

Nick: Looks like Lamen wants to pass the buck here.

Richard: He angered the bull, and now Tsonda's going to get the horns!

Tsonda gets into the ring quickly, and the two grab an arm each, pulling Bass to his feet and throwing him off the ropes. Bass comes back, and tries to clothesline the two aggressors. They both duck, and Bass hits the other ropes. A double dropkick sends Bass crashing through the ropes to the outside, and the fans go a-cheerin'.

Richard: Wow! What a move from the two of them! Ferguson's pep talk must have gotten them up! His words have that effect on people!

Nick: What? He stole that from Any Give...

Richard: What a speech! What a man!

Mortimer and Hoyt enter the ring, each with bad intentions on their minds, Hoyt going after Lamen, and Mortimer going after Tsonda. They each get in the ring posts with the other, trading punches with Worth still sitting on the outside, waiting.

Williams and Oz get the upper hand, and turn around toward each other. Hoyt grabs Lamen's hand, as Oz does the same with Tsonda, the two being Irish whipped to the center.

Tsonda and Lamen reverse it, and Williams and Mortimer each go on a collision course toward each other, stopping just short of catastrophe.

Richard: Oh, they're out of trouble now!

Nick: I wouldn't say that.

Without warning, Chet Worth enters the ring, and lunges at both men, in a spear-esque maneuver, knocking them both down, and sending Oz out of the ring. Worth stands up, and lets out a strange scream, as Lamen and Tsonda look at each other in shock.

Nick: That's two hundred and seventy one pounds coming crashing full speed into Hoyt Williams and Ozric Mortimer!

Richard: Bullcrap. If he's a pound under three hundred, I'll eat my pants.

Hoyt wisely rolls out of the ring as Worth snarls at him in anger, letting out another Ken Shamrock-like scream, which absolutely fires the fans up like crazy.

Lamen gives Worth a pat on the back. In a blind rage, Worth bends Lamen over, and places Lamen's head between his legs. He pulls him up into a power bomb position.

Nick: What's Worth doing?!

Richard: He's turning on his own teammate!

From there, Worth spins Lamen around, so he's on his shoulders in an electric chair drop sort of position, and holds Lamen's hands. Lamen stands on his shoulders, and leaps into the air, twisting once and flipping once, and landing on Hoyt and Oz on the outside, as both men try to figure out what the hell just happened here.

The fans go ballistic at the early display.

"LA-MEN! LA-MEN! LA-MEN!"

Nick: Listen to these fans! They're in love with the Lamen/Worth Connection!

Richard: They're not Foley and Johnson, you know.

Nick: You don't like that name? What would you suggest?

Richard: How about OCDead?

Jason Bass, the forgotten man in this melee is back up, and he's not happy about being taken advantage of so quickly. He enters the ring as Tsonda and Worth ponder their next move, which just so happens to be finding their teeth somewhere in the front row.

Bass clotheslines both of them out of their boots, and knocks Worth to the outside. Bass is on Tsonda in a heartbeat, punching him on the top of his head.

Richard: You're not going to harm anything that way, Bass!

Nick: Stop it.

Richard: He's borderline retarded, Nick. Everyone knows that.

Nick: Well...

Richard: Just tell me I'm right.

Nick: He's not very smart, sometimes.

Bass pulls Tsonda to his feet, and sends him off the ropes. Bass tries for a clothesline, but, Tsonda ducks it, comes off the ropes and tries to take Bass down with a crossbody.

Except, everyone knows that when smaller man meets bigger man with crossbody, it leads to one place: Pain. Bass catches Tsonda, and drops down forward, sending the wind out of Tsonda's lungs with an "oof".

Bass quickly hooks a leg, as Wesley James falls down for the count.

Nick: This'll be quick!

One!

Two!

Legdrop from Lamen breaks up the count! James tries to get Lamen out of the ring as Bass motions for Hoyt to come into the ring. The two pull Tsonda into their corner, and go to work, putting boots to his face, chest and stomach. Tsonda's eyes start to roll in his head.

Lamen finally leaves the ring area, as Worth pulls him over to the outside. James turns to see Hoyt working with Bass, and quickly goes to break it up.

Hoyt Williams: I tagged in!

Wesley James: Bullshit, I didn't see it.

Jason Bass: He did! I swear! It works in the WWF!

Wesley James: This ain't the WWF, stupid! Get out Hoyt!

Hoyt makes the sign of the cross facing Wesley, and kicks Tsonda again before leaving the ring. Bass reaches a hand out, and tags in Ozric Mortimer.

Oz comes in with bad intentions, and immediately lifts Tsonda up, and throws him toward his corner, pointing at Lamen.

Nick: Looks like Oz wants Lamen after that move to the outside!

Richard: Lamen holds a hand out for a tag, but, Tsonda reaches out and tags in Chet Worth before rolling out of the ring. Worth comes in quickly and charges forward into the face of Ozric. The two stand face to face for a second before pulling back and throwing a flurry of punches at each other.

Each left from Mortimer is returned with a right from the lefty Worth.

Each right from Worth is answered by a left from the righty Mortimer.

When they switch, they switch. Finally, Worth gets the upper hand, and gets in three consecutive punches in. He grabs Ozric's hand and tries to pull him toward the ropes, pulling him into a short clothesline that Oz ducks!

Nick: This is exactly what lead to Worth's undoing last week! What the hell would he try this again?

Richard: He's like Tsonda. Stupid.

Worth quickly tries for a DDT, his face red. As he goes down, Ozric doesn't get the message, and stands straight up. Worth crashes into the canvas, and Oz throws a foot over his throat. Worth struggles, and tries to throw Oz off, but, the bigger man has leverage. James starts the five count, and Oz is off at four and fifteen sixteenths.

Nick: Worth is looking worse for wear here, Richard.

Richard: Yeah, he is. Stupid OCD.

Ozric pulls Worth's head off the canvas, throwing a punch to his head, and sending the back of his head crashing into the mat. He pulls the larger man over into his corner, and tags in Hoyt.

Williams comes in like a man on fire, putting boots to the ample waistline of Chet Worth, along with Ozric Mortimer, until the count reaches five, and Ozric leaves the ring. Hoyt lifts Worth up, and puts him into the corner. He turns and looks at Lamen on the ring apron, and walks over to him, slapping him in the face. Lamen tries to get into the ring, since Tsonda is still on the outside, catching his breath, and probably playing with a hidden Sidekick on the outside. Wesley James cuts him off, as Hoyt slinks back into his corner.

All three of the large men go to work on Worth, clubbing him in the chest, head and shoulders with big body blows while Williams does a Kevin Nash like foot to the throat.

Lamen really struggles to get over there, but, James is adamant about not letting him in.

Richard: I guess this WWF crap does work, James!

Nick: What?

Richard: Nothing. Just noting something Pete wrote earlier.

Nick: Who?

Richard: Nevermind.

Lamen finally exits the ring just as the heels get done beating the crap out of Worth. Worth falls down, sitting on the floor, slumped into the turnbuckles, his eyes glazed over a bit.

Hoyt tags in Jason Bass, and again, the two work Worth over a bit, until James hits the five count, and Hoyt exits the ring. Bass puts a foot up on the ropes, and extends his left hand out. He jams a little on some air guitar, taunting Worth for a second, before launching into some arm windmills, stroking the phantom strings, each one clubbing Worth in the head with a thunderous fist.

The fake sounds fill the air.

WAHHH! PUNCH!

WAHHHH! PUNCH!

WAHHH! PUNCH!

WAHHH! PUNCH!

Bass backs off for a second, and starts into an Angus Young walk, his foot kicking forward, landing on the chest of Chet Worth, repeatedly.

Richard: Damn, that's cool as hell!

Nick: It's different to say the least.

Richard: What a great move!

Nick: If you say so.

The heels have a good laugh as Bass again puts a foot on the ropes.

And then, it happens.

Worth, in a fit of rage, balls a fist, and puts it directly into the gooch, trying to penetrate the body of Jason Bass, and punch his kidneys directly. Bass falls over, and Worth moves forward, out of the reaching hands of Hoyt and Ozric. He falls on top of Bass, and punches him like crazy. Wesley James tries to pull him off, but, to no avail.

Bass and Worth both get up, punching each other mercilessly. Bass starts to get the upper hand, but, Worth won't let that happen. He latches on to Bass, and lifts him upward, taking the big man off his feet, but, losing his balance, and taking both men over the ropes to the floor, Worth crashing onto his shoulder, and Bass taking the worst of it on his back.

Nick: WOW! I think they hurt each other there!

Richard: Look at Hoyt!

On cue, the Hoyt moves over, and starts beating down Worth. Lamen only has one option. He goes into the ring, comes off the ropes, and flips himself over the top turnbuckle, landing on Hoyt, Worth and Bass at the same time, taking each one down.

Nick: What a move by Lamen!

Richard: I think Oz wants to one up him!

Mortimer climbs to the top rope and leaps, trying to hit a standing Kyle Lamen, but falls short, and hits Chet Worth instead.

Nick: The fans are on their feet here!

Richard: And Tsonda's in the ring!

With the ring cleared, Chandler Tsonda surveys the situation. While the temptation to stay in the ring and do generally heelish things is strong, the temptation to go for a crazy bitchin' spot is greater. And thus, he goes for the latter.

Taking two steps back, Tsonda stands with his back touching the ropes. With Ozric the lone man standing on the outside, the Model Citizen decides to give a nice little wake-up call to Nelson's lackey. He runs, bends, and jumps up onto the top rope. The movements are agile as he pounces off the rope with further air underneath him, then contorts his body and twists, sending his full frame into Oz with what we'll call a suicide springboard twisting body press.

Nick: My goodness! I'll repeat it every week, but Tsonda might have a future in this fed if he weren't such a relentless jerk-off.

Richard: You're so closed-minded, Nick.

Meanwhile, Bass and Worth are getting to their feet. As they rise, their eyes meet and both of them charge. However, Bass over commits and when Worth pulls up, Bass is still running. So, Worth lifts Bass with a Spinebuster set-up (barely off the ground because of Bass's size), but then holds the bass player up and runs him STRAIGHT into the black padding on the side of the ring.

Nick: Holy moley! Worth just put a hurting on Bass!

Richard: You wanna see a hurting? Watch Hoyt and Lamen right here.

Indeed, the former Universal Champion is merely watching Lamen rise to his feet, like one of those awesome male lions on the Discovery Channel just watching that wounded elderly water buffalo stumble to its feet. Lamen has no time to catch his breath as Your Personal Jesus locks up with him and easily gets the best of him, having a large advantage in size. Hoyt slides around the back of Lamen and probably advances Lamen's cancer with a backdrop right onto the arena floor!

Nick: I wouldn't be surprised if one of these competitors leaves in an ambulance, at this point.

Richard: I wouldn't be surprised if Lamen drove a Mini-Cooper. That tool.

Having Bass in a bad spot and all the other competitors otherwise involved, Worth rolls the Seek & Destroy member into the ring, where Wesley James has been conveniently forgetting to issue a ten count. He immediately goes for the pin, and James slides down.

One!

Two!

Three!

James' hand hit the mat, but Worth is no longer in a pinning position, having been pulled out by the evil genius Hoyt Williams. Thus, James calls for the match to continue and Bass starts the slow process of getting to his feet, having narrowly escaped a loss.

On the outside, the two biggest competitors in the match, Hoyt and Worth, trade right hands. However, Worth can't match the weight advantage with mere technique. After ducking a haymaker from Hoyt, he knees the former champ in the mid-section and then swings both his large hands down with a double axe handler. However, Hoyt only goes down to one knee, so Worth literally lifts his boot up and stomps Hoyt's back, sending the savior to the floor.

Nick: What a bully!

Richard: Listen, guy, you gotta root for one of them. On the other hand, I'm the color guy so I can dip my fingers in a little of everything.

Nick: Just like your M.O. at a cocktail party.

Richard: Those are finger foods!

Lamen, Tsonda, and Oz are all getting to their feet about the same time, while Worth slides back into the ring. Tsonda, forgetting for a second who's on his team, goes to hit Lamen, but KVL catches his wrist and stares a hole through the Model Citizen. They glare at each other and Mortimer tries to take advantage with a double clothesline, but showing a strange amount of teamwork, Tsonda and Lamen duck, issue simultaneous kicks, and double DDT Oz to the floor.

Nick: Whoa, this whole thing just came apart because of Tsonda's dislike for Lamen!

Richard: Oh please, Tsonda was testing Lamen's reflexes.

In the ring, Worth is laying in wait for Bass. However, the Worth wastes no time. He bounces off the ropes and hits a just-rising Bass in the nuts with a kick, sending the big man to his feet.

Richard: I'm no doctor...but I've been told that maneuver is very effective.

Nick: This is the start of Worth's finishing sequence, Ten Thousand Words.

Worth's next flurry is rapid. Left hook. Right hook. Left hook. Right hook. Left cross.

Richard: Is the part where Bass catches his fist and begins squeezing important to finishing up the sequence?

Indeed, Bass, barely conscious after the bevy of punches, manages to grab Worth's fist and squeeze, leaving Worth unprotected. Why would he need to be protected, you ask? Well, you see, there's the fact of a charging Hoyt Williams who nearly decapitates Worth from behind with a sloppy clothesline intended only to inflict maximum pain on Chet.

Richard: Isn't he just a lovable 330-pound bundle?

However, now Tsonda and Lamen are heading back to the ring, leaving Mortimer still woozy on the outside. Wesley James quickly restores order, but with Worth down, it's a perfect opportunity for more double-teaming. Bass tags in Hoyt who has just barely reached the outside and they go back to work on Worth.

Both three-hundred pounders lift Worth off the mat effortlessly, propping him up against the ropes. They double whip Worth to the opposite ropes and then deliver the most powerful collective shoulder block in the history of PRIME. Wesley James tells Bass to get out of the ring and he obliges, since he's a face and all. Hoyt picks up right where Bass left off, stomping a mean mudhole into Worth, while Tsonda offers the helpful advice of "get up, freak!"

Nick: There are some BIG dudes in this match.

Richard: Yeah, Tsonda and Hoyt ARE pretty high-profile.

Nick: Jason Bass could crush Tsonda with his chord hand.

Williams doesn't relent. He drops both elbows into Worth's chest and then goes for a pin, with the leg hooked.

One!

Two!

Nick: Nope! It's gonna take more than that to put Worth down!

Richard: Yeah, like some M&M's for him to count and then a well-placed blow to the head.

At this point, it should be mentioned that Ozric Mortimer finally climbs onto his turnbuckle, having recovered from the brutal face-meet-concrete session. This is of little importance to Hoyt, who lifts Worth to a bent-over position and puts him into powerbomb position. There is some commotion in the Lamen/Tsonda corner, as the two seem to be discussing strategy.

Very little strategy will help against the next move, though, as Hoyt lifts Worth in an impressive display of power and SLAMS him to the mat with a powerbomb.

Richard: Go To Hell!

Nick: Clearly, you just like saying that.

Hoyt lifts Worth back to his feet, but drops him when he hears a voice from behind him.

Kyle Lamen: Hey fucker, might want to turn around!

And as a reflex, Hoyt turns, while Tsonda scrambles from the corner and kneels down behind Hoyt. Lamen comes flying off with a rolling wheel kick, which doesn't knock the massive Hoyt down, but does send him stumbling. Of course, he stumbles backwards, right into Tsonda, and the unseen obstruction causes Hoyt to topple over hard onto his back, at which point Chet Worth quickly slides on for the pin.

One!

Two!

ThreeNO!

Richard: God must've looked away for a second; that's why Worth was able to get the pin to two. Otherwise, no mere mortal could hope for such luck.

Wesley James yells at Tsonda and Lamen, who both head back to their own corner. However, their interference has allowed Worth to make his way over to the corner, where he tags in Tsonda, who uses one hand to propel himself over the top rope and into the ring, where he meets his rival (in his mind at least) and former fedmate, Hoyt Williams. As Williams rises, Tsonda runs and baseball slides under his legs, only to pop back up behind the massive man and sit him down with a reverse face plant.

Nick: That's what Tsonda's got to do if he hopes to compete with Hoyt, who is more than one and a half times his size.

Tsonda bounces off the ropes and sees that Hoyt is on his knees, with Chandler's trajectory leading him perpendicular to Hoyt's knelt form. He charges forward, leaping over Hoyt, then hits the rope and uses his momentum to bounce off backward with an Asai moonsault that puts Hoyt back on the mat.

Trying to keep the match at his pace, Tsonda hops back up, holding his chest from the pain of doing the move onto the barrel torso of Hoyt. Utilizing the ropes again, Tsonda bounces off and sends a running knee at Hoyt's head as the former Uni Champ tries to rise. Tsonda makes a bad mistake when he goes to taunt over the prone form of Hoyt, though. Seeing Tsonda above him, Hoyt swings his legs around to sweep out Tsonda's and then gets to his feet before Chandler can.

Nick: This would be NOT what Tsonda wants.

Richard: I guess I cheer for Hoyt here for longevity's sake. Kill that nancy boy Jap!

Nick: Hypocrite.

Tsonda attempts to get to his corner, but Hoyt stops him with one tree trunk arm and brings Tsonda up into a military press. Helpless, Tsonda barely puts up a fight as Hoyt presses the Viet Viper above his head. And just like that, Hoyt walks forward and leaves Tsonda behind, clearing the way for Tsonda to drop six feet down to the mat from the military press drop.

Being the relative coward he is, Tsonda scrambles to his corner and tags in Lamen, who is both bold AND daring. His light-speed offense immediately takes affect, as he goes right at Hoyt and misses with a leg lariat. However, he bounces off the ropes and jumps up to deliver a hurricanrana on Hoyt. Lamen pulls down, but the sheer strength of Hoyt is unmatchable and the former Uni Champ stalls, then pulls Lamen back up into powerbomb position.

Richard: I've heard that Hoyt's powerbomb is so ferocious it can pop a tumor.

Lamen's not going down without a fight. He punches at Hoyt's head, causing the big man to stumble. Taking advantage, Lamen slides his legs off as he grabs Hoyt's head, pulling him down with a big impact falling DDT.

Nick: That's Lamen's New Tokyo Calling!

With Hoyt down from both the spectacular move and wearing fatigue, the Uni Champ reluctantly crawls to his corner. However, neither of his partners seems too interested in helping him out and in the meantime, Lamen runs, bounces off his opponents' turnbuckle, and slams Hoyt with an second-rope elbow drop. Seeing that not tagging in means losing the match, Jason Bass is compelled to reach out and slap Hoyt's back, making him the legal man.

Richard: Oh great, the newcomer is trying to show up a legend.

Nick: They were going to lose the match if Hoyt had to take any more punishment!

Lamen doesn't relent, no matter who the opponent, charging the bassist and flooring him with a jump-swinging DDT that brings the crowd to their feet. Hoyt rolls to the outside and leans on the ring, but clearly looks in no condition to hop back in the ring. Worth says nothing to Tsonda, but jumps off the apron, leaving the Sultan of Style thoroughly confused.

Waiting for the big man, Lamen watches as Worth circles around towards Hoyt's position. Wesley James chooses not to do anything, as neither is legal or in the ring, and keeping things straight has been hard enough in this match. With Bass up, Lamen charges, but the big man anticipates the rush and sends Lamen down to the mat with a tilt-a-whirl slam. He pulls Lamen up by the hair and sends him to the OzHoytBass corner, but Lamen uses the turnbuckle to go upstairs, barely missing the impact of a corner spear from Bass, who nearly slams head-on into the turnbuckle.

Nick: Lamen is one of the best, Bass will have to do better than that!

Richard: He could start with getting a better gimmick. Forming a STABANDABLE~! would be a great start.

Quickly capitalizing (as per her offensive style), Lamen rolls up Bass from behind. He severely underestimates how close to Bass's team's corner he is, though. While Tsonda comes flying out of his own corner, Mortimer is out even sooner.

One!

Two!NO!

Mortimer breaks up the count with a kick to Lamen's neck, earning him a severe smattering of boos from the crowd. However, Mortimer is also the quick recipient of a missile dropkick from Tsonda that sends the former Nick Broken over the top rope. Sensing his team's opportunity, Lamen and Tsonda pull Bass up and toss him to the opposite ropes. He desperately tries for the double clothesline, but they both easily duck and Lamen swiftly transitions into his modified spinning snap flatliner.

Nick: That's Maximum Velocity! Will that be enough to take out Bass?

As if to answer Nick's question, Tsonda stops Lamen from delivering the pin and goes immediately to the top rope, then comes flying off with a perfect moonsault. He almost forgets that he's not the legal man, but then as Wesley James goes to escort him out, he mockingly points Lamen down to Bass for the count.

One!

Two!

Ozric Mortimer tries to grab Lamen's leg, but Chet Worth blindsides him, stopping any possibility of Bass escaping, except by his own will.

Three!

WINNERS: Kyle Lamen, Chandler Tsonda & Chet Worth

Richard: Tsonda won!

Nick: Lamen won!

Richard: Worth is diseased!

Worth quickly climbs to the inside as Wesley James raises Lamen and Tsonda's hands, while Worth just sort of stands intimidatingly behind both of them as the third man in the victory picture. Tsonda points out, laughing and gloating to Hoyt, who is seething with anger. Lamen looks leeringly at Tsonda, who invites Worth to come stand over Bass.

Nick: Well, you can't argue with their in-ring talent. Even despite their differences, they complemented each other, which the bigger team failed to do.

Richard: In other words... Lamen didn't screw anything up too horribly.

ReVolution continues the night with a ton of action and adventure. No stranger to action and adventure himself, the camera has picked up Baltasar stalking the hallways here in The Giant Center. The monolithic Mexican pounds open the door to his dressing room and saunters in.

Reaching along the wall, he fumbles a round a bit before flicking on a light switch that illuminates the room. He walks over to his cooler and pops it open, pulling out an ice cold bottle of spring water. The Red Devil takes a drink and takes a moment to breath after a night of action.

Baltasar moves to the table and site down, taking another swig of the water. He stops midway through his gulp and puts the bottle down, finishing that swallow, and then wiping his mouth.

Baltasar: What the hell is that?

He gets up and walks over to his desk, where a box is laying with the words "open me" on it. Normally, Baltasar wouldn't care one bit about what might be inside, but he is starting to wonder to himself at this instant "maybe I've made a few too many enemies".

Nah, bullshit, he was bigger and stronger than any member of PRIME he could think of that mattered. All he needed was a little affirmation that this was just a big joke, and it would all go away as soon as he got his paws on whatever was in the box.

His thick fingers rip the box open and the camera, not being able to see inside the box can fully well figure out its not candy by the look on his face. He looks aghast as the huge Mexican reaches inside the box and pulls out a handful of pictures. The camera doesn't see them right away, but Baltasar can be seen fuming.

He tosses one down and it shows Baltasar in the bathroom, pants around his ankles. The next flips down, showing him in his hotel room, reading a nudie magazine with the centerfold out. He flips another down showing The Red Devil in his dressing room, changing into his wrestling gear, the last one blurred out for the sake of the viewers.

Baltasar: How...what the...who could have...

He looks at the final picture and a tear almost wells up in his eye. It's Baltasar sitting bedside in Angelus' room at the hospital. He tosses the final picture down and grabs for the note in the bottom of the box.

Baltasar: There's just no way someone could have seen that.

He thought he was alone in that room with Angelus, he thought his words were his only. This had begun to change everything, and Baltasar was not a man who liked change. The note is a hodgepodge of magazine clipped letters pasted onto simple white matte paper. He holds it up, and reads the words aloud.

Baltasar: Let's play a game. You go crazy while I watch and laugh. Signed: The Hood.

The Red Devil heard a noise and peered over his shoulder. He saw a shadow and he rushed into the hallway to confront the noise. The only thing he saw was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the ground. This was too easy.

Baltasar: Okay, so now you want to play rough do you Paddy? Well I can play mind games too.

He rushed forward and around the corner. The next few rooms down held other wrestlers, but the one he stopped at was Paddy O'Sheas. Also known as The Paddy Irishman. He kicked the door open, and Paddy wheeled around, half drunk in his chair. He tried to get up to stop Baltasar, but fell over, stumbling on his own feet.

The Red Devil stopped advancing. There was no way this drunkard could have left that letter and made it back in time to sit down and get hammered. No, Baltasar was too smart for this. He turned back and went to his room again, leaving Paddy to wonder what the hell just happened.

When he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks inside the doorway. There on his table, lying up against the water bottle was another picture, and another letter. He picked the picture up, and quickly realizes that it was very recent. In fact it was a picture of him in Paddy's room, looking for all the world like a raging bull.

The Red Devil stood speechless. He looked over his shoulder twice in each direction as he reached for the note. It said four words.

"Let The Games Begin."

"Personal Jesus" beings to play as out from the back in a jumpsuit of grey and gold enters the PTC extreme Champion and your PRIME Hall OF FAME champion, Hoyt Williams. He is in an all business mode as he makes his way through the ropes hastily into the ring, obviously on a mission from God...

Hoyt William: So here I am again looking like a million dollars while you people look like something off of the value meal at McDonalds.

The crowd jeers.

Hoyt Williams: You can boo McDonalds all you want or you can take responsibility for your revolting soul vehicles. I'm sick of making excuses for you, the sinning, while I live my life in perfect harmony never sinning or causing trouble.

Nick: Good Lord here we go again, Hoyt Williams is nothing but a liar.

Richard: That would be a sin, Nick. Didn't you hear the man? He's FREE of sin.

Hoyt Williams: From now on I'm only going to deal with people in the elite level of PRIME and society. Something none of you Hershey Highway Hurley's can claim. The Amish? What in the name of God is that? Take a shower you filthy bastards! You think God wants you all up his house stinking of donkey and body odour. YUCK! I mean really: YUCK! SO you, the fans, stay away from me and stop cramping my style with your schtick and your readiness to deliver body's straight to hell.

The crowd gets very loud in opposition towards their Personal Jesus.

Nick: The Amish wouldn't even be at a wrestling event, does he even know what he is talking about here?

Richard: He is the son of man; he knows all and sees all - kind of like the Bush administration.

Hoyt Williams: From now on this is rule number one: you people are ordered BY GOD HIMSELF to turn your backs when I'm in the ring... Now get to it.

The crowd jeers Hoyt instead of turning their backs to him, although a few renegade fans of his duly oblige.

Hoyt Williams: I said turn your backs! Not stick up your middle fingers! God! Sticky and stupid I feel like I'm at a Phish concert or a John Kerry rally. It's okay, though, I just have to tell myself I'm going to heaven while you people go to hell.

A loud thunderous wave of hate comes from the crowd toward Hoyt.

Hoyt Williams: It's not polite to boo God - I'm going to tell him what you are doing. Last city I told on was New Orleans... I rest my case.

The crowd doesn't seem to worry about the peril and remains focused on giving Hoyt some hell.

Hoyt Williams: Rule number two: if you are on the roster do not talk or make eye contact with your savoir unless you too are a member of the elite. You must be a member of the Hall of Fame to speak to or challenge me. I can challenge you, but you never can challenge me unless you are on my playing field and in the H-O-F.

The lights cut out in the arena, and a stormy sky appears on the video screen.

As thunder booms over the speakers and lightning lights up the darkened clouds on-screen, a voice can be heard speaking in soft, reverberating tones.

"Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time... for y'all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe; but I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all... or drown in my own shit."

As soft guitar strings float over the loudspeakers, signalling the introduction to Funkadelic's "Maggot Brain," the stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the guitar of Eddie Hazel begins to scream, the field of stars comes together to form the word "NOVA."

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp, where Nova is knelt, his right arm raised up. He twists around working the crowd with hand gestures and the like. The smoke from his cigarette wafts iridescently above his head. The spotlight follows him to the top of the ramp, where he pulls a mic from his tights. The lights come up.

Nick: A future hall of fame member for sure!! I've been waiting for this exchange for months!!! This is what PRIME IS ALL ABOUT!!!

Richard: He's not in the hall of fame!

Nick: Not yet, Richard... not yet. Nova is here to save the day from the blasphemy of Hoyt Williams.

Nova: Hoyt Williams - you could be the worst PTC Extreme champion in the history of existence. You are tarnishing my belt you stupid mother f......

Hoyt Williams: CUT HIS MIC!! CUT HIS MIC!!! HE IS NOT IN THE HALL OF FAME!!! HE CAN NOT SPEAK WITH ME!! I HAVE RULES IN PLACE!

Nova tries to talk into his mic but nothing comes out over the speakers as the fans go nuts jeering at Williams again...

Hoyt Williams: Sorry Mr. Nova, get into the Hall of Fame then we'll converse; until then please leave me be.

Nick: NO, NO, NO!!! I want to see Nova hand it to Hoyt!! He is ripping off these fans of a great prospective verbal battle...

Richard: It's not his fault that Nova sucks too much to be in the Hall of Fame.

Hoyt Williams: So long to you - I hope I didn't make you blue!

Nova tries again to talk into his mic but it's clear it has been shut off. He tosses the mic into the crowd and gives Hoyt the finger to the delight of the fans before shrugging off the encounter for more important matters like taking a piss and smoking a J.

Hoyt Williams: Yeah, yeah, yeah....that's what I thought! Come back when you are on my level. You see how hard it is to be me!! I have nobody to work with because I'm too damn good to mess with any of these losers. I'm all along on my jihad of biblical cleansing here in PRIME with nobody worth my time to toy with. It's not easy being on the top let me tell you that my Amish going to hell friends...

Electronic voices buzz around the arena as we are plunged into darkness and the fans are brought to their feet, excitably expecting... BOOM! White and pink pyrotechnics fire off as "Surfing with the Alien" by Joe Satriani kicks into full-gear and fires up the crowd as this time Ignatius Lisieux enters from the back. The fans erupt with a mass of cheering for the former Global Champion as he leisurely enters the stage area with a mic in his hand and a smirk on his face.

Hoyt Williams: Who the hell is this?

Nick: That's Ignatius Lisieux!!

Richard: He wasn't asking you, Nick.

Ignatius Lisieux: Hoyt, my man...

Lisieux begins to begin the verbal charade but is swiftly cut off by the Son of God...

Hoyt Williams: Wait a minute, wait a minute... I'm not into that gay stuff and only Hall of Fame members can talk to me. So please remove your sinning self and Mr. Engineer please shut off his mic as he is not up to the requirements set by the RISP.

Hoyt smiles and waves good bye to Ignatius, who can only smile back.

Ignatius Lisieux: You say only a Hall of Famer can come out to address you tonight. Well I don't know where the hell Tony Rolo is (huge pop), I haven't seen Joey Troy for a long, long time (huge pop)... Black Angel (huge pop) is hiding in the shadows somewhere, Ian English (massive jeering) isn't around and Rock Startling (huge pop) is long, long gone... And Killean (huge pop), well we all know fine well he's AWOL...

Hoyt takes a double take of shock when he hears that Ignatius's mic is still on.

Ignatius Lisieux: ...but I'm still here.

Lisieux moves the microphone away from his mouth as the fans go crazy celebrating the fact that the French-Canadian is, in fact, still here.

Hoyt Williams: You're in the Hall of Fame?! I thought you were part of the staff that sets up the rings and sells the giant fingers that tell everybody how much I rule??

Ignatius grins and nods his head towards Hoyt with a small chuckle.

Ignatius Lisieux: You're a funny guy, Hoyt.

Hoyt Williams: ...Really it's more of a folksy charm. But enough praising me because as much as I enjoy it; I am a modest man, what is your name sinning member of the Hall of Fame?

Ignatius Lisieux: I'm shocked that you don't recall your own personal Jesus, Hoyt. You don't remember just seven short days ago when Ignatius Lisieux entered your life and made everything right again?

Nick: Two members of the hall of fame right here tonight, this could get very good, very quickly!

Richard: This is so worth missing Walker Texas Ranger for!

Hoyt Williams: I'm a busy man Mr. Listerine... what is that? Some kind of black name? You don't really look black maybe your parents were African or something, I don't know...

Standing near the top of the entrance way Ignatius Lisieux chuckles to himself once again at the ignorance of his verbal sparring partner.

Ignatius Lisieux: French-Canadian, Hoyt, perhaps unfortunately...

Hoyt shakes his head in disgust interrupting the other Hall of Famer - who doesn't have a Hall of Fame belt.

Hoyt Williams: You know the French are the most worthless race of whiners and pansies, and the Canadians are all going to hell? You're in double violation of heaven's open door policy, I'm sorry to say.

Ignatius Lisieux: I thought that wouldn't go down too well. Anyway, I can only excuse my heritage, but it is not who I am... it does not make me who I have become. You look awful lonely up there Hoyt. No more Imperium, no more Universal Title, I want to know... just like these thousands of PRIMEates in this arena want to know, what's next for you?

Slowly Ignatius Lisieux begins heading down towards the ring, not looking especially violent.

Ignatius Lisieux: Where does Hoyt Williams go from here?

Hoyt Williams: Who are you the IRS?

Hoyt looks around at the chanting crowd then back at Lisieux.

Ignatius Lisieux: The offer is still on the table about RISP... you've already disbanded the Imperium, I think you should seriously consider me for RISP instead of just totally ridding your life of it. Who better than someone who returned from a crucifixion to lead such a... holy... purpose? Again I ask: where do you go now Hoyt? What is next for the Son of God?

Hoyt Williams: Ok you want to know where I go??? These people want to know where I go?? Fine. I'll tell you where I go - you pastry chef turned wannabe wrestler. I go to hell and visit your mother, your father, your uncle, and all the other Listerine's who came before you. Then I punch the devil in the nose, kick him in the toes, and pull his tail and high tail it back up to earth, where I then rid PRIME of all the sinners... starting with you Mr. Iguana Listerine.

Ignatius reaches the steps to the ring as the crowd's interest and excitement builds.

Ignatius Lisieux: I like the sound of that, Hoyt, I like the sound of that an awful lot... But are you going to rid PRIME of the REAL sinners or just the people who you dislike?

Hoyt raises an eyebrow to the question...

Ignatius Lisieux: People who set other human beings on fire, people who lie, cheat and steal their way through life, stepping on anyone who gets in their way, these are the people you should be eliminating, not people like me.

Ignatius steps through the ropes into the ring as the crowd reaches near explosive levels of excitement.

Nick: These two Hall of Famers are going to go face to face!! Things are about to really get interesting, I can tell you that much.

Richard: Wait... if Imperium is no longer can I still get a discount at the Subway?

Hoyt Williams: Isn't that one and the same Iguana pastry man? Those who I dislike I dislike because they are sinners. Much like you and the rest of the filth that make up this arena I hate you all. Not because you people are fat, stupid, lack hygiene, are ugly, are jealous of me, are never going to achieve anything near the level I have. All of those are viable reasons to dislike you folk but the truth is I hate you because you are sinners just like IL over here.

Ignatius shakes his head as he takes a few steps into the middle ring.

Nick: MY GOD, THESE TWO ARE GOING TO GO AT IT!!!

Ignatius Lisieux: I think I may have made an error of judgment last week, Hoyt; you're making me begin to regret my actions.

The fans begin to get excitable as Lisieux raises the tone of his voice.

Hoyt Williams: What? In setting up the ring? Oh wait, you mean when you entered my locker room like a friend or somebody of importance. Yeah you should regret that, after seeing me up close it must be hard dealing with not being as perfect as I am.

Richard: Oh Snap!! Oh no he didn't!!

Ignatius takes two more steps towards where Hoyt is standing.

Ignatius Lisieux: Maybe I was dumb to think that you could change, it was probably completely naive of me to expect that Hoyt Williams, the great pretender, would ever look out for someone other than himself....

Nick: That's right Ignatius; he's a selfish arrogant bastard.

Richard: But my saviour!

Ignatius Lisieux: ...last week I gave you a chance to begin turning things around, you disbanded the Imperium and I thought you might be doing just that...

Nick: He's a user and he used them all up.

Richard: He's a saviour Nick, when are you going to learn?

Ignatius Lisieux: ...but you're never gonna change, are you?

Hoyt cocks his head to one side with a baffled look at Lisieux before exploding on a powerful rant...

Hoyt Williams: Listen up and I'm going to talk slow so you can understand this being from Canada and all. You don't ask a butterfly to change into a caterpillar. You don't ask a flower to return to being an ugly seed. Let me spell it out from you my dim-witted French sinner I'm perfect I don't need to change. P for Powerful...E for Eternal...R for Respect...F for Flawless....E for Excellence...C for Cunning....T for Terribly good looking and better then each and every one of you people here tonight and standing in the ring.

Richard: Listen to Hoyt go!

Hoyt Williams: You want me to change not to better myself but to give you a chance. I see through all of your greed and desire to be me and the only way that can happen is if I lowered MY standards to that of the average French-Canadian and lost sheep American. Right now I'm out of your league and you all know it Mr. Listerine knows it and so does Satan.

Lisieux begins to look frustrated as he shakes his head at what he is hearing.

Hoyt Williams: It's time I cleanse this federation of the vile garbage that infests the moral fabric of the institution of PRIME and America in general. It's time to make this place better and to do that my jihad begins now of ever lasting cleansing of the corruption around me. Find Jesus or meet him that's the choice I give every member of this roster starting with Iggy over here and ending with you: the fans. This is not a joke, this is biblical prophesy.

The fans are baying for Hoyt's blood and Ignatius knows it, he takes a look at the crowd to his left and nods towards them with a smile and then he looks right and does the same... Suddenly, sensing danger, Hoyt raises his right arm in the air and clicks his fingers as the arena is descended into pitch black darkness.

Nick: Now what the hell?

Richard: Get your hand off my ass, you Brokeback Announcer!

The click of a spotlight is heard as four very bright lights shine up from the ring posts. From the ceiling descend four men in military suits of white commando style. They unlock from the repel ropes before you can blink an eye; drawing their guns and moving in towards Ignatius while shock still has him frozen. They grab Ignatius and hold him with weapons drawn to vital parts of his body. The fans are in shock as the lights return to normal. A choir enters from the back and surrounds the ring as they begin to sing choir style.

Nick: What in the name of all that is holy is happening here?

Richard: Action man, the greatest hero of them all!

Choir: Hoyt has come, Hoyt has risen, Hoyt will come again......

Hoyt Williams: You see Jesus died and went to hell only to return from the dead and ascend to heaven. I have gone to hell and I have risen only now born again I am unstoppable. Not surrounded by amateur wrestlers with about as much talent as Kano's ball sack; but rather by professionals of the RISP. Mr. Listerine, meet my Guardian Angels and the choir of Malice. Born again from the depths of hell I want this to show you and every member of this roster I can get to you and take you out in the NAME OF THE MOST POWERFUL JUDGE OF THEM ALL ...The Patriot Act.... under the direction the most powerful man, the father of all, George W. Bush... under the direction of the Highest of High's ...Mr. Dick Cheney... in the name of GOD!!!

The arena EXPLODES with immense jeering at Hoyt's usage of political figures to outline his quest.

Hoyt Williams: The genocide of degeneration begins anew head by the master of the RISP, Hoyt Williams, in crusade of biblical greatness. Mr. Irritation tonight is just a warning ...but next time it will be an ending.

"Your Personal Jesus" walks up to the held back Lisieux and slaps him hard in the face as the fans begin launching objects at Hoyt, his choir and his personal guard. The slap can be heard around the arena as clear as day and it leaves a huge red hand mark on the cheek of Lisieux as the fans boo as loud as they can. Hoyt just gets right into Lisieux face and laughs his ass off before exiting to the back with the choir singing him away.

Nick: My God, he can't do this to Ignatius Lisieux! He'll be lynched!

Richard: He just did it, Nick, what can Lisieux or the fans do about it?

Nick: I have a feeling these two hall of famers are just getting started!!

Lisieux is left struggling in the ring, staring a hole into Hoyt Williams' back as the Son of God makes his exit from the arena.

The scene opens in the lobby of the PRIME arena. The show has been a success and most of the staff are now at battle stations preparing for the big ending. But they don’t see...they don’t know...that in this little lobby...a man is dying...three dots give dramatic...effect...even...words like...Ferg eats penis...bring a tear...to a...glass eye.

Lying on the floor is Father Houlahan, wheezing and coughing. Paddy kneels beside him stroking the hair out of his eyes and back onto his bald head. Houlahan is crying, his eyes fluttering as Paddy looks desperately on.

Standing behind Paddy is a lanky Japanese man with a sheet of paper in his hand that is titled script at the back. A small fat Japanese man stands behind Father Houlahan, with a copy of the same script.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) Father! Do nat leev me alone to dis world!

Paddy looks over his shoulder with his eyebrow cocked.

Paddy: Aye didn’t open me mouth yet!

The Japanese man mouths sorry and Paddy turns back around.

Father Houlahan: (Being dubbed by small, fat Japanese man) I am dwifting away my san...you must be stwong!

Paddy fakes a cry that makes him look constipated.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) I wear woman’s knicks!

Paddy’s eyes widen and he turns around again shaking his fist. The Japanese man mouths sorry again.

Father Houlahan: (Being dubbed by small, fat Japanese man) What I seen today...is something I cannat live with...so I go on to my God...I go on to Buddha

SMACK!

Father Houlahan: (Being dubbed by small, fat Japanese man) I mean God!

Paddy wraps his arms around Father Houlahan’s head.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) Can we nat have one more night together? I will be the catcher if you wish!

Paddy turns around and throws a brick that just so happened to be lying beside him. It misses the Japanese man who desperately swears he’ll be good.

Father Houlahan: (Being dubbed by small, fat Japanese man) I have one reqwest....that you will wid PWIME of the cowuption...the dwug dealers, the pimps...you must do this for me...my san...

Father Houlahan’s eyes roll in the back of his head and his neck jerks back as he ahem, dies. Paddy punches the floor.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Paddy lets go of Houlahan and he gets up beginning to walk away. Tightening his fists he makes a promise to himself.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) I will only eat Special K cereal fwom now on.

Paddy swears under his breath and continues to walk away.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) I will go now to avenge him...but first, I will go and squeeze into my leotard and do the potato dance...

Paddy turns, nose flaring and runs after the shrieking Japanese man while the fat one eats Houlahans ear.

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) Aye’m goin’ t’ kill ye!

Paddy: (Being dubbed by Lanky Japanese man) You will never catch me! HAWHAHWHAWHAW!

Lamen who was watching on mouths what the fuck. Gold medal to whoever can understand that shit right there.

Nick: Welcome back to ReVolution, and you don't have long to wait for this main event to kick off!

With a quintet of the participants already in the ring, Linkin Park's "Faint" is blasting out in full force as Vangelus Olsig climbs onto the outside of the turnbuckle, unbuckling his title to thrust it aloft.

Vince Howard: And finally; from Bogotá, Columbia... weighing in at 223 pounds... he is the PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION... VANGELLUS OLLLLLSIGGGGG!!!

Nelson and Ferguson stand side by side, resolute, both pointing to the apron, ordering Farwell outside. Grumbling, the tag team champion steps out of the ring, while Tyler and Danny share a smarmy high-5, running through their Farwell-excluding game plan one last time. Refusing to wait, Olsig sprints across the ring and leapfrogs the protesting official.

Nick: Just look at Vangelus Olsig go after Tyler Nelson! He has the CEO's scent, and he isn't going to let him get away in this one!

Richard: I didn't hear the bell, so this is nothing more than common assault!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Hearing the commotion, Nelson and Ferguson turn, only to be met with the sight of Olsig smashing his forearm down across the Greediest Player in the Game's jaw. Following through, the Intense champion's body wipes out Ferguson, causing Farwell to gladly swing around he ring post as a startled Ferguson rolls out onto the apron.

Nick: There may be six people in this match, but to PRIME's Intense champion, there's only one man on the opposing team.

Richard: And that's what Nelson and Fergie will be counting on. Olsig is going to be too concerned with Nelson to work as part of a team, and that's how they'll pick them off.

Nick: You're lecturing Vangelus Olsig about a lack of teamwork, while Nelson and Ferguson try to ignore they have a third team member?

With the fans behind him right off the bat, Olsig grabs Nelson by the tie, pulling him up into a string of right hands. The blows weaken the CEO's legs beneath him, but Olsig rolls the tie around his fist, giving Nelson no slack. Rushing the ropes, Vangelus then tosses Tyler out over the top cable, trying to hang him by the tie. Doing his best to keep his composure, Nelson just manages to loosen the knot enough to sneak his head out... leaving the Intense champion to stagger back a few paces with the accessory in his hand.

Nick: This just typifies Olsig and the Intense style. There are no neat little edges or added flash... you're in matches to hurt your opponent until they can't kick out. Nothing more, nothing less.

Richard: A basic, animal approach that will always falter against a far more intelligent opponent.

Unrelenting, Olsig lunges back at the CEO, only for a mocking slap from Nelson to echo out around the arena.

Tyler Nelson: Columbians are only good for two things, bitch. Swallowing condoms of coke, and swallowing what condoms are meant to ho-

"FUCK 'IM UP!!!"

Cutting the verbal jab right off, the Intense champion sends Nelson flying from the apron with a Yakuza Kick, leaving Tyler to crash into the safety rail. Rubbing his jaw, the CEO takes a swat at one of the fan getting too close to comfort, before Olsig slingshots himself over the top rope and wipes out the Greediest Player in the Game.

Nick: Maybe Tyler Nelson will realise now that making the Intense champion mad isn't that smart!

The fans let out a giant pop as Olsig shoots back to his feet, throws his head back, and roars out in violent delight.

Richard: Smart? It's a great tactic. Let Olsig take stupid risks to try and take the CEO out, then wait and see how long he lasts when Nelson and Ferguson click.

Grabbing Nelson by the collar, Vangelus rolls the CEO back into the ring, while Bernie Roberts warns Ferguson to stay on the apron. Wisely, Nelson tries to crawl away from the rampaging Intense champion, only for him to take a run-up and punt the kneeling CEO between the legs.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!"

Nick: And as I said earlier... no neat little edged to that wrestling style.

Richard: Every sperm in that nutsack could be a Nobel Prize winner, or CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Nelson should sue for every lost potential life!

Delighting in Tyler's agony, the fans keep up their deafening volume, while a weak-kneed Nelson tentatively rises. Winding up, Olsig unloads with a hard right to Nelson's jaw, sending him stumbling back into the Colombian's corner. From the apron, Eric Evans lands a stiff forearm, sending the CEO back to Olsig, who rocks him with another of the same. Looking glassy eyed, Tyler staggers round towards Karina, instinct taking a wild swing, which the K-Wolf ducks under... then nearly beheads Nelson with an Enziguri Kick.

Nick: Funnily enough, not many people in PRIME will pass up the chance to land one on the CEO.

Limply, Tyler drops back against the buckles, where Olsig rips his expensive dress-shirt open, before reddening the CEO's chest with a flurry of harsh chops.

Across the ring, Ferguson looks to sneak in, but a wary Olsig snaps his head around, forcing the A-List member to retreat. Another flurry of chops leave Nelson wincing and huddled, before a European Uppercut drapes him back over the ropes.

Nick: Nelson's chest is almost beet red from those chops. Olsig basically skinned him!

Richard: If this referee knew what he was doing, then this wouldn't be happening. Nelson was jumped before the bell, so this should be thrown out, and the rightful team declared the winner.

Letting others join in with his fun, Olsig tags in "Electric" Eric Evans, who right away grabs Nelson by the hair, then drops to the apron, Hotshotting him. Still looking restricted by the injuries inflicted upon him by Baltasar seven days ago, the King of Swing slides into the ring, then uses the ropes to pull himself up. Grabbing a rising Nelson by the wrist, Evans whips him into the ropes, before scoring with a picture-perfect Dropkick under the chin.

Nick: We've still to see what Eric Evans can really do in PRIME, but even with the injuries that almost meant he couldn't compete tonight, the new signing will be looking to impress.

As Evans lands, he seems to favour his ribs, before grabbing the CEO and making sure they're close to Eric's corner.

Doing his best to keep the tempo up despite his condition, Evans Snapmares the Greediest Player in the Game over, flipping over him with a rolling neck snap. Following through onto his feet, Eric rebounds off the ropes, then scores with a Dropkick to the face. With Tyler flat on his back, Evans scrambles back over onto him and hooks the leg.

"ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!"

Startled, but not out of it, Tyler shoots a shoulder up.

Nick: What Evans doesn't need to do is overdo his stints in the ring. He isn't in any condition to take the fight to all 3 of Nelson's team, so will do best in short little stints.

Knowing he's far from 100%, Evans makes the safe tag out to the K-Wolf, who vaults in over the top. Rubbing his jaw, a hunched-over Nelson slowly stands, only for Kari to fling a stiff kick up at his chest, snapping the CEO back up straight. With the fans cheering each and every one, Wolfenden unloads with a volley of Snap Kicks to Nelson's exposed chest, knocking him back against the buckles.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: None of these 3 are especially close, but unlike their opposition, there's no little pacts, and no divisive gameplans.

Richard: There's also no Nelson, and no Ferguson.

Rushing in, the K-Wolf leaps at Nelson, tucking her knees up to bury them into his chest.

Winded, Nelson staggers out from the corner, before flopping down onto his back, the early onslaught starting to cloud his senses. Looking up from the fallen CEO, Wolfenden gestures to the fans, before flinging herself up into a mesmerising spin to score with a standing Corkscrew Senton. Rolling back up, Kari seamlessly launches herself back into the air to connect with a breath-taking standing, twisting 450 Splash.

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"ONE!

TW-NO!"

Despite Nelson managing to shoot a shoulder up as the two hits, the fans stand and applaud as Kari tags Olsig back in.

Nick: I think it's safe to say Vangelus Olsig just did enough to be a team player there, before he got right back in and onto Nelson.

Having already felt the wrath of the Columbia, Nelson tries his best the scrabble away as he sees the Intense champion step back through the ropes. Grabbing the CEO's foot, Olsig rolls him backwards and onto his feet, only to mow Tyler right back down with a vicious Roaring Elbow. Seeing a need to halt Olsig's moemntum, Ferguson rushes the ring, only to be scooped up and dumped down onto Vangelus' knee with a Tilt-a-Whirl Backbreaker.

Richard: What the hell is that little freak on?

Nick: He's fought alongside the most bloodthirsty, and he's battled someone of the most insane. The Intense champion is seemingly programmed to fight whoever, wherever, no matter how many.

Grabbing his lower back, Danny rolls out as Olsig looks to Farwell, asking if he's coming in too... answered a casual folding of the arms that lets it be known the tag team champion is happy where he is.

Having been under-fire since the second the bell rang, Nelson is slow to rise, and can only offer up a wild right as an attack. Deftly ducking the swing, Olsig grabs a waistlock, before heaving the CEO overhead, smashing his neck and shoulders against the canvas with a German Suplex. Grabbing his neck, Tyler scrambles up, dropping back against the ropes for support.

Nick: And it's things like that which give Olsig such an advantage in a brawl. Give him a second, and he has plenty of other tricks than a kick or a punch up his sleeve.

Not giving the Greediest Player in the Game a second to recover, Olsig plants his boot into Tyler's ribs, before locking him into a double-underhook.

Richard: Nick, this is Tyler Nelson we're talking about. The longer you beat him for, the shorter you have to wait until he throws it all back at you.

Olsig tries to lift Nelson for a double-underhook Piledriver, but with just enough of his wits about him, Nelson squirms loose of the underhook, taking an wrist and spinning through to drop Olsig with a Cut-Throat Neckbreaker. Showing off his acute ring awareness, Nelson ensnares Olsig's neck with a headscissors as he inches towards his corner... where only Farwell's hand is within reach.

Richard: No, no, no, no...

Giving Danny a knowing look, Nelson tags in Farwell, but as soon as the Forsaken member steps into the ring, Danny tags himself in off James' shoulder.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Richard: Thank Hoyt for that...

With the crowd jeering the arrogant tactics of keeping the tag team champion out of the match, Farwell is escorted back out of the ring, leaving Danny to score with a Leaping Kneedrop as Tyler releases the headscissors. Snarling, Nelson takes a stomp at Olsig's head as he exits the ring, urging Danny on.

Tyler Nelson: Break the little punk's face.

As Wolfenden and Evans urge their tag partner on, Ferguson sets about business, twisting the toe of his boot into Olsig's eye-socket. As the ref hits his five count, Ferguson spins, trying to friction burn the eye as he pushes off. Chuckling at the jeers that rain down upon him, Danny stalks the blinded Olsig as he rises, before scooping him up to hit about as textbook a Scoop Slam as you're ever likely to find.

Richard: To any wrestlers in training out there, THAT is how to do a Scoop Slam. Learn how to do it that well, and you can forget all your little flippy-kicky crap.

Olsig grinds his teeth as he tries to absorb the pain pulsing down his back, giving Danny time to fling himself down with a Windmill Elbow, driving the joint into the Intense champion's sternum. Covering Olsig, Danny grinds his forearm down across his face as Bernie Roberts slides down.

"ONE!

TW-NO!"

Bursting out of the pin, Olsig tries to storm back to his feet, only for Danny to sneakily grab a handful of hair and yank him back down.

Nick: You can only imagine now that we're going to see Nelson and Ferguson lock-down the ring and try to put Olsig away now.

Richard: Try? Please.

Wolfenden and Evans both appeal to the referee, distracting him so that Ferguson can kneel across the Intense champion's throat. With Olsig thrashing around, unable to breathe, Wolfenden and Evans quickly end their protests, letting Roberts turn back to an angelic smile from the A-Lister. Pulling Olsig up, Danny ducks his head under the Columbian's arm, then lifts him up and over with a Backdrop Suplex.

Hopping back up, Ferguson sits Olsig on the canvas, takes a few paces back, and teases a Dropkick or Rolling Neck Snap... before dropping down to apply a Rear Chinlock.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Richard: How is Olsig's head still attached?

Mocking his opponent, Ferguson orders the ref to drop down and ask for the submission, prompting Olsig to shoot a middle finger back at him. Smirking, Ferguson releases the torturous hold, before dropping down a trio of knees into the back of the Intense champion's neck. Sticking to the body part, Danny drags him up, then flings Olsig back down with a Swinging Neckbreaker, following him down to apply a wrenching side headlock.

Richard: For all Olsig's fury when attacking Nelson, it ended up being for nothing. The CEO soaked it up, showed off his teamwork abilities, and now they have the match there for the taking.

Nick: Well, it's safe to say Danny and Nelson have similar personalities, at least.

Feeding off the crowd and his team-mates, Olsig forces himself back up, despite the grinding of Ferguson's forearm on his temple. Letting out a roar in doing so, Olsig pushes Danny off into the ropes, only for the A-Lister to wrap himself around into a Sleeperhold as he rebounds. With Vangelus restrained around the neck, Danny raises a few knees into the small of his back, before pushing him off into Nelson, who levels Olsig with a stiff right.

Ignoring the ref's lecture, Nelson steps into the ring and joins Danny in dragging Olsig up.

Just as he goes to send a kick to the Colombian's ribs, Danny breaks off and spits towards Olsig's corner. Angered, Wolfenden and Evans take the bait and rush into the ring, forcing Bernie Roberts to bar their path. With a few seconds of lawlessness to exploit, Nelson kicks Olsig firmly between the legs, then just shoves him backwards onto the mat.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: Now this just doesn't need to be done.

Richard: Did I hear a bell ring for a DQ? No? Then nobody could have broken he rules then.

Following up, Danny scores with a Kneedrop to the throat, leaving is shin resting across the windpipe so that Nelson can step onto and over his calf.

Nick: It almost pains me to say how effective their underhand tactics are proving.

"LET'S GO OLSIG, LET'S GO! LET'S GO OLSIG, LET'S GO!"

As Bernie Roberts turns back, despite the frantic jeering of the fans, Danny holds his hands up and says he's on his way back out. With a gasping Olsig trying to crawl up, Nelson makes an example of him, pushing him back down with a boot to the head. But, still with the fight in him, Olsig springs up and tackles the CEO to the mat, raining down rights and lefts.

Richard: When will he learn his place?

Nick: Never! There stench of someone like Nelson near him just gives Olsig even more fighting spirit!

Riding the explosion from the fans, Olsig hops up, scoring with a knee to Nelson's jaw as he sits up startled. Grabbing the CEO by the collar, the frenzied Intense champion rocks him with a string of headbutts... only for the wily CEO halt the comeback with a thumb to the eye. Seizing the few seconds where Olsig is blinded, Nelson doubles him over and sets him up for a Suplex... only for Olsig to start pushing Nelson backwards.

Nick: I'm not sure Olsig even knows where his corner is now...

Wolfenden and Evans call for Olsig to turn, frustrated at watching him push off in the wrong direction... but as Nelson looks over his shoulder, he sees the plan.

Nick: ...or maybe he does.

Richard: Wait... no. NO!

Leant over the ropes, out-stretching Ferguson, James Farwell inches closer to tagging in off Nelson, spurring the CEO on to battle Olsig. As Nelson manages to push Olsig back to the middle of the ring, Vangelus smartly tries to use the momentum to backpeddle towards his corner, forcing Tyler to peddle back in the other direction. Caught between the two, Nelson pauses for just a second, but it's long enough for the Intense champion to take advantage with a Northern Lights Suplex.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: Vangelus Olsig just played off Nelson's elitism against Farwell, and gave himself a chance to tag out!

Unable to hold a bridge, Olsig slumps onto the mat and tries to crawl towards his corner, only for Nelson to grab his foot. But before the CEO can drag the Intense champ away, he eats a boot to the face, and is forced to release.

Despite his desire to explode more violence upon the CEO, Olsig takes the team-player route and leaps to his corner, tagging in Evans just as Nelson crawls back to his corner to tag in Ferguson. As the A-Lister rushes in to cut off Evans, Olsig gets a measure of revenge by surprising Irish with a Drop Toe Hold. Danny grabs his nose, checking for blood where it smashed off the canvas, only for Evans to leap up high and crash down across his back with a Senton.

Nick: Nelson was so concerned about not letting Farwell into this match that Olsig could tag out, and now their advantage looks to have shifted over to their opponents!

Wanting to impress in spite of his injuries, Evan tries to whip the crowd up behind him, before mowing Ferguson down with a Spinning Heel Kick.

Calling for Ferguson to get up, Evans hops up onto the middle rope and gets the A-Lister in his sights, only to leap off over h

Nick: And that's one way to keep Farwell in the ring!

Trying to escape the fevered onslaught of Olsig, Nelson scrambles under the bottom rope, only for the Intense champion to mow him down with a spectacular Tope Conhillo that sets the fans alight. With both Olsig and the CEO feeling the effects at ringside, a dazed Danny Ferguson pulls himself up... right into a Springboard Plancha from the King of Swing.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!"

Nick: Tyler Nelson and Danny Ferguson have done their best to try and control the match, but now they're both down on the outside and reeling!

As Wolfenden rises, holding the back of her head where Nelson clobbered, Farwell skulks up behind her, looking for the ambush. But, before he can pounce, Vangelus Olsig comes flying back in with a Flying Forearm off the top rope, smashing Farwell into the path of Eric Evans, who mows the tag team champion down with a Springboard Spin Kick from the opposite side of the ring.

Richard: See what happens when you leave that man unsupervised in the ring?

Seizing the chance, Wolfenden leaps onto the middle rope, flipping back off to drive both knees into the prone Farwell's sternum to nail the Goodnight Moon. As she hooks both legs, Olsig spots Ferguson and repels him with a Baseball Slide Dropkick, while Evans guards against Nelson.

"ONE!

TWO!

THREE!"

WINNERS: Karina Wolfenden, Eric Evans & Vangelus Olsig

Richard: Dammitdammitdammitdammit!

As the bell rings, Nelson and Ferguson kick out at the ring apron and guard rail in frustration, both looking up to the heavens as if the ask, why?

Vince Howard: HERE ARE YOUR WINNERS... THE TEAM OF KARINA WOLFENDEN, ERIC EVANS, AND THE PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION VANGELUS OLSIGGGGG!!!

Bernie Roberts raises the arms of Evans and Olsig, while Wolfenden joins onto Olsig to create the victorious chain.

Nick: They might not have busted out double or triple-team moves, but they were watching one another's backs, and sometimes that's enough teamwork to pull through!

Richard: And sometimes an otherwise AWESOME chain has a weak link!

Snarling and seething, Ferguson and Nelson retreat back up the aisle, pointing back towards the winded Farwell and reeling off all manner of threats and repercussions. Still buzzing, Olsig sits on the bottom rope and invites Nelson back for more, only for the CEO to brush him off.

Nick: Those two men and their egos effectively turned this into a 3-on-2 handicap match, and in a place like PRIME, you're not likely to find 3 wrestlers who won't be able to seize that advantage!

Richard: Pfft.

The PRIME logo and copyright appear on the screen ending the broadcast with the closing scene of Wolfenden, Olsig, and Evans as they climb the buckles, saluting the fans for their support as Nelson and Ferguson storm back through the curtain.